Chapter Nine
Lucas
I’m probably overstepping a million boundaries. That’s what I always do. I take what I want, say what I want, do what I want because I’m selfish, but I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
Hunter doesn’t respond, instead taking a bite of his burrito. I do the same, the two of us sitting on the balcony, on a perfect September day, with the sounds of West Hollywood around us.
“You’ve done well for yourself,” Hunter says before taking a drink of his orange juice. He’s only a year older than me, but he and Ellis always felt like grown-ups compared to me. “Abbie told me about some of the events you’ve photographed and magazines you’ve shot for.”
“She has?” I ask, both surprised and not. Mom’s not perfect, but she’s always been my biggest supporter. Still, I can’t imagine why she’d talk to Hunter about me.
“Yeah. She’s proud of you. She loves you.”
“Well, that makes one of my parents.” I grin, then take a drink as well, as though the juice can wash away the bitter truth of my shitty relationship with my father.
“I don’t know why he’s always been so hard on you,” Hunter says.
“Yes, you do. He likes to get his way, and I’ve never given it to him. I’m not who he wanted me to be, and I didn’t try like Ellis did.”
Hunter flinches at the mention of my brother, and for a moment, I wonder what it would be like to be loved that way by someone.
Isla does, even if not in a romantic way.
My mom does. I know she would grieve me, but it’s not the same as the relationship Hunter and Ellis had.
The two of them had fit from the start. In any other circumstance, my father wouldn’t have been happy about Ellis coming out, but when coming out was coupled with being in a relationship with Hunter, that made it okay, even if at first he didn’t want them to be public.
Their transition to being a couple was natural, accepted in a sport that’s not known for being accepting, but with them, it hadn’t mattered.
“He loved your dad.” Hunter doesn’t look at me. “But he loved football too. It wasn’t all for Coach Blake.”
I fight myself not to roll my eyes at his use of that moniker for my dad. He always has and always will, and my father fucking loves it.
“Just another way Ellis was perfect.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Hunter has great lips, full and smooth, his pink tongue sneaking out often to lick them. I would do that for him if he wanted me to, no matter how wrong it is.
“He was, wasn’t he?” Hunter says.
“Annoyingly so.”
“It was hard to keep up with sometimes.”
I cock my head, studying him. It’s something I think and feel, but not something I ever thought Hunter would. How fucking can he, when he’s so goddamned good too? It makes sense coming from me, the jealous brother and all, but not from him.
Hunter’s eyes squeeze closed. “I shouldn’t have said that. Ellis was great.”
My frown deepens. “He can still be great, and your feelings can still be valid. It was fucking hard to live up to Ellis.” Because he was great.
Like my mom, Ellis wasn’t perfect, but he was good.
And I do know he loved me despite the challenges in our relationship, and I know what he had with Hunter was real, even from that first day Hunter came around.
He’d invited him to be a good friend; it just so happened that having Hunter ended up being exactly what Dad had always wanted.
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
I let out a sigh of relief because honestly, I don’t want to talk about him either. I want to forget how wrong it is to spend time with Hunter, and that’s easier to do if my brother isn’t always there.
My brother, who would have never crushed on someone I loved.
My brother, who wouldn’t be here with Hunter right now if the situation were reversed.
“Talk about who?” I tease, and Hunter offers a small chuckle in return.
“This is good.” He holds up the burrito before taking a bite.
“Yes, I tried this new thing no one has heard of—eggs, potatoes, turkey sausage, onion, and cheese in a low-calorie tortilla. I’m basically a chef.”
“No, you’re an asshole, remember?”
“You’re the one who said I can be more than one thing, Hunter. I’m multitalented.”
It surprises me when he grins again because I don’t feel like he’s done that much over the last few years. But hell, maybe that’s wishful thinking, telling myself I’m the one making him smile more.
We eat and talk, avoiding the subjects of Ellis and football, though I really want to know where his head is at about the latter.
These first two games of the season were the worst start in his career, something all the sports shows and podcasts are talking about—and I’m embarrassed I’ve paid attention to all that.
When we’re done, we go inside and put our dishes in the sink. “I’ll rinse these,” Hunter says.
I place my hand on his, a pulse of energy shooting from my fingertips up my arm. “Be a rebel…leave them.”
He rolls his eyes, so evidently, he didn’t feel the electricity the way I did, and why would he? It’s all in my head.
“I can leave dishes in the sink. I actually prefer to leave dishes in the sink. I’m not that bad.”
I mock-gasp. “I’m shocked. Don’t you know it’s the end of the world not to immediately do your dishes?”
“It wasn’t like that in my house growing up. Just yours.”
When I realize my hand is still on his, I pull it away and lean against the counter. “Sounds nice.”
He chuckles. “My mom is great. She never cared about stuff like that. Not that I grew up in a messy house, but she was all about using the little time we had together, laughing and talking and simply being instead of worrying about how clean the house was or what people would think.”
