The Boy on the Bridge

“Do I get a say in this?” I ask uneasily.

“If your answer is yes.” He pulls back and gives me a little smile. Seeing I really am nervous, he cocks his head and caresses the side of my face. “It was always supposed to be me, Riley. If I wouldn’t have been shipped out of the country, it would have happened already.”

My stomach is twisted up with nerves, but there’s a twinge of excitement, too. The side of me that always carefully thinks through my decisions is horrified at the prospect of impulsively losing my virginity to Hunter tonight. I don’t really disagree with him that he was always supposed to be my first, but this definitely isn’t how I saw it happening.

Maybe it would have happened impulsively, but not at a party, not with his stupid friends guarding the door, definitely not in Valerie Johnson’s bedroom.

He’s moving too fast.

He always moved too fast, but he always slowed down when I told him I needed him to.

“Wait,” I say, gently pushing against his chest.

He doesn’t budge, leaning in to kiss the side of my face. “What are you afraid of?”

“A lot. There are a lot of uncertainties that go along with this offer,” I point out. “Why should I give you my virginity when you’re not even my boyfriend?”

“Because you want to,” he says, simply.

I roll my eyes. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

He smiles, and it fills my stupid stomach with butterflies. “And you owe me.”

My jaw drops open, but to my absolute horror, I find I’m more amused than insulted. “I owe you my virginity?” I demand, almost laughing at the absurdity of his claim.

He nods as if solemn, grabbing one of my hands and bringing it to his lips so he can kiss it.

I try to bite back a smile as he kisses my knuckles. “That’s a preposterous claim, Hunter Maxwell. I’d like to know how I owe you my virginity.”

“You kissed someone else in front of me. Twice. And then there’s all that stuff that happened in middle school. Frankly, I think I’m being a lenient debt collector.”

Despite myself, my tummy flutters at the prospect of it bothering him to see Anderson kiss me. “So, I give it up to you tonight and the slate’s wiped clean?”

“Not quite, but it is the first step.”

“Does it have to be here? Don’t get me wrong, I can appreciate the gesture that you want to simultaneously collect your debt,” I say, rolling my eyes indulgently, “and defile Valerie’s bedroom, but me? I’m not that vengeful. I’d prefer we do this in my bedroom or even yours. Somewhere that’s… ours.”

Inexplicably, my request seems to steal a little of the light from his eyes.

Even worse, that makes me feel guilty.

I don’t want to have sex for the first time in Valerie Johnson’s bedroom, but in an exceptionally twisted way, I can see how it’s kind of sweet of him to come up with that idea to give me a little bit of revenge. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t condone him being mean to someone, but Valerie? I can let that slide. In a really messed up way, it’s almost gallant. Not the kind of behavior I would expect of Prince Charming, certainly, but… well, Hunter isn’t Prince Charming.

I don’t want him to think I don’t see the villainous gallantry in his gesture. I just… don’t want Valerie to have any part in what happens between us, whether it’s a revenge thing or not. I don’t want her to have any relevance to our story, whatever our story turns out to be.

Seeking to metaphorically kiss any wound I may have unintentionally inflicted, I soften, leaning into him and sliding my hand up to caress his jawline. “It’s a little romantic, though. In a… bad romance kind of way,” I assure him. “It’s just not how I want to remember our first time. It shouldn’t have anything to do with her.”

He looks down, but doesn’t say anything.

There’s a weight on his shoulders that wasn’t there before I said that, though.

I find it a little distressing how much his response distresses me. He hasn’t even confirmed I’ve hurt his feelings or made him feel in any way rejected—and for that matter, I can’t imagine Hunter being someone who can’t handle a little rejection, even if he’s probably not used to it—but it’s like I’m 14 again. Hunter might be feeling some kind of hurt, and my protective instincts are rearing up, suggesting it’s my fault.

My chest feels tight, my heart a little heavier.

It’s terrifying how much my own feelings are wrapped up with his.

I’m an empathetic person, sure, but not to this degree. Not with anyone else. It’s only Hunter who impacts me like this. I actually considered myself a bit chilly with Anderson, I would have never felt anything like guilt in a situation like this… hell, I would never be in a situation like this. No other man could ever even jokingly convince me that I owe him anything, let alone my innocence.