Page 15 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

In the Driver’s Seat

By the time I get home, my nerves are shot. Ruby dragged me to the mall straight after work, and now my bedroom looks like a crime scene—skirts, cardigans, and shoe boxes scattered everywhere like the aftermath of a hurricane.

It’s nearly seven and I’m still standing in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of the green-and-white two-piece Ruby insisted on. The cropped top dips lower than I’m used to, the skirt skims higher than I’d normally allow, and my stomach hasn’t stopped twisting since I put it on.

Ruby’s on Face Time, stretched out in her room with a bag of crisps, smirking like this is better than Netflix. “Spin again,” she demands.

I groan but turn. She whistles. “Fuck me, you’re hot. He’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Heat climbs my face. “It’s too much.”

“It’s perfect. Trust me, Hunter’s gonna lose his shit.”

I glance at my reflection, tugging at the hem again. The cardigan slips with the movement, and the small silver glint at my navel catches the light.

Ruby shrieks. “What the actual fuck is that?”

Panic shoots through me. “It’s nothing—”

“You’ve been hiding a belly button piercing from me?” Her grin is feral. “Christ, Isabella. You’ve been holding out. Hunter’s gonna combust.”

“Nobody’s ever seen it before,” I mutter.

Ruby cackles. “Exactly. You’re lethal tonight.”

Before I can argue, my phone buzzes on the duvet. Hunter.

On my way. Don’t fucking stress.

My pulse rockets.

Ruby narrows her eyes. “What did he say?”

“Nothing,” I say too quickly, cheeks heating.

She grins like the devil. “Uh-huh. You’re glowing. Call me after. I want details. All of them.”

I hang up before she can make it worse, pacing like a lunatic. Lip gloss, mascara, perfume—check. Mints, deodorant—check. My reflection still looks like a girl seconds from imploding.

A knock rattles the door. I freeze. He’s here.

Hunter fills the doorway like he owns it, dark jeans, black t-shirt, hand braced on the frame. His eyes drop slowly, dragging from my boots to the strip of skin at my stomach. His smirk falters, heat flashing dark and sharp.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” His voice is low, rough. “You’re trying to kill me.”

My jaw drops. “It’s just a skirt.”

“It’s a god damn weapon.” He takes a step closer, eyes glittering. “Were you planning to warn me, or just let me walk into this blind?”

Heat floods my cheeks. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Yeah, you were.” His grin curves, wicked and knowing. “And it worked.”

He extends his hand, palm up, patient but certain. “Come on, trouble. You ready?”

I hesitate, every nerve screaming, then slide my hand into his. Warmth, steady and rough, grounds me as he tugs me out the door.

Locking it behind me feels like closing one chapter and stepping into another.

Outside, his car waits under the street lights, sleek and dark. He opens the passenger door with a flourish. “After you.”

I roll my eyes, but my pulse won’t settle.

Inside, the car hums to life. Music spills low from the speakers, his hand loose on the wheel, the other drumming the console. He drives like he owns not just the car but the whole night.

“So,” he says, glancing over, “first date jitters?”

I stiffen. “It’s not a date.”

His smirk deepens. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The street lights streak gold across the wind shield, my reflection staring back—wide-eyed, flushed, like someone already in too deep.

“Hunter,” I warn, aiming for steady, landing on shaky.

“Relax.” He taps the wheel, easy and smug. “I’ll behave. For now.”

My pulse hammers. The problem is, I’m not sure I want him to.

Silence hums in the car, broken only by the low strum of guitars through the speakers and the steady growl of the engine. Every bump in the road jolts through me, sharp enough that I catch myself clutching the seat, nails digging into the leather.

Hunter notices. Of course he does. His smirk fades, voice dipping low. “Isabella. You good?”

I nod too fast. “Fine.”

His eyes flick to my hands, then back to the road. “Sure looks like it.”

My chest tightens, breath stuttering. The truth slips out before I can stop it. “I don’t… like cars.”

The weight of it lands heavy between us. I should shut up. I should shove the words back down where they belong. But they’re already out.

“My brother died in one.”

The air shifts. Hunter’s jaw ticks, grip tightening on the wheel before easing again, like he’s forcing himself steady. For once there’s no tease, no cocky grin just his voice, quiet and stripped bare.

“I didn’t know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

I stare hard at the blur of trees rushing past, vision swimming. “I don’t talk about it.”

“You don’t have to.” He drums his fingers once against the console, slow, grounding. Then softer: “But you’re not alone in it. Not with me.”

The ache in my chest deepens, sharp and strange, because nobody says shit like that to me and not mean it.

I don’t reply. Can’t. I just let the hum of the car swallow the silence.

Hunter turns off the main road, guiding us down a narrow lane I’ve never noticed before. Gravel crunches under the tyres until he eases into a clearing and kills the engine. The sudden quiet is deafening.

Overhead, the trees split into open sky, stars scattered in a mess of silver. The air smells like pine and earth and something warmer.

Hunter’s already out of the car, hauling a blanket and cooler from the back like this was always the plan.

My jaw drops. “You… packed a picnic?”

He throws me a grin over his shoulder, boyish and smug all at once. “What? Thought I was gonna drag you to Olive Garden?”

Despite myself, I laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

He spreads the blanket, movements easy, practised. When he straightens, his eyes catch mine across the clearing. His grin softens, something in it I don’t dare name.

