Page 13 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

Starting Over

When I pad back into the living room, hair damp, skin flushed, Hunter’s sprawled on the sofa, long legs kicked out, head tipped back. The pizza box is shut, his jacket tossed aside like he planned to stay longer than he admits.

His eyes flick open when he hears me. They soften instantly. “Better?”

I nod, tugging at the sleeve of my pyjama top. “Cleaner, at least. You can stop wrinkling your nose at me.”

“Don’t push your luck,” he says with a smirk, then pats the cushion beside him. “Sit.”

I roll my eyes but do it anyway, sinking down beside him. His arm slides across the back of the sofa, not quite touching me, like he’s waiting for me to decide.

This time I don’t hesitate. I lean into him, press my shoulder against his, and let the steady warmth of him ground me.

His voice drops, quiet but certain. “See? Starting over isn’t so bad.”

I swallow and stare at the shadows on the wall. “Only because you’re here.”

The words slip out before I can stop them. Too honest. Too much. I almost want to snatch them back, but his arm tightens and I can’t bring myself to regret it.

His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer. “Then I guess I’m not going anywhere.”

I want to believe him. God, I do. But my mind won’t stop racing. Saturday is only a day away and it has been sitting heavy in my chest all day.

I tilt my head just enough to look up at him. “Hunter?”

“Yeah, Princess?”

“What… what does Saturday mean?” My voice is small but the question feels huge.

His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Means exactly what I said. I want to be with you. All day. All night. As friends.”

Relief and disappointment twist together in my chest, too tangled to pull apart.

Then his grin spreads wider, wicked and knowing. “Unless you’re after more…”

Heat flashes across my cheeks. “Hunter!” I shove him hard and he tumbles sideways off the sofa with a startled laugh.

He pops back up, eyes bright, grin unrepentant. “What? Just clarifying.”

I glare, but the corner of my mouth betrays me, tugging upward. “Ridiculous,” I mutter.

“Admit it,” he teases, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “You’d miss me if I didn’t show up Saturday.”

I roll my eyes. My heart is thudding too fast, too loud. This isn’t supposed to matter. He isn’t supposed to matter.

A yawn catches me off guard and pulls the tension out of the room.

Hunter smirks. “See? Knew it. Bedtime.”

“I’m fine,” I protest weakly, but he’s already standing.

“Uh-huh.” He bends and scoops me up before I can argue. I squeal and smack his chest. “Hunter!”

He laughs, carrying me down the hall like it’s nothing. “Relax. You’re light as a feather. Though if you keep inhaling pepperoni like that, I might have to start training for it.”

By the time he sets me gently on the bed my cheeks ache from trying not to smile. He pulls the covers over me, movements careful, almost reverent, and for a second I think he really might leave. He should leave. It would be safer if he did.

He straightens, tugging at his jacket. “Alright. Sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Panic claws at my chest. “Stay,” I blurt. My voice cracks, small and needy. “Just… stay until I fall asleep?”

The word is out before I can stop it. Pathetic. Needy. Exactly what I swore I’d never be again. And yet I can’t take it back.

His eyes search mine, something unreadable flickering there.

“You like me that much, huh?” he teases softly, leaning on the bed frame.

I roll my eyes, but my voice is unsteady. “I like your smell. It… makes me feel safe.”

I hate how true it is. How stupid it sounds. How dangerous it feels to hand him a piece of my armour like that.

That grin of his turns wicked. “Careful, Princess. Keep saying things like that and I’ll start thinking you actually like having me around.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I mutter, tugging the covers higher to hide my burning cheeks.

For a second the air shifts. He leans closer and my breath stutters, traitorous hope sparking in my chest. Is he about to?

He smirks, eyes glinting. “Relax, Princess. Not gonna kiss you goodnight. Unless you’re asking.”

My heart lurches. God help me, part of me wants to ask.

“In your dreams.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs as he slides down beside me. He settles in, arm wrapping tight around my waist like he belongs there.

Warmth radiates from him, steady and solid, and I let out a shaky breath. For the first time in forever, I don’t feel alone.

Lying here, wrapped in him, I can’t ignore the truth pressing in. Somewhere between the teasing and the comfort and the stupid way he makes me laugh when I’m supposed to be broken, something’s changing.

I’m starting to like this boy. This boy who’s been a pain in my arse for the last six months. This boy I swore I’d never let close.

It terrifies me. It’s not supposed to happen this fast. Not with him. Not with anyone. I don’t even know if it’s real or just my broken brain clinging to the first person who doesn’t let go.

