Chapter 23
23
Fuck.
I was fourteen when I had my first kiss.
Unlike most first experiences, it was perfect. Awkward, yes. Nerve-wracking, of course, because it was this boy I liked so much, this boy I needed to like me, this kiss I needed to be good—and it was. No teeth clashing or bumped noses or too much tongue. It was nothing like what other girls in my grade had divulged about their own experiences. It was sweet and chaste and fleeting. It was perfect and Jackson was perfect, and both he and the kissing continued to be perfect for many years and kisses to come.
For almost a decade, those kisses have been the gold-star standard. The only thing I knew.
Until now.
None of those kisses were anything like this.
I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't focus on anything other than the fact I'm kissing Hunter, and oh my God , am I kissing Hunter. Is Hunter kissing me —like he never wants to stop, like he can’t stop. Like there is absolutely nothing else in the world but me. In a way that convinces me there’s absolutely nothing else in the world but him.
Miraculously, there’s no nagging voice in the back of my mind echoing my insecurities on a loop, worrying if I’m doing it right, if he’s enjoying it, if I look or sound weird. My brain is completely, utterly silent except for one word; more .
I’m not sure what I imagined kissing Hunter would be like—I don’t think I ever let myself imagine that—but soft definitely wasn’t it. And it’s not, to a certain extent. There’s a hint of something rough and demanding, a touch of something desperate, in the way his hands hold my hips with a firm, unrelenting grip.
But his lips, God, his lips... They’re utterly gentle against mine. Against the corners of my mouth where he drifts so I can gasp for air before he takes advantage of my parted lips, and sweeps his tongue against mine.
He groans deep in his throat, and I do too. He clings, and I cling too. He kisses me, he really freaking kisses me, and I…
I don’t even have the mental capacity to freak out because I’m entirely concentrated on not buckling. I feel like I’m melting . Like I’m seconds away from becoming a mere puddle on the floor. Like I could drag him down there with me.
I’m not used to feeling like that either. But God, I kind of want to be.
Incessant, demanding greed washes over me. Makes me feel scarily like how I did last night when most of the contents of a well-stocked bar was floating through my veins—carefree and confident. Incites me to rise up on my toes so I can get closer to Hunter, my palms resting flush against his chest to steady my wobbly self. I fist his t-shirt and I suddenly, boldly, so out of character-ly, wish it wasn’t there. I know exactly what’s underneath, and my palms crave the warm, tan expanse of skin.
It appears I’m not alone in that train of thought. Hunter’s hands glide lower, slipping beneath the waistband of my— his —sweats, beneath the fabric of my freaking panties. When he palms the bare flesh of my ass with both hands, eager beyond belief, I find myself pressed even closer against that hard body— pressing even closer of my own accord, and whimpering while I do it.
And that's when he snaps out of it.
Abruptly, Hunter’s warmth disappears. He leaves me confused, bereft, as he stumbles backwards, a decidedly rattled expression contorting his face. Startled by the sudden movement, I do the same, my back hitting the counter. Eyes wide, I raise a shaky hand to my tingling, swollen lips.
Slowly, too slowly yet somehow not slow enough at the same time, the kiss-fuelled haze fogging my senses clears. The borderline horror painting Hunter’s face, the nervous dart of his eyes as he looks everywhere but at me, cuts through it. The reality of the situation has me plummeting back down to Earth.
Oh my God.
I just kissed Hunter.
Oh my God.
“I'm so sorry,” I blurt, the words muffled by my hand clamping over my mouth. “I don’t—”
Hunter wipes his mouth—he wipes his freaking mouth , and I want to die. “It’s fine.”
I wince.
Fine .
Not exactly a glowing reassurement.
I will myself not to cry. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Hunter rasps, the tone of his voice rife with something that truly makes me want to disappear, something that sounds an awful lot like regret. “I kissed you.”
And boy, does he sound unhappy about that.
“I shouldn't have.”
I wince again. Wrapping my arms around myself, I hug myself hard, nails digging into my biceps as I lower my gaze to the floor so I don’t have to see the regret surely lurking in his. “Okay.”
