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)
“Just another way Ellis was perfect.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Hunter has great lips, full and smooth, his pink tongue sneaking out often to lick them. I would do that for him if he wanted me to, no matter how wrong it is.
“He was, wasn’t he?” Hunter says.
“Annoyingly so.”
“It was hard to keep up with sometimes.”
I cock my head, studying him. It’s something I think and feel, but not something I ever thought Hunter would. How fucking can he, when he’s so goddamned good too? It makes sense coming from me, the jealous brother and all, but not from him.
Hunter’s eyes squeeze closed. “I shouldn’t have said that. Ellis was great.”
My frown deepens. “He can still be great, and your feelings can still be valid. It was fucking hard to live up to Ellis.” Because he was great. Like my mom, Ellis wasn’t perfect, but he was good. And I do know he loved me despite the challenges in our relationship, and I know what he had with Hunter was real, even from that first day Hunter came around. He’d invited him to be a good friend; it just so happened that having Hunter ended up being exactly what Dad had always wanted.
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
I let out a sigh of relief because honestly, I don’t want to talk about him either. I want to forget how wrong it is to spend time with Hunter, and that’s easier to do if my brother isn’t always there.
My brother, who would have never crushed on someone I loved.
My brother, who wouldn’t be here with Hunter right now if the situation were reversed.
“Talk about who?” I tease, and Hunter offers a small chuckle in return.
“This is good.” He holds up the burrito before taking a bite.
“Yes, I tried this new thing no one has heard of—eggs, potatoes, turkey sausage, onion, and cheese in a low-calorie tortilla. I’m basically a chef.”
“No, you’re an asshole, remember?”
“You’re the one who said I can be more than one thing, Hunter. I’m multitalented.”
It surprises me when he grins again because I don’t feel like he’s done that much over the last few years. But hell, maybe that’s wishful thinking, telling myself I’m the one making him smile more.
We eat and talk, avoiding the subjects of Ellis and football, though I really want to know where his head is at about the latter. These first two games of the season were the worst start in his career, something all the sports shows and podcasts are talking about—and I’m embarrassed I’ve paid attention to all that.
When we’re done, we go inside and put our dishes in the sink. “I’ll rinse these,” Hunter says.
I place my hand on his, a pulse of energy shooting from my fingertips up my arm. “Be a rebel…leave them.”
He rolls his eyes, so evidently, he didn’t feel the electricity the way I did, and why would he? It’s all in my head.
“I can leave dishes in the sink. I actually prefer to leave dishes in the sink. I’m not that bad.”
I mock-gasp. “I’m shocked. Don’t you know it’s the end of the world not to immediately do your dishes?”
“It wasn’t like that in my house growing up. Just yours.”
When I realize my hand is still on his, I pull it away and lean against the counter. “Sounds nice.”
He chuckles. “My mom is great. She never cared about stuff like that. Not that I grew up in a messy house, but she was all about using the little time we had together, laughing and talking and simply being instead of worrying about how clean the house was or what people would think.”
“I wish I had grown up in your house.”
“It was great, but so was yours, just in different ways.” He stands beside me, nudging me with his arm in this playful way before crossing his arms, the heat of his body infiltrating mine.
Hunter smells like woodsmoke mixed with vanilla, and as wrong as it is, I wonder what his skin tastes like. What flavor would I get if I lapped along his neck?
“I miss her,” he says, pulling me out of my pervy thoughts. “I don’t miss home, but I miss her.”
“Does she come and see you often?”
“She does. She still works, though she doesn’t have to anymore. She ended up opening a low-income daycare to help families who struggle the way we did, so she’s busy with that.”
“Wow. That’s really fucking cool.” And how come I didn’t know that about him? “Your mom is helping people take care of their children, and I’m sure you helped her do it.”
“It’s wild what our lives have become. I really shouldn’t be where I am, and hell, maybe I won’t be for much longer.”
There it is, the football opening, with the two of us standing in my kitchen, arms touching. “You’re good, Hunt. You know that. You’re fucking incredible.”