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“Is my good luck charm tired?” Hunter coos at me.
I roll my eyes and nudge him in the ribs.
No-strings-attached hook ups with Hunter are one thing, but I’m not sure I’m ready for pet names yet.
Yet.
Doesn’t that word imply …
I cut that train of thought short. I already told myself I’m not going to overthink what’s going on between me and Hunter. So, I won’t.
Whatever we’re doing, I’m enjoying it. Enjoying it more than I’ve enjoyed anything since my accident last January.
And right now, it’s uncomplicated. I don’t need to complicate things by overthinking and asking myself a million different questions that don’t need answers.
“You ready to get out of here?” Hunter’s voice is low and rumbly, charged with suggestion.
When I see the heat in his eyes and feel the electric tension when he lowers his arm from my shoulders and curls it around my waist, I realize that’s one question with a very simple answer.
“Yes,” I say.
25
HUNTER
Phoebe Sinclair feels so fucking good snuggled under my arm.
Shane was disappointed when Casey opted to leave with the two of us. He promised he’d make sure she got home perfectly safe if she wanted to stay out longer—and his eyebrows were bouncing up and down like a basketball while he said so—but Casey declined his offer of protection.
Now the three of us are walking home through the streets of Ridley.
Phoebe’s shoulders are so delicate under my arm, her body so warm next to me, her hair so soft as I let my chin graze against the top of her head.
I breathe in a whiff and the strawberry scent makes me want to moan, but I force myself to hold my tongue since I don’t want to weird Casey out.
“So, Tilson,” I say to Casey, playfully addressing her by her last name, like I used to do in high school. “Wedding bells in the air between you and Shane?”
She groans. “More like ambulance sirens if he ever tries to pinch me again.”
“Hopefully you girls didn’t lock yourselves out again,” I quip as we arrive at their house. “You good from here, Casey?” I can hardly wait to bring Phoebe back to the Ice Box andreallycelebrate the win tonight.
“Actually,” Phoebe says, “how about you stay over here?”
A strange feeling detonates in my chest.
Phoebe’s actually asking me to come to her place?
No just to come in—but to stay over? Like, for the night?
Excitement thrums through my body. My stomach feels like it does a somersault, while a fuzzy feeling spreads through my chest.
“Sure,” I answer, trying not to appear as excited and happy as I am. If Phoebe still just wants to keep this strictly casual, I don’t want her thinking I’m taking things more seriously than I am.
Because I still want to keep things strictly casual, too, after all.
Right?
Of course. I’m Hunter Landry. I don’t do anything but casual.
