Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“I’ve seen him. He’s fucking hot.”
I groan. “So hot. He’s also in love with my brother. My family would lose their shit. The world would lose their shit if we fucked and they found out. Plus, I don’t want him. He’s annoying.” He is annoying. He’s not as perfect-acting as he used to be, but it’s still there.
“Why would the world care?”
“It would be a whole thing—Coach Blake’s remaining son, fucking his favorite son’s boyfriend, after that favorite son died. It would be weird.” We shouldn’t even be talking about Hunter and me fucking, but Isla can get me to speak about things without me realizing I’m doing it. “I just…want to be there for him.” Because I think he needs it. I think he needs it more than he realizes.
“Okay, fine. I believe you. Now, can we watch another episode of Pose? It’s killing me to wait for you.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, we can watch.” The show isn’t running new episodes anymore, but Isla and I started watching it a couple of weeks ago. We don’t have the time to watch as much as we’d like, and she’s not nearly as patient as I am. We cuddle on the couch in a way I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing with anyone other than Isla. I don’t know what it is about her that makes it easier for me to let my guard down, to let my mask slip so I can simply be.
The Pulse are playing Vegas tonight, at home, and I’ve forced myself not to look at the score or pay any attention to the game. I’ve managed to spend most of my life not caring about football, and I don’t plan to start now. Hunter winning or not has nothing to do with me. How he plays or what he does isn’t any of my business.
Eventually, Isla leaves, and I go into my darkroom, leaving my phone on the table and working on developing photos. Most of my work is done digitally now, but I enjoy the manual process and still do it for fun. There’s something special about film, about being deeper into the process, giving me another creative outlet. I’m in there for hours, until late into the night, sleep eluding me again. Or is it me evading sleep? When I grab my phone on the way to my bedroom, I notice a text from Hunter. My pulse jumps, a reaction I’m not proud of.
Ignore it. Stop talking to him. What’s even the goal here? Is it really being there for him?
All I know is there’s no chance in hell I’m not replying. Honestly, I hadn’t expected him to message me first, or at all. I’d already decided not to reach out to him, and we could go back to not having anything to do with each other the way it’s supposed to be.
Hunter: When did you know you wanted to be a photographer?
My brows draw together, my forehead scrunching up. Whatever I imagined he’d text, that’s not it. My mom is the only person in my family who ever really talked to me about my photography. Actually, that’s not true. Sometimes Ellis would ask. Despite our complex relationship, he wasn’t a monster; we simply never shared any interests.
I grab a glass of water, turn off the living room lights, and don’t reply until I’m in bed.
Me: I was six, I think… Mom was working on this fundraiser, and people could donate items for an auction. I was helping her.
Hunter: Making a mess of things, you mean. *laughing emoji*
Me: Obviously. Anyway, there was this photograph of a man and a woman. It wasn’t sexual, or maybe I was too young to understand that. Their bodies were entwined, and most of the photo was rather dark, but there was this line of light slicing diagonally across it. I remember falling in love with that photo. I know that sounds strange, that a six-year-old could fall in love with a photo and understand that it was something special, but I did.
Hunter: It doesn’t surprise me. You were always older than your age.
His words make my stomach flip, make my skin feel tingly and my thoughts spin, though he couldn’t be further from the truth.
Me: I think you’re mistaking me for my brother. He was the responsible one. I’m the one who got drunk at a house party when my parents were gone and puked in my mom’s favorite vase.
An expensive-ass vase at that.
Hunter: Being an old soul and accepting responsibility aren’t the same thing. It’s impossible to know you and not see that you’ve always looked at the world through adult eyes. At least, as long as I’ve known you.
My chest feels inexplicably tight. I’m not sure how to respond, what to even think about it, because deep down, it’s true. I can’t even say if I realized it before Hunter said it, but I’ve never felt right in my own skin, and maybe that’s why.