Never Been Kissed(86)

Hunter pulls back first, fingers biting into my hips.

He pants, and licks me off his lips slowly, like he’s savouring the taste. My belly drops out, and my panties flush with wetness. When he opens his eyes, he’s my Hunter again and not the man from yesterday morning, or the one from a second ago holding onto me like I’m the only thing keeping him alive.

“Thank you for buying Matty that t-shirt. You didn’t have to do that.”

I kiss him again, because I can. I sip at his bottom lip, allowing my teeth to run along the edge, enough for him to growl at me and kiss me deeper, longer, more hungry. We’re totally making out on his bed. With his kid just outside the door.

Nice, Sera, nice.

“You’re welcome. Now, what have you got to eat? I’m starved.”

When I move to get off his lap, Hunter stays me with his hands. “I’m wondering if you’re getting that I’m fucked up.”

I frown. “Well, I’m fucked up, too. No one is completely normal a hundred percent of the time. We’re all struggling to find a little slice of happiness.”

His jaw sets. “I don’t want a slice of happiness. I think I deserve the whole fucking cake.”

“If you deserve the cake, then I deserve a Reese’s peanut butter cup one, with chunks of Reese’s pieces on top of it. Yeah. I mean, what’s better than peanut butter and chocolate? Lemme guess, uh, nothing.”

He laughs, and the bleakness that was sketched into his features moments ago is done, the fear I had with it.

“I want you warned. And once you’re warned, if you continue to stay with me, then I’m not letting you go.” He says. “You and I are opposites.”

I look at him and tell him the truth as I see it. “You’re beautiful and I’m not.” Standing away from him as I am, Hunter reaches for my hands and tugs me closer.

His voice is gruff, and a little mean. “Underneath what you think is dark and ugly is a light that shines so bright, you might just chase the shadows in me away.”

I can’t say anything to that. What is there to say?

Uh, thanks for calling me a shining light? No. That’s an asshole move.

I kiss him again, and hold my hand out to him when I’m done. For my first time in a relationship ever looks like I’m doing pretty good.

Not.

That’s okay. I’m bound to get better at it.





We hardly get anytime alone together, but I knew it would be like this. Hunter’s not just mine – he’s Matty’s too. And what kind of soulless jerk would I be if I were to sabotage that in any way?

I’d be worse than a Dalek, worse than a Wendigo that chooses to dine on the flesh of humans for some sort of longer life. I’d be worse than Voldemort killing that unicorn and drinking its blood. I’d be worse than... than, well I’d be worse than Aly. I’m so happy she didn’t know what she had and threw it away.

I read to Matty every single night. Some nights he struggles to stay awake for one chapter, but damn you Queen Rowling, when it starts to get exciting he demands more and more until in a matter of three weeks (mostly because he asks a ton of questions), we’ve finished Harry’s adventure in getting the Philosopher’s stone away from Voldemort, and off on his summer holidays.

Matty has a lot of questions about the Mirror of Erised, and I try my best to answer every single one.

“It shows what you want most, right?” he asks, staring down at me lying down while he’s sitting up. His Spider-man pjs are ruffled, twisting about his limbs since he can’t keep still when I’m reading.

I nod, heart beating hard because I think I know where this is going. I can just picture him standing in front of that magical mirror, much like Ron Weasley and Harry had done, enthralled by the image the magic puts there. Does he see himself with Hunter and his mom?

“Wanna know what I’d see, Sera?”

“Tell me,” I invite.

Matty screws his eyes shut and I know he’s picturing it in his head, standing in front of that mirror, showing him what his heart wants beyond anything.

“I see myself like you. I can run around all day and never get tired. I’m like Harry, Sera. I could sit in front of that mirror all day long.”

I ignore the stinging in my nose and eyes, instead pulling him down to me so I can hug him close. I twist to put him on his side, and we end up sharing his pillow.

“I don’t want that Matty,” I tell him, pointing into his chest. “I want this Matty.”

As a little boy, he doesn’t mask his tears or turn away when something hurts him – he lets me see, and asks me without saying anything to take it away, to make it better.