Chapter 11 #2
But that’s the problem with guys like him. He’ll confuse my mind and break my heart. And that’s why I can’t let him get too close. This is an exception, but I won’t be making a habit out of things like this.
I turn my mind off to all the shit running through it, and I allow myself to rest my head on his chest as our bodies sway to the music. His hands loop around my back, holding me tightly, and I can’t help but breathe him in, forgetting all the cons of being this close to a bad boy like Hendrix Hunt.
When the song ends, I slowly pull away, but he keeps his arms around me with his hands resting at the small of my back. His eyes are glazed over, and when he looks down at me, his gaze drops lower, stopping at my lips.
Something has been on my mind every now and then since that day in the closet, and right now, with him this close and almost like he’s at my mercy … I need to ask him.
“Hendrix?” I whisper.
“Yeah, Nineteen?”
I chew my lip nervously, looking down for a split second before daring to meet his gaze again.
“That day in the supply closet, when you … well, not the thing you’re thinking … what we did. I don’t mean that.” I pause. “I was about to have a panic attack, and you stopped it, making me breathe with you.” I sigh. “How did you know what to do?”
It’s personal. I’m asking him to tell me if he gets panic attacks. I don’t have them a lot, but the times I have, they basically left me feeling completely alone. I don’t know why, but even the thought that he may get them, too, makes me feel less lonely.
He grows somber, though I can sense a certain type of pain in his eyes. The kind of pain that you don’t just see … it’s palpable.
“My little sister would get them,” he finally says softly. “I wanted to be able to help her through them, so I did my research.”
So, he isn’t fucked up like me.
“Oh,” I whisper. “That was … that was really nice of you to do for her.”
I shouldn’t be disappointed. I wouldn’t wish panic attacks on anyone. But for some fucked-up reason, I guess I thought it was something that connected me with him. There’s this magnet, pulling us together. But there’s also a darkness that swirls between us that I can’t explain.
“Do you get them a lot?” He asks the question softly, though it’s such a big, bold, deep one that I don’t even know how to answer him—or if I even want to.
“Not really,” I say honestly. “I’ve only had four in my life. One of them you saw, and the others … well, I know what to avoid now to stop them from happening.”
I don’t tell him that my mom and I were held hostage during a shooting at a gas station when I was a little kid.
Or that my dad jumped through a window just to save us and ended up getting shot.
I was so little that I don’t even remember most of it, just know what I’ve been told.
And yet when I hear a noise that sounds like a gunshot, it ignites something inside of me, sending my body into a panic.
“I see.” He glides his hand up, cupping my cheek.
I swear that the thunderous music on the floor beneath us disappears.
I know he wants to say something; I can see it in his eyes.
Part of me knows I should tell him right now that I need to get back to my friends before he has the chance to say whatever it is.
But then there’s a bigger part of me that’s rooted here, waiting for his words desperately.
“Isla,” he rasps, his dark hair hanging on his forehead in the sexiest way.
“Yeah?” I barely croak out the four-letter word as we both subtly take a step toward the wall until my back is up against it with him hovering over me.
“I really want to kiss you right now.” He speaks deeply, his voice still tender and sweet. “Please?”
In the supply closet, he was tender, but that was because he had to be, given the circumstances. Right now, he’s being so soft and so nice, and I can’t decide if it’s an act to get into my pants or if he really does want to kiss me.
No matter what his reasons … I want to kiss him too. So, I open my mouth to say yes, and I almost get the word out when loud voices stop me.
“Dude, we were wondering where the fuck you were!” a guy on the hockey team—Jameson West—hollers out, with a few others tagging along behind him up the stairs.
When he sees me, his grin only grows, but I’m too dumbfounded to move. Caught like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to even do.
“We’ll leave you two alone.” He laughs before turning back toward the stairs. “Guess Hunt is following through with that toast we made. He’s fixing to get laid!”
As soon as they are out of sight, my eyes fly to Hendrix’s, and my nostrils flare in anger. I’m so stupid. I know what kind of guy he is, so I shouldn’t even be surprised.
“A toast, huh?” I growl, narrowing my eyes.
“Isla—”
I shove him back, not allowing him to say another word before I take off for the staircase. He grabs my wrist, but I quickly tug it away from him.
“Isla, would you just fucking listen for a second?” he barks. “Just listen to me, damn it!”
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, threatening to spill out, but I force myself to keep them in. I don’t want him to think that I actually care—because I don’t. I just … am being sensitive right now.
“Fuck off, Hunt,” I hiss, but of course, he jumps in front of me, stopping me like a goddamn wall and grabbing both my wrists.
“Are you going to listen, or do I need to throw you over my shoulder and make you?” He’s frustrated, though there’s also a sense of panic in his tone.
I simply glare up at him, not wanting to hear whatever he thinks he needs to say.
“The toast was just some stupid thing that Jameson said about getting laid—that’s all.” He dips his head down, his eyes burning against mine. “I just happened to be standing there—nothing more.”
“Admit it, Hunt,” I demand. “You set out to fuck someone tonight, and I happened to be who you came across first. Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’ll have to find someone else.”
His grip tightens on my wrists, only making my heart speed up despite how dumb I feel right now.
“You’re wrong,” he says sharply. “The only girl I want to take home tonight is you, Isla. But I didn’t set out to try to fuck you.
” His lips float over mine now as he bends down to my height.
“Have I fucked my hand nearly every day, sometimes twice, since you rode my face in that closet? Yeah, I have. And I’ll go home tonight and do it again, imagining it’s you.
But that doesn’t mean I followed you down this hallway just to get my dick wet. ”
Heat pools between my legs, and my mouth waters as I imagine him pleasuring himself to thoughts of me. I’m sure none of that was true, but it’s thrilling to think about.
For a moment, I stand here, lost in his words—lost in him. But finally, I pull in a deep breath and close my eyes for a second before opening them again.
“My friends are waiting for me. I have to go,” I mutter, pulling my hands back, though he doesn’t release me. “Please, Hunt. Just let go of me.”
This is a guy who tormented me practically the entire time at hockey camp, has been kicked out of a college for fighting, and is a designated fuckboy. I’m here at NEU to make a name for myself through hard work and talent—not just because of the name on the back of my jersey and my dad’s legacy.
I don’t have time to get caught up in boys like Hendrix. Still, whenever he’s around, I feel myself slipping. I need to be stronger.
Reluctantly, he drops his hands from my wrists. He’s not angry or possessive, but instead, he gives me the slightest ever-so-playful grin.
“Because you said please, I’ll let you go.
But make no mistake when I tell you this, Isla.
” His face hovers over mine. “When I want something … I don’t stop until it’s mine.
” His eyes dance between mine intensely.
“And what I want—what I have wanted since you came all over my tongue in that closet and fell apart for me—is you.” He moves his hand between us, brushing it over my hip.
“So, I’ll be seeing you, Nineteen. You aren’t going to get rid of me just yet. That’s a promise.”
It takes me a moment to gather myself, and he doesn’t leave while I do. Instead, he waits in front of me, leaving me no choice but to step around him and head back to find my friends. I need to get the hell away from this man.
He’s one more bad decision just waiting to happen.
Only now, I don’t need anything to regret added on my list. So, I don’t have any use for Hendrix Hunt.