“I wish I had grown up in your house.”
“It was great, but so was yours, just in different ways.” He stands beside me, nudging me with his arm in this playful way before crossing his arms, the heat of his body infiltrating mine.
Hunter smells like woodsmoke mixed with vanilla, and as wrong as it is, I wonder what his skin tastes like. What flavor would I get if I lapped along his neck?
“I miss her,” he says, pulling me out of my pervy thoughts. “I don’t miss home, but I miss her.”
“Does she come and see you often?”
“She does. She still works, though she doesn’t have to anymore. She ended up opening a low-income daycare to help families who struggle the way we did, so she’s busy with that.”
“Wow. That’s really fucking cool.” And how come I didn’t know that about him? “Your mom is helping people take care of their children, and I’m sure you helped her do it.”
“It’s wild what our lives have become. I really shouldn’t be where I am, and hell, maybe I won’t be for much longer.”
There it is, the football opening, with the two of us standing in my kitchen, arms touching. “You’re good, Hunt. You know that. You’re fucking incredible.”
“I’m not playing like it. I haven’t been for a while.”
“Is it still fun?” My question causes him to pull away, and I immediately miss the contact.
He paces the kitchen before heading to the counter across from me, so we’re facing each other. “Football was always fun to me.”
“Was or is?”
“I still love it. I’ll always love it.”
“That’s great if you do and okay if you don’t, but you’re not answering my question. Is it still fun?”
“It’s my job.”
When I cock a brow, he groans, dropping his head back and showing off the corded muscles in his throat, making my mouth water. God, I’m such a piece of shit for wanting him the way I do.
“No. It’s not fun anymore.”
“Maybe that’s what’s missing. You need to make it fun.”
“I don’t know how. Nothing is fun anymore.”
His truth breaks my heart, and as fucking ridiculous as it sounds, I want to be able to fix it for him. I want to be the one who makes Hunter happy again, even if half the time I’m not happy either.
“I guess it’s lucky for you that I’m so fun.”
“I have yet to see proof of that.” There’s a slight sparkle to his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago.
“I’ll have to keep trying, then. But I’m warning you, I’m very fun, and once you see that, nothing on earth will compare.”
He barks out a laugh. “You’re so fucking cocky.”
“Yes.” I grin, and Hunter rolls his eyes.
His gaze flicks to the counter, then back to me. “Can I have a piece of cake?” he asks, and the tension I didn’t know I was holding melts away.
Maybe it’s just me making shit up in my head, maybe I couldn’t be more off, but I’m taking his asking for cake as Hunter saying he wants to try—to have fun, to let shit go, to just fucking be—and maybe this strange, unexpected friendship of ours will be a part of that.
“Abso-fucking-lutely. A big piece.”
I smile.
He smiles.
Then I grab a knife and dig into the cake.
We eat our second breakfast, one that’s really fucking terrible for you, right there in the middle of my kitchen. When we’re done, Hunter says, “Let’s go on a hike.”
“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone who’s athletic.”
“You’re athletic,” he says. “I’ve seen you play football.”
I pretend to vomit. “God, I hate that sport.”
“It’s the best one there is.”
“If you say so.”
“Go on a hike with me, Lucas. I ate cake with you. It’s short and easy. I promise.”
“Well, now I’m annoyed you think I need an easy hike. I’m not helpless.”
“Two seconds ago, you said you’re not athletic.”
“Yes, well, it’s okay for me to think or assume something like that about myself, but not you,” I tease, pushing off the counter. “Let me get dressed and grab my camera. If you’re going to drag me out of the house, I should at least get some photographs out of it.”
The truth is, I love the outdoors, and I’m sure he knows it, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t pretend it’s torture. I’m never supposed to be happy or satisfied. That’s just the way it is.
“Five minutes,” Hunter says.
“Fifteen. I’m naturally pretty but not that pretty. I need a little time.”
His eyes dart away.
Okay. No jokes about me being pretty. Got it.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be back.”
I already showered this morning, so I brush my teeth, throw deodorant on, and get dressed. I put a camera battery in my bag, slip on my socks and shoes, then make my way into the living room with… “Seven minutes to spare. Damn, I’m good.”
“Wouldn’t go that far. You have toothpaste on your face.”
Hunter does the absolute last thing I expect—he uses his thumb to wipe the corner of my mouth. As if realizing what he’s done, his eyes go wide in a way that would be funny if he didn’t look one second away from descending into a full-blown panic attack.
“I left that there on purpose to see if you noticed,” I lie, my playfulness thankfully distracting him. “Now, where are we going on this hike?” A hike he invited me on. I’d expected him to tell me he had to go, but instead, he asked me to go on a hike with him. What is happening?
“You’ll see. I’ll drive.”
Hunter turns for the door, but I’m stuck for a moment, like logic has rooted my feet to the floor, and then I follow him.