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Coming in front of me, he squats down to my level. “You good? Is there anything I can do?”
I shake my head lightly, my cheeks on fire with embarrassment because nothing kills me more than being seen as frail. I’m not frail. My lungs are, but that’s it.
“How did you know I needed my inhaler?” I whisper, looking up at him. “Obviously, you know I have asthma, but…how’d you know that’s where I was headed when I needed my bag?”
“Because for thirty seconds before that, I watched you try to fight off that breathing was becoming harder,” he answers honestly. “I know you don’t want me to look at you like you’re a beaten puppy dog. And guess what. It’s your lucky day because that isn’t what I think about you.” His gaze holds mine before he reaches his palm out to rub my back in small, soothing circles. “But, Sutton, you’ve got to be honest with me when you’re struggling. I need to know in case things get bad and you need medical help.”
I’m met with eyes filled with kindness. There isn’t a speck of anything else in them. Not judgment or humor. In fact, he looks worried. And that scares me. Because my whole life, I’ve known everyone’s intentions almost instantly. But I don’t know his. And it’s terrifying. He’s being nice to me. But why?
“Don’t worry; for our performance, I’ll be fine. This is just a struggle because we’ve been at it for almost two hours straight.” I give him a small smile. “A five-minute dance? That I could do in my sleep. No inhaler needed. We’ve just been practicing a lot.”
“I have no doubt that you could,” he answers instantly. “What you see as your weakness, I see it as a strength. I don’t know many—no, I don’t know anyone who would go this hard without letting their condition slow them down.” His hand moves from my back to lightly slap my shoulder. “Be proud, Little Bird. You’re a badass.”
My eyes float from his to the ground, and I sigh. “Thanks.”
“But I did some research, and I learned about something called a rescue inhaler,” he says, completely serious. “Do you have one of those?”
Slowly, I nod. “Uh…yes.”
“Where do you keep it?” he asks, nodding toward my bag. “And how do I tell it apart from your regular one? I want to make sure I know what to do to help you if you ever have an asthma attack when I’m around.”
Completely dumbfounded, I fumble around in my bag, and eventually, I pull out my second inhaler and show it to him.
“This one with the red? This is my rescue inhaler. If I’mreallystruggling, I’ll use this one.” Holding up the other one, I nod toward it. “This is my maintenance inhaler. I use this every day, no excuses.”
Looking at them, he eventually bobs his head up and down a few times. “Got it.” Giving me a small grin, he shrugs. “I don’t know what your schedule looks like, but I don’t have class till this afternoon,” he says, his voice low. “Want to go grab a coffee? I’ll even buy you another one of those nasty sesame bagels you like so much.”
“I have class at one. You know, you don’t actually have to buy me food. After all, we’re not really dating.” I raise an eyebrow. “You could save yourself some money and just do the bare minimum, like every other dude would do in this situation.”
“Fake or not, technically, right now, I’m your boyfriend. So, that means I’ll keep you fed and caffeinated with those nasty coffees and all the carbs. Deal?”A boyish grin spreadsacross his face. “Never in a million years did I think I’d be saying this, but, Sutton Savage, you’re my girlfriend now. Deal?”
I pull my lips to the side, narrowing my eyes. “Never thought I’d give you this answer, preppy boy. But…sure. Now, how about that coffee and bagel?”
In true Hunter form, he holds his hand out and helps me up. And all seems like it might be okay.
Sutton
“I want to know about that tattoo of yours,” Hunter says, wiggling his eyebrows.
“It’s nothing.” I look down, shaking my head. “It’s stupid really.”
“I get that it’s for dance. The whole counting thing.” He nods. “But what made you want that?”
I chew my lip, wondering if I should really tell him. But when I look up to find his soft eyes and boyish grin, I can’t help but want to open up.
“I’ve been dancing so long that even in stressful situations that have absolutely nothing to do with dance or ballet, I count in my head before I react. To calm myself down.” I shrug. “It might sound dumb, but I just take a breath, and silently count the numbers. Five…six…seven…eight. And then I deal with whatever the problem is.”
He stares at me for a minute, almost rearing his head back, like he’s surprised. “Wow. I have to tell you, I like the tattoo a lot more now.” He nods slowly, like he actually understands my reasoning. “A lotmore. I thought it was strictly for your love of dance.”
“Dance is the only thing I’ve had for most of my life,” I utter. “And I guess I’ve had to incorporate it into my day-to-day living.” I reach across the table, smacking his arm lightly. “What about you? Any ink?” I raise an eyebrow, taking a sip of my iced coffee. “Or piercings? Are you a secret freak, Hunter Thompson, country-club member?”
He cringes. “If you’re asking if my dick has a metal rod through it, fuck no.” He continues to scowl. “The thought of that makes me want to cry.”
I shrug playfully. “Paige might be into it. Spices things up, Thompson.”
His eyes narrow. “You’ve been with someone who had their dong pierced?” He shakes his head. “Guess I didn’t realize that was what you were into.”
“That’s because you don’t know me,” I say sweetly.
