I shifted from foot to foot, equally flushed. “Well, I mean . . .” I wanted him to know it didn’t matter, that I didn’t care.

The doors beside us opened wide. An anticipative alumni crowd gathered behind Kyle. I felt the wattage of Hunter’s blazing embarrassment.

I didn’t waste one second. I tipped the contents of my flute on Hunter’s crotch to the sharp gasp of onlookers.

“You don’t want me?” I yelled at him. “Good luck anyone wanting you tonight.”

For a second, I wasn’t sure he understood. But I followed through on my act and stormed out of the room across the puddled street to Hunter’s van, the crowd parting with disgusted hisses. I wondered ashamedly if Hannah had witnessed the fight and if she’d ever forgive me. I leaned against his driver’s door and eyed the entrance.

Hunter wasn’t far behind. A minute or two, no more.

I imagined people would have fawned over him, asking if he was okay, if they could help. Hunter would politely decline, because he could handle everything himself.

I smiled at that thought. How fucking strong Hunter was.

As if proving my point, he rolled across the road, chin high. He unlocked the van and the sliding door opened automatically. I pressed my back against the cold driver’s side and stared at the puddle-filled potholes that reflected the streetlights. I felt him watching me but wanted to give him privacy.

He transferred himself into the back of the van.

“I have a change of clothes back here,” he said.

“Cool. Yeah. Take your time.”

“The front’s open, if you want to get in.”

I got in, snapping the belt on. Hunter shifted around in the back.

“Our K offered to help me,” Hunter said.

“Oh, right.”

“I said I was from Scribe, that I wanted an interview.”

“You did?”

“He’s away on business next week, but he gave me this.” I took the lime-colored card Hunter offered. “We can call and set up a date for the following week.”

I stared at the card. Nodded. “Are we really going door-to-door tomorrow?”

Hunter made a series of sounds in the back. A shuffle, a zip puttering open, a rustle, a long hum. “I have so much work to catch up on, Scribe and a home basketball game tomorrow, I don’t think I can swing it until Saturday.”

I nodded, not that he would necessarily see me. I mean, he could look my way. I just couldn’t look his.

I mean, I technically could, but . . . privacy. “Probably more likely to be at home on Saturday, right?”

Hunter moved into the driver’s seat and slung his wheelchair into the back. The doors shut, and freshly changed and flushed, Hunter looked at me. “You good?”

“Like in general, or with our plans?”

“Both. Our plans.”

“I’m good. As long as you invite me to your game.”

Hunter did a double take. His hands shifted on the steering wheel. “You want to come?”

“I definitely want to be invited.”

Hunter laughed, and relief washed through me. “Squirrel Hill sport center. Six p.m.”

“If it helps the studying, I typed notes for your missed classes.”

“You did?”

I shrugged. “Figured I owed you.”

With a soft grin, he started the van and we drove to my place. We chatted about the news and the idiocy of the world. The conversation could have spiraled on forever.

He parked outside the bungalow and the radio cut out. Silence was thick and heavy.

“So, yeah . . .” I said, unbuckling.

Hunter looked at me, considering, soft. “Thank you, Marc.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t just mean for the notes.”

I nodded.

He opened his seat belt. “Marc?”

“Yeah?”

His hands locked onto my shoulders, sure and firm. A rush of giddiness stole my breath and I yielded, folding toward him.

His warm breath slipped over my nose, my jaw. His quiet expression surged into me full of gentleness and warmth and wanting.

I trembled as his thumbs rubbed reassuring circles up my neck. He leaned in, tips of his thumbs under my ears, fingers curling around my nape, and he kissed me.

Just the brush of his lips. Then he pulled back, met my eyes, and kissed me again.

The moist press shot shivers through me. I insisted I kiss him back, but my brain short-circuited and all I could do was swallow the fresh taste of him.

I rubbed my mouth, pulsing from his gentle kiss. “Hmm, yeah. Okay.”

A laugh bubbled out of me, verging on hysterical, and I clambered out of the car.

“Marc?” Hunter called after me, baffled.

I lifted a hand, a weird-ass acknowledging wave, because I couldn’t look back.

Chapter Seven

Why couldn’t I look back? Hell, why couldn’t I kiss him back?

I placed my red carnation in a shot glass of water on my bedside table and stared at the comforting dark shape as I replayed Hunter’s kiss. Fingers at my lips, then with a languid grip under tangled sheets.

Hunter had tasted so good. So fucking wow.

Hookup kisses were hard and emotionless, a means to an end. Never full of electricity.

Tags: Anyta Sunday Love Inscribed M-M Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net