Page 70 of Dark Little Game

The way he’s lying down, the bottom part of the fabric is hiked up to reveal his lower abs. The shirt is white with red letters that say Crimson College Football along the front.

Wearing my fucking shirt.

He didn’t ask to wear it, but then again, Hunter doesn’t ask much of anything before he does it.

Fencing sculpts the body in a slightly different way than football does, but Hunter has a V-shape on his lower absthat leads down past his waistband, and all I want to do is touch him there.

And I also already want to punch him, which is par for the course these days.

A song is playing from the speaker on his desk, and he’s humming along.

“Someone to Watch Over Me.”

“You know this song’s not about stalking, right, Hunter?”

“You look angry,” he says, ignoring my comment.

“You look like you’re wearing my clothes.”

He runs a hand along the cotton shirt. “It smelled like you. Made me a little hard, so I put it on and made myself come while wearing it.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Yes. I’m kidding. About touching myself, at least. Though I’ll gladly do that for you right now, if you’d like?—”

“What did you do to Weston to make him hate you? Both of you need to quit dodging my questions and just fuckingtalkto me for once.”

“Ooh, trouble in paradise?” Hunter says, closing his book and dropping it onto the table beside his bed. “Your best friend in the whole wide world won’t tell you personal stuff anymore?”

“He tells me plenty.”

Hunter grabs a strawberry from a bowl on his desk, taking a bite. “Here. Have some.”

He holds out the bowl of perfectly cut, fresh strawberries.

There’s a little dipping bowl nestled in there beside them, full of whipped cream.

“Did you cut these?”

“What? You think I can’t cut a strawberry? The whipped cream is made fresh, too. With vanilla bean paste.”

I take a bite of one, dipped in the whipped cream.

“That’s good.”

“I’m glad.”

It’s fucking delicious, really.

“Strawberries are my favorite,” I tell him.

“I’ve noticed you like them.”

“Stalk me much?”

Both of us puff out a laugh, and for a brief moment, I don’t completely hate him.

But I quickly remember what I actually need to talk to him about, and what I’m here for.