Page 20 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

The Weight of Truth

I woke to the weight of last night pressing on my chest.

The confession. My father’s voice, sharp as glass in my ear. My brother’s name, ripped from me like it could drag him back. And Hunter’s mouth—God, Hunter’s mouth still hot against mine, still a taste I couldn’t wash away.

The blanket cocooned me, warm and heavy, but my chest stayed raw.

For a second I didn’t move. Hunter’s arm had been around my waist when I drifted off, his breath warm against the back of my neck. But now the space beside me was cold.

My stomach lurched. He left.

Then I smelled it. Warm. Buttery. Sweet.

Pancakes.

I froze. He didn’t leave.

Relief tangled with dread. If he was still here, then this was real. Too real.

I slid out of bed, clutching the blanket around me as I padded down the hall.

And there he was.

Hunter Hayes in my kitchen.

Boxers hanging low on his hips. A grease-smudged T-shirt stretched across his shoulders. Barefoot, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes like he owned the place.

“Hot damn”.

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Hunter froze mid-flip, then turned. That smirk curved his mouth, lazy and lethal.

“Well, well.” His green eyes dragged over me, blanket and all. “Didn’t know pancakes got you this worked up, princess.”

Heat scorched my cheeks. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Mm.” He arched a brow. “Guess I imagined you drooling, then.”

I should’ve rolled my eyes, broken the spell, but I couldn’t look away.

He slid another pancake onto the stack. “My mum used to make these every Sunday,” he said, voice softer, almost reluctant. “Figured it might make the morning easier.”

My throat tightened. “Your mum’s recipe?”

“Yeah.” His shrug was casual, but his jaw locked. “Comfort food. Familiar when everything else was chaos.”

Chaos. That word snagged in my chest. Because wasn’t that what this was? Him, in my kitchen, boxers and all, giving me something that felt too close to normal.

“Wow.” My voice came out low. “That’s… thoughtful.”

His mouth curved. “Careful, princess. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

He nodded at the plate. “Go on. Try one. Bet you’ve never had pancakes this good.”

I shuffled closer, blanket dragging. The first bite nearly undid me—warm, golden, dangerous because it felt like comfort.

Hunter watched me, waiting. “Well?”

“They’re good,” I admitted.

His grin widened. “Good? That’s insulting. These are life-changing.”

Before I could argue, he grabbed whipped cream, squirting a swirl onto my pancake.

I stared. “Seriously?”

“Respect,” he said solemnly, smirk betraying him.

I drowned his plate in cream. “There. Respect.”

His eyes lit, wicked. “Oh, it’s like that?”

Before I could move, a smear of cream landed on my cheek.

“Hunter.”

He leaned across the counter, thumb brushing slow, deliberate. Then his lips followed. Soft. Warm. A flick of tongue tracing the sweetness away. Heat jolted through me, sharp enough I gripped the counter to stay upright.

The taste of cream lingered, but it wasn’t what had me trembling. It was him.

“Hunter…” I whispered. Warning. Plea.

His eyes burned into mine, voice low. “Told you, princess. One bite and you’re mine.”

My father’s voice slammed back, cold as steel: You can run, Isabella. But you can’t hide from me.

The kitchen was warm, heavy with butter and steam, but inside me it felt like ice.

Hunter leaned in, forehead brushing mine. “Hey. Where’d you just go?”

“Nowhere.”

“Bullshit.” His tone cut through me, not harsh, just certain. “Don’t shut me out. Not after last night.”

The lump in my throat burned. “It’s just… him. I can’t get his voice out of my head.”

His jaw flexed, thumb brushing my cheek. He didn’t push. Instead, he picked up my fork, speared a piece of pancake, and held it to my lips.

“Eat.” His voice was steady, commanding. “Reality tastes better.”

The warmth grounded me more than words could.

He ate his own bite, then caught my hand across the counter, lacing our fingers. His grip was warm, solid, inescapable.

