Never Been Kissed(29)

I sound sixteen. Bloody hell.

I open my door, watching as Hunter takes me in. He’s looking at me in a way that the guys would look at me. From my TARDIS-blue Converse paired with the black pencil skirt that even I have to admit makes my giant ass look sweet, to the deep violet blouse I’ve tucked into the skirt.

“Are you done? I’m starving,” I say, waiting for the wisecracks. If I’d been home, my mom would’ve yelled at me to change, saying I couldn’t wear something so form-fitting, that I should be wearing baggy clothes to hide my body. Even now, her voice floats in my head to go change. I struggle to ignore it.

Hunter doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. He gives me a quick smile, like he’s genuinely happy to see me. I’m instantly suspicious. I start the mental countdown until he enters Asshole-ville.

I turn and lock my door, only to find him still staring at me. “Do I have something in my hair? What is it?” No guy has ever stared at me like he’s staring at me. I pat my hair, looking for knots, or unmentionables stuck in the strands. Nothing.

Hunter shakes his head, and ushers me forward with a hand around my wrist, gently tugging me towards the elevator once I lock my door. His thumb swipes that delicate section of skin on the inside of my wrist and my dumb body breaks into shivers. He catches it, too. I shrug.

“Where’s Matty?” I ask, heart ratcheting up its rhythm when I can’t see him. Matty’s my buffer.

Hunter hits the down button for the elevator. “I took him to my mom’s. She’s going to watch him today. I ruined her plans, but I wanted to take you out this morning.”

I wish I could arch an eyebrow, it would be so badass right about now. “He’s with your mom? I feel like she would have a therapist, a nutritionist and a nanny with a master’s degree in parenting on hand. How far off am I?” Hunter’s wearing a black t-shirt, and those jeans that fit him just right. Eternal damnation he looks beautiful, and I’m not.

Hunter stares at his shoes, thumb still swiping the inside of my wrist. When I try to pull away, I find myself standing closer to him. He’s a black hole, and I’m getting closer to the event-horizon. Damn it, the closer I get to him, the better I like it. Shit.

“You’re not wrong,” he says, blue eyes bright, a tug at the corner of his mouth. I’ve amused him somehow. This guy’s not even my friend, and he’s appreciating my humour. Huh.

I’m ushered into the elevator, staring everywhere but the infamous corner where I saw him for the first time. “Remember what happened last time when you got in my space? If you respect your boys, I suggest you let go of me.”

I’m all bark and some bite. If Hunter wanted to hurt me, he definitely could. I’m stronger than your average Stick Princess, but I’m not ready to go up against a guy that looks like he does MMA.

Hunter lets go of my wrist and moves away. I never really thought another human being would be so warm, or that the heat would be so comforting. I frown at his chest, refusing to look up yet.

We’re quiet as we go down to the basement, and Hunter opens the passenger door of his car for me. I nod my thanks, pretending not to be flustered. Guys just don’t do that anymore – try to be gentlemen. At least not the ones I know.

Hunter drives like he talks, with an authority that’d make you crazy to try and interrupt or cut him off. Five points from... Slytherin?

“Are you always this quiet, or is just me?” he asks, and I’m jolted out of my Sorting.

I shrug. “I don’t talk if I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Rare for a female,” he comments, tapping a song out on his steering wheel with his thumb even though the radio’s off. “You guys like to talk and talk.”

I clear my throat, fiddle with my glasses. Fraking hell, who does he think he’s talking to? “Don’t be a dick. I’ve met guys who like to prattle on about themselves and how awesome they are, and how much they get paid, and on it goes. Now, if we were talking about last week’s episode of Supernatural, then you’d might have a hard time shutting me up. You can’t generalize, Hunter. You’re always gonna find that one person who doesn’t fit in your box, and then where will you be?”

I look back out the window, imagining what I’m going to eat when he doesn’t answer. Eggs with a side of French toast. Oh, yeah. I might even share some of my French toast with a certain diabetic if he’s nice.

Hunter takes us to the same diner we ate with Matty yesterday morning. The smell of grease and burnt toast assaults my nose, while my stomach lets out a roar. We’re seated in another red vinyl booth that squeaks as I skid over the seat. Hunter grins at me. I roll my eyes. All guys really are the same.