If I let myself like him, if I let him in even a little, what happens when he leaves? What happens when he realises I’m too much, too broken, too complicated, too heavy to carry?

My chest knots tight. I can’t lose again. Not after everything. I don’t have it in me to survive another shattering.

Nobody’s ever tucked me in before. Not since I was a kid. It shouldn’t make me ache, but it does.

His arm tightens in his sleep, like he knows I’m slipping away even here in the dark, and the steady rhythm of his breathing pulls me back.

I should pull away. I should remind myself this isn’t real, that boys like him don’t stay. But the truth is, I can’t move. Not when for the first time in years my chest doesn’t feel hollow.

I shouldn’t feel safe here. I shouldn’t want this. But I do. God, I do.

Maybe I’m not ready to admit it out loud. Maybe I’ll deny it come morning. But right now, with him beside me, I can’t help the thought that sneaks in and lodges deep in my chest.

Maybe starting over doesn’t have to be so scary. Maybe it could even be with him.

Saturday looms in my head like a storm I can’t outrun. A whole day. A whole night. With him.

It should scare me away. Instead it makes something reckless unfurl in my chest, like maybe I want to risk it. Which is exactly how I end up shattered.

I don’t know if Saturday will save me or destroy me. Maybe both.

And maybe that’s what scares me most. The possibility that I want it either way.

The bell above the shop door jingles, soft and ordinary, but my chest still jolts like it might be Hunter. It never is. Just another customer.

I haven’t seen him since last night. I woke to silence, my keys waiting on the mat where he’d pushed them through the letterbox, the door locked from the outside like he couldn’t stand the thought of me being unsafe. Thoughtful. Careful. But still gone.

The empty space beside me on the bed felt like a punch. After everything he said, after the way he held me, part of me expected him to still be there. Stupid. Reckless. Disappointment pressed down heavier than the blanket, reminding me that people leave. They always do.

It’s only been hours, but already I’m replaying the weight of his arm around me, the warmth of his chest at my back. Wondering what it meant that he stayed, and what it meant that he left.

This morning, his name lit up my phone before I’d even managed to drag myself out of bed, like he was already waiting for me. I still haven’t opened the message. My phone sits face down beside the register now, heavier than the stack of hardbacks I’ve been shifting from one pile to another.

If I don’t read it, I can pretend I’m not unravelling. Pretend tonight isn’t looming like a cliff edge I’m about to step off.

My stomach twists. I’ve never been on a date before. Not a real one. Every “relationship” I’ve ever had was arranged by my father, alliances not choices. Boys who cared more about my family name than me. I never had to pick what to wear, or what to say, or what any of it meant.

Hunter is different. Infuriatingly different. He asked because he wanted me. Just me.

And that’s what terrifies me most.

“Isabella?”

I jolt at the sound of my manager’s voice. Mr Whittaker stands a few feet away, holding a clipboard and watching me with that kind, knowing look that makes it impossible to lie. His grey brows lift. “You’ve been staring at that shelf for ten minutes. I think the books are straight enough.”

Heat climbs into my face. “Sorry. Guess I zoned out.”

“Mhm.” He eyes me for another beat before his expression softens. “Why don’t you take a break? Go grab a coffee from The Maple Bean. You look like you could use it.”

I start to protest. “I’m fine—”

“Coffee,” he says firmly, with the finality of a man who’s run this shop for thirty years and won’t hear another word. “Go on. The books will survive half an hour without you.”

My chest twists with something between embarrassment and relief. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need air, something warm in my hands to ground me before tonight tips me over the edge.

I grab my coat from behind the counter and slip outside. The air is cool, carrying that faint smell of woodsmoke that always lingers in Maplewood this time of year. The Maple Bean is only a few streets away, its fogged-up windows promising caffeine and distraction.

Three unread messages. From: Fuckboy.

I bite back a laugh and swipe them open.

Fuckboy: Morning, Princess. Don’t forget—tonight, 8pm. Try not to chicken out.

Fuckboy: Wear something cute. Not for me. For you. Actually no, scratch that. Definitely for me.

Fuckboy: And if you pretend you “forgot,” I’ll just break in again. Don’t test me.

A startled laugh escapes before I can stop it, earning me a strange look from a woman walking her dog. Typical Hunter. Bossy, smug, relentless. And somehow, exactly what I need.

I lock my phone quickly, shove it back into my pocket like his words might burn through my skin if I stare too long. My pulse won’t settle.

Tonight. 8pm.