“I have to be at work in twenty minutes,” he said. “Want a ride, baby?”

I arched a brow. “Baby’s just for the bedroom, huh?”

Hunter’s smirk turned dangerous. “When I said you’re mine last night…” his grip tightened, “I meant it.”

“Oh yeah?” I teased. “Big words for a guy who almost lost a pancake war.”

His laugh rumbled low. “Careful, princess. I always play for keeps.”

Before I could answer, he tugged my hand, pressed a kiss to my knuckles. Then my cheek. Then my forehead, lips lingering just long enough to undo me.

“I’m showering,” he muttered, grin sharp. “Don’t even think about joining me, or we’ll never make it to work.”

And God help me, every part of me wanted to follow.

By the time I reached my bedroom, the shower was still running. Steam. Hot water. Hunter Hayes. My brain flooded with images I shouldn’t let in. My cheeks burned. My thighs pressed tight together.

I shook it off, crossing to the dresser. Shorts. Fresh tank. My cloud-print cardigan. Safe. Simple. I tugged them on, laced my trainers, swiped concealer, mascara, balm. Just enough to pass for normal.

Normal. I could do normal.

The towel dropped in the bathroom. The water cut off. I was still pretending at normal when his voice came from the doorway.

“Fuck, baby.”

I turned. Pulse spiked.

Hunter leaned against the frame, towel slung low on his hips, water dripping down his chest, catching on the ink sprawled across his skin. His hair was damp, messy from his hands. His clothes sat in a pile on the chair.

His green eyes dragged over me slow, deliberate, lingering on the bare strip of stomach above my shorts, the silver flash of my belly piercing. By the time his gaze hit my face, his mouth curved into that wicked grin that made my knees weak.

“You’re staring,” I said, folding my arms.

“Damn right I am.” His smirk deepened. “You walk around looking like that and expect me not to?”

“You’re the one half-naked in my room.”

His grin turned feral, towel hitching lower. “And you’re welcome.”

Heat pooled low.

Hunter’s eyes flicked to the chair, then back to me. “Relax. I just need my stuff. You can turn around if you need to.”

Like hell I was turning around.

He stepped in, water still sliding off him, hooked his fingers at the knot, and let the towel fall.

My breath caught.

Broad chest. Dark ink. Muscle ridges running down to where my gaze had no business staying. My throat went dry. My mouth literally watered.

I didn’t look away. Couldn’t.

He dressed slow. Boxers. Jeans. T-shirt over damp hair. Every move casual, calculated torture. And when he turned back, fully dressed, his smirk was wicked. He reached out, thumb grazing the corner of my mouth.

“Careful, princess,” he drawled. “You’re drooling.”

I swatted his hand. “I was not.”

“You were.” His grin widened. “Could’ve bottled that look and sold it.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Or maybe you’re just mad I caught you staring.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

He laughed, low and knowing, as he grabbed his phone off the dresser. His smirk only sharpened when he glanced at the screen. “Sure you weren’t, princess.” He pocketed the phone, clapped his hands once. “Come on. We’re gonna be late.”

Five minutes later we were in his car.

Hunter drove one-handed, the other resting heavy on my thigh like it belonged there.

The steady weight scrambled me. What did it mean? Did it mean anything at all? Should I ask?

We weren’t kids. I was twenty-six. We’d kissed, touched, confessed, bared pieces of ourselves. Adults. So why the hell did one hand on my thigh feel bigger than all of it?

I stared out the window, but every flex of his fingers made my stomach flip.

“Hey,” he said casually, eyes on the road. “Go out with me tonight.”

My head snapped toward him. “What?”

“Nothing crazy. Just the bar. But this time, just us. No Ruby. No Theo.” His fingers flexed on my thigh. “What do you say, princess?”

My pulse jumped. “Fine,” I said, too fast. “It’s a date.”

His grin was smug and devastating. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

I rolled my eyes, cheeks hot.

He pulled up outside the mum’s, engine low. I reached for the handle, but he was already circling the car.