“Come on, princess.” He holds out his hand. “I don’t bring just anyone here.”

He turns back to the blanket, shaking it out like he’s setting up camp for the apocalypse. The corners flop, folding over on themselves. He curses under his breath and stomps one edge down with his boot.

A laugh bursts out of me. “Smooth.”

He shoots me a glare that doesn’t stick. “Shut up. This is harder than it looks.”

I arch a brow. “You look like you’re wrestling a bed sheet.”

Hunter flips me off without looking, which only makes me laugh harder. When the blanket finally lies flat, he straightens and smirks, smug as ever. “Told you. Professional.”

It shouldn’t, but it makes my chest ache a little. Because under the cocky grin and ridiculous swagger… he actually tried.

And maybe that’s the moment I realise just how dangerous tonight might be.

Hunter drops onto the blanket with a thud, stretching out his legs like he owns the clearing. He cracks open the cooler, pulls out a couple of bottles, and raises his brows.

“Wine or beer?”

I fold my arms. “You actually brought options?”

“Princess, please.” His grin is pure arrogance. “I’m not a savage.”

I smile despite myself, settling beside him. The fabric of my skirt is thin against the grass, the night air brushing my bare knees. Hunter notices, of course he notices and his smirk deepens as he hands me a cup of wine.

The cork pops, liquid glugging into plastic cups. His fingers brush mine as he passes it over, lingering just long enough to make my stomach flip.

He lifts his cup. “To friends hanging out.”

I roll my eyes, but my lips curve anyway.

He pulls food from the basket—cheese, crackers, strawberries, even a pack of store-bought cookies. Mismatched. Imperfect. Perfect.

“You really planned all this?” I ask, biting into a strawberry. Juice runs down my thumb, and I lick it away quickly, heat prickling when I catch him watching.

“I told you—I don’t bring just anyone here.” His voice drops, low and certain.

My chest tightens. “Why me, then?”

Hunter leans back on his palms, eyes flicking to the open stretch of sky overhead.

“Because this place is mine. No noise. No eyes. No bullshit. I don’t share it.

” His jaw works for a second, then he looks at me again.

“But you don’t feel like most people. You don’t look uncomfortable here.

You look like you can actually breathe.”

The words snag something deep in me, sharp enough to sting.

And when his smirk curves, softer this time, it feels like a blow. “That’s why I brought you.”

The wine tastes stronger now. I set my cup down, fingers knotting in the blanket. “I’m not used to this.”

His brow lifts. “Picnics?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Real dates. Real anything. My whole life it was arranged, boys, situations, outcomes. Never about me.”

Something dark flickers in his eyes. “And you went along with it?”

“I didn’t have a choice.” My voice cracks. “This… tonight… it’s the first time I’ve done something because I wanted to.”

The silence thickens. For once he doesn’t look cocky. He looks like he’s holding something back, like if he says it out loud it might break him too.

Finally his voice drops, low and certain. “Then don’t waste it pretending with me. No masks. Not tonight.”

His gaze pins me. Steady. Terrifying. My walls feel thinner than ever. “Hunter…” My voice trembles. He waits.

“You know Nathan’s gone,” I whisper. “But you don’t know the rest. Not really.”

“Then tell me.”

“I was driving that night.”

The words burn on the way out. My chest clamps tight. “I thought I was keeping him safe. He’d been drinking, he was furious. I thought if I got him out of there, it would calm him down. But the brakes…” My voice cracks. “They gave out. And when I tried to stop, I couldn’t. The world just… went.”

Tears sting my eyes. My hands won’t stop shaking.

“The last thing I remember is reaching for him. And his hand slipping out of mine. I see it every time I close my eyes. Him leaving me, even though he didn’t mean to.

And all I can think is that if I’d been better—faster, stronger he’d still be here. ”

Hunter’s hand covers mine. Warm. Solid. Certain. “Isabella.” His voice is rough but steady. “You didn’t kill him.”

A sob breaks loose. “I was driving—”

“You were saving him,” Hunter cuts in. “You were the reason he wasn’t behind that wheel drunk. You didn’t touch the brakes. You didn’t cause it. You loved him. That’s all he knew.”

His grip tightens, anchoring me. The years of silence, the crushing weight I’ve carried it all cracks open under his certainty.

For the first time since that night, I don’t feel like I’m drowning alone.

He doesn’t let go. If anything, he pulls me closer, his hand sliding to the back of my neck as he guides me against his chest.

The dam really breaks then. Tears spill hot and unrelenting, soaking into his shirt. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tease. Just holds me, big hand rubbing slow circles into my back, steady as the earth beneath us.

For once, I don’t feel like I have to hide it. For once, it feels safe. “Breathe, Isabella,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you.”

“I don’t know how to live without him,” I whisper.

Hunter shifts closer until his forehead rests against mine, his breath warm and steady. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” he murmurs. “Not alone. Not anymore.”

And that’s when it happens. The walls I’ve clung to, the mask I’ve worn for years they collapse under the weight of his words, his hand, his presence.

I let myself lean into him. I let myself unravel.

“Hunter…” My voice cracks, but I don’t care. “Thank you. For this. For not running.”

His thumb brushes a tear away, his gaze dropping to my mouth and lingering there. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you.”

My breath stutters. The air between us is thin, electric. “Then do it.”