Hunter curses loudly, harsh and crude, and I instinctively flinch. A moment passes before he swears again, fainter this time. “Caroline…” he starts, but doesn’t finish, trailing off as he takes a single step towards me. His hand—the hand that was cupping my freaking ass cheek mere seconds ago—reaches out, but I recoil from his reach, pressing as close to the counter as I possibly can as I shake my head.
Swallowing hard, I force myself to look up, force a smile on my face, force my shoulders to lift in a lazy shrug that requires entirely too much effort. “It’s okay,” I croak. “I get it.”
It was a pity kiss. A comfort kiss. He felt bad for me, so he kissed me. It's as simple as that. And I’m a fool, a freaking dumbass, for believing for even a second that it was anything more.
Looking at him hurts, but I do. I keep looking at him, no matter how fiercely the sight of him punches me in the gut. Tucking my hair behind my ears just to give my shaking hands something to do, I shrug again—another unconvincing stab at nonchalance as well as an attempt to shuck off the icky feeling of patheticness weighing me down. “Just forget about it.”
He murmurs my name again, and I quickly shake my head once more, preemptively warding him off before he can reject me more thoroughly or apologize again or forget the polite context cues and flatout label it as one big, regrettable mistake. “Please, Hunter.”
Tight-fisted and lock-jawed, Hunter sighs deep enough for that whole huge body to tremble. He steps closer, and closer and closer and closer again until I have to tip my chin up to maintain the eye contact I’m determined to persevere through.
He’s too close, way too close, but I can’t move away. Not only because the counter is already bruising my lower back, but because those intense, piercing eyes have frozen me in place. So different than they were just a few minutes ago—harder. Far away.
Like he’s shutting me out.
“I can't give you anythin’ other than friendship, Caroline.”
Not won't.
Can't .
I don’t press. I’m too tired and embarrassed to press. “Okay.”
“I’m so—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off harsher than I intend to as déjà vu suddenly bombards me. Suddenly, I’m eighteen again. Suddenly, I’m getting my heart broken again, and it’s Jackson in front of me apologizing for doing the breaking. Just like then, I pretend to be fine because what else can I do?
Jackson didn’t do anything wrong. Hunter hasn’t done anything wrong.
It’s not their fault they don’t want me.
So nauseatingly awkward, Hunter shifts from one foot to the other. “I don’t wanna leave like this.”
My dismissal is desperate, cowardly, fuelled by an all-consuming need to not be here, to be anywhere but here. “I’m exhausted.”
He hesitates. For a long, long moment, he hesitates. I almost think he's going to put his foot down. Insist on staying. I almost hope he will.
Obviously, he doesn't.
I’m not sure when Lux managed to score herself a key to Bloom, but apparently, she did. An hour after I call asking if she’s free, she strolls into my apartment without so much as a knock, two locked doors no match for her.
Before I can question it, a mewling child is plopped on top of me. “You sounded like you needed a baby,” she says in way of explanation, bypassing where I lay in bed and heading straight for the freezer to dig out a tub of ice-cream I don’t even remember buying.
She’s right; there’s something about Alex’s little hands grasping the neckline of my pajama shirt and his sweet babbling noises that inexplicably soothe the ache in my chest.
Showering and swapping Hunter’s clothes for my own helped with that too. Although, not as much as I hoped it would. It probably was fairly futile to wish for hot water and new pajamas to entirely erase Hunter's lingering presence—in my bed, on my skin, on my lips. But at least I can breathe now without being suffocated by that earthy, masculine scent.
One hand keeping Herc at bay—Hunter was in such a rush to get away from me, he forgot to take the pup back with him—I use the other to settle Alex on my chest, laying on his tummy with my braided hair clutched in his fist. The tip is bound to be covered in baby slobber within minutes, but I’ve got bigger things to worry about.
Like how long Lux’s interrogation will take to begin. Which is, I quickly learn, as long as it takes to scoop a single spoon of Phish Food. “You wanna tell me what happened?” she phrases her demand as a question before shoveling marshmallowy, chocolatey goodness into her mouth.
The perpetual lump in my throat grows. Sucking in a steadying breath, I trace the length of Alex’s back, gazing into the pretty, sleepy eyes that are the matching pair to his mother’s as I wade through my tangled thoughts.