The air was cool as I swung my legs out. Hunter caught my wrist before I could straighten. His mouth found mine firm, hot, unhurried. A kiss that promised tonight wouldn’t be like last time.

When he finally pulled back, his grin was crooked, thumb brushing my chin like he couldn’t let me go. “See you tonight, princess.”

And then he was gone, sliding into the car, engine growling as he pulled away, leaving me on the side walk with my lips tingling and my heart racing like I’d just stepped into something I couldn’t undo.

The day crawled.

Every time the bell over the shop door chimed, my chest jolted like it might be him. It never was. Just customers drifting in and out, arms full of paperbacks, the smell of dust and ink clinging to everything.

I tried to focus, stacking returns and alphabetising shelves, but my brain replayed the morning on a loop. Pancakes. Whipped cream. His hand on my thigh in the car. That kiss outside the book store that wasn’t just a kiss. It was a promise. Tonight. Just us.

By noon, my nerves were frayed, my stomach twisted somewhere between dread and giddy anticipation.

“Isabella.”

I looked up. Mr. Whittaker stood at the counter, a white to-go cup in one hand, a brown paper bag in the other. His eyes softened behind his glasses as he set them down. “Someone left this for you.”

My pulse jumped.

Vanilla latte. Extra shot. My usual.

A napkin was tucked under the lid, messy ink bleeding into the paper.

For my princess. Don’t forget to eat.

Heat flushed my cheeks. The bag held a cookie, big enough to count as lunch if I stretched the definition.

Mr. Whittaker gave me one of those long, knowing looks. Quiet. Not unkind. Sharp enough to make me squirm. Then he shuffled back to the stockroom without another word.

My phone buzzed instantly. Ruby.

Ruby: Don’t think I don’t know who that cookie + latte was for.

Ruby: Extra shot, Belle. That’s YOUR drink.

Ruby: And don’t get me started on the smug look on his face when he ordered it.

I groaned, thumbs flying.

Me: Ruby…

Ruby: Don’t you Ruby me. Spill. Or I’m clocking out early and storming that mum’s.

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it, earning a glare from the woman browsing poetry in the corner.

Me: Later. Promise.

Ruby: Fine.

I shoved my phone face-down, cheeks hot, Hunter’s note burning through me like a brand.

Five minutes later, I caved.

Me: Thanks for the latte. And the cookie. But you need a new coffee shop because now Ruby’s on my back and Theo’s probably on yours.

Fuckboy: Worth it.

Fuckboy: Besides, let ’em talk.

Me: You’re impossible.

Fuckboy: Impossible to resist.

Fuckboy: See you tonight, princess. Wear something that’ll make it hard for me to behave.

My thighs pressed together under the counter, heat coiling low.

Me: Arrogant.

Fuckboy: Accurate.

Fuckboy: Admit it—you’re thinking about me right now.

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

Me: I’m at work.

Fuckboy: And?

Fuckboy: Princess, I’ve had my mouth on you. You think shelving books is gonna distract me from that?

My breath stuttered.

I locked the phone before I could spiral and shoved it deep in my pocket. Even when he wasn’t here, he was everywhere.

The rest of the afternoon dragged, customers blurring into one another while my mind kept racing ahead to tonight.

By closing, I was raw with nerves. I killed the lights, locked the till, tugged my cardigan tight around me, and stepped into the cool evening air.

And froze.

Hunter leaned against his car like sin made flesh, arms folded, tattoos stark against his grease-stained T-shirt. His green eyes found me across the street, and that grin—slow, wicked—curved his mouth.

Of course he was waiting.

“Jesus,” I muttered, heat crawling up my neck.

He pushed off the car, casual as ever, and tipped his chin toward me. “Ready, princess?”

My legs shook as I crossed the street, but his eyes held steady. Bright, dangerous, and all mine.

Even after a whole day apart, Hunter Hayes still knocked the air right out of me.