“He kissed me,” I murmur. Whisper, really. So low, it’s not entirely unreasonable to hope Lux doesn’t hear me.
She takes so long to respond, I almost think she doesn’t. “And?”
“And he shouldn’t have.” My cheeks heat. “His words, not mine.”
A whooshing breath escapes my friend. “Oh, Line.”
“It's okay,” I say for the... third time today? Fourth? The hundredth time in the past two days?
“It’s not.” Lux joins me on the bed, legs crossed as she assess me with concern. “You’re upset.”
Does it mean anything that I wish I wasn’t? “It’s not a big deal.”
“It's your first kiss since…” She slices an awkward hand through the air. “You know. Right?”
My nose scrunches.
“Then it's a big deal.” Lux grips my calf and squeezes. “Tell me everything.”
I do. Extremely slowly because I have to take breaks between each painstaking detail so as not to drown under the weight of my mortification. I start at the beginning, going all the way back to yesterday afternoon—God, was it only yesterday afternoon?—with Rochelle and Carly and that first incident with Hunter, but leaving out the altercation with my dad.
Guilt swirls in my stomach, but I can’t talk about it. Not now. Not without falling apart at the seams completely. I can barely even think about it. Can barely even fathom that it really happened. It almost feels like a distant memory or a dream, like my father didn't actually attempt to drag me down the stairs by my hair.
Except he did.
And he would've succeeded, if not for a lucky, well-aimed jab of my foot.
“Hey.” Snapping fingers drag me out of my quickly spiraling thoughts. “You okay? Lost you for a second there.”
“Yeah.” I shake my head to clear the nasty fog. “Sorry.”
In a rare display of restraint, Lux doesn't push, steering conversation back to where I left off. “So, he just kissed you and ran out of here?”
“Not exactly.” But that might’ve been easier. “He said he can't give me anything other than friendship.”
“That’s it?” Lux kisses her teeth when I nod. “Cryptic.”
“Very.”
“And complicated.”
Too weak a word, honestly. “That too.”
“You think he's a man scorned or something? Got his heart broken and swore off love?”
I warble a weak laugh. “I think he just doesn't want me.”
Lux scoffs like that’s the most preposterous thing she’s ever heard. “That man likes you as a hell of a lot more than a friend, Line.”
“I think he made it pretty clear tonight that he doesn't.”
“I think he's made it pretty clear in the past that he does,” Lux counters. Holding up her hand, she uses her fingers to count off items on an imaginary list. “Hikes. The wedding dance. The creek. Honey .” Dropping her hand, she shakes her head. “I thought he was gonna sucker-punch Cass that one time. And don’t even get me started on the dog.”
I frown.“Herc? What about him?”
“He practically lives at Hunter’s place. I told Eliza I was gonna bring them to the pound—don’t give me that look, I was just riling her up—if I had to dodge a piss puddle on the porch one more time. Hunter overhead and offered to take your runt.”
I snuff out the warmth fizzing in my chest real quick. “To help you .”
“Oh, please .” Deep brown eyes roll. “He likes you, Line. I think that scares him as much as it scares you.”
I snort— scared ? Hunter? Of me ? Yeah, right. That’s almost as ridiculous as him liking me to begin with. Which I don’t believe he does. And even if he did… “I don't wanna be that girl again.”
“What girl?”
“The one who sits around waiting for a boy to like her.”
“So, don't be.”
“What?”
“Don't sit around. Your first post-Jackson kiss is out of the way.”
I'm glad Lux cringes as she mentions her brother, finding comfort in the fact I’m not the only one who feels incredibly awkward at the sound of his name.
“Why don't you try a first date next? Think about it before you shut it down,” she anticipates my brewing refusal and cuts it off sharply. Flopping down beside me, she curls into a ball, smoothing a hand over her son’s shock of dark hair. “You might have fun.”
“Doubtful.”
Lux chuckles through a yawn, and I silently thank Alex for the sleep-aversion that prevents his mother from staying up all night tormenting me about boys. Before she can pass out on me, though, I nudge the knee digging into my thigh. “Thanks for coming over.”
Smiling lazily, Lux pinches the back of my hand gently. “I'm glad you called me.”
Wriggling a little closer, I lean my head against hers. “I’m glad I can call you.”