Page 16 of Sunrises & Salvation

ADAM

T his is going to be the worst weekend ever.

Why did I agree to share a bed with Hunter? I have no rational answer, but when the opportunity to have him alone presented itself, I couldn’t say no. No matter how much I wanted to.

Okay, that’s a lie. I definitely would not have said no, under any circumstances.

My brain is fried and my thoughts are jumbled.

I don’t know which way is up, and the only thing I can think about right now is how Hunter smelled sitting next to me in the car.

How he smiled and tried to hold in his laugh when our story came together.

Tapping his fingers to some random beat inside his head while he was trying to think of what to say next.

What was he thinking about? What songs run through his head while he’s sitting there oblivious to my deepest, forbidden desires?

Desires I can’t have, let alone for him. Desires I’ve never had for anyone. And while my girlfriend was in the back seat, sleeping, I was thinking about how it would feel to finally get him alone.

Hunter comes back into the living room, where I’m sitting on his parents’ couch, awkwardly staring at the turned-off TV, my reflection on the black screen mocking me.

It’s showing me what I could have, if only the situation had been different.

If I was born into a different family, maybe I could have had the chance to explore these feelings with Hunter.

But I wasn’t, and I can’t. I owe it to myself and Danielle.

We have to make it through this, or I’ll end up watching both of our lives crash and burn right in front of my own eyes.

He looks so good, though. The slight hood in his eyes, probably from the long drive, gives him a sensual aura.

I want to drop to my knees in front of him and do what I’ve never thought about doing to another person before.

I want to give up control. Hand it to him on a silver platter and trust him not to betray me.

“I’m gonna get changed, I’ll show you where the guest bathroom is.” He waits for me to stand and grab my bag.

When he turns, the sight of his ass in those shorts has me biting my lip until I taste copper. Wrong. Wrong. This is wrong. But I can’t stop myself, and when he opens the bathroom door and flicks the light on, the flood of brightness against the dark of the hallway snaps me out of my trance.

Keep it together. You’re going to be sharing a bed with him tonight, and you will have to keep your hands off him.

Quickly changing into my pajamas, I tuck my dick into the waistband of the plaid-printed cotton.

They were a gift from Brittany last Christmas, and still the most comfortable pair of bottoms I own.

I save them for situations when I know my control will be hanging on by a thread.

And that’s normally because of agitation. Not lust.

Hunter is lying on the bed when I get back to the living room, and I have to swallow the pool of saliva in my mouth.

He’s wearing a light gray cut-off shirt, showing off the lean muscles in his arms and the hint of a dusky pink nipple against the slightly tanned skin of his chest. It shouldn’t be sexual.

I feel like such a pervert staring at him, wondering what the small bead would feel like against my tongue.

His legs are already under the covers, thank fuck. I sit down, folding my body gently to rest against the side of the fold-out bed, not wanting to disturb Hunter.

I can’t see the cover of the book he has in his hand, but I’m curious. What does a guy like him read for fun?

Scooting farther onto the bed, I position myself the same way as him, keeping the distance between us so he won’t think I’m weird. My back is resting against the couch cushions, and I twiddle my thumbs in my lap while I stare at him out of the corner of my eye.

“What are you reading?” My voice is loud in the silence, sounding like a bomb detonating.

Hunter startles, whipping his head over to look at me.

His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are glassy.

Is he… turned on right now? I chance a glance down to where his dick is resting in his pants.

There’s a slight bulge there, but nothing huge.

Is he hard? That information seems pertinent to know for my own sick curiosity.

“Uhm-it’s…” His stuttering is adorable. He’s so embarrassed that I caught him.

“It’s?” I tease, but my voice is husky. Too husky to be taken jokingly because the thought of his hard dick fucks with my mind. He fucks with my control.

“A romance. It’s a romance.” He nods definitively, happy with his answer. I cover my mouth with my hand, hiding the smile that wants to break out.

Nope. This is wrong. This is fucked up. “Night, Collins. And don’t touch me while I sleep.

It’s weird.” I hear his sharp intake of breath and turn over to face the wall, putting everything Hunter Collins out of my mind.

Counting backward from one hundred, I focus on mentally tracing each number in my mind until it finally calms down enough and I can slip into a dreamless sleep.

I lift my head off the pillow, feeling a small drip of drool stream from my lip and onto my chin.

Gross. I can hear Hunter’s gentle breathing, a soft undercurrent to the loud whispering coming from the kitchen, and I turn over to face him.

The blankets tangle around me as I try not to jostle the bed too much.

The sunlight streaming in from the partially opened window above the kitchen sink is positioned perfectly to shine across Hunter’s features.

I have a bone-deep need to brush the stray hairs off his face, tucking them behind his ears so they don’t bother his peaceful sleep.

His mouth is slightly parted as small breaths escape from his lips.

Long, dark eyelashes rest against his cheeks.

His delicate features make him look like the male version of a Disney princess.

Fuck it, if he wakes up and catches me being weird and touching his hair, that’s on him. Not me.

I brush the hair off his forehead, trying to push it behind his ear, but it’s not long enough.

So instead, I end up stroking it and staring at the scar on his upper lip.

My fingers move of their own accord and trace the pale skin.

It doesn’t feel any different from the skin surrounding it, the slight discoloration probably not noticeable to people who don’t obsess over him in their free time.

Hunter moves, and my hand freezes. He smacks his lips and turns toward me, nuzzling his cheek further into his pillow and releasing a deep breath. Thank fuck.

He looks so gentle, so breakable. I want to protect him, but how can I do that when it’s me he needs protecting from? But I can’t stay away, I won’t be able to.

I lay there, listening to the masculine and feminine whispers and the slight noises from their position.

Sounds like they’re cooking breakfast. My stomach gives a pitiful growl, but I refuse to move from this position until Hunter moves.

How long is too long to stare at a person?

Does it make it weirder if they’re awake?

There’s an ache in my chest as I stay here, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, wondering what my life would be like if I woke up every day to him like this in our bed. Thoughts that I should absolutely not be thinking, but my brain and body are on the same self-destructive page.

Hunter’s eyes creak open, the brown irises unfocused as they look at me. The warmth in them makes me smile. I feel a thread of my control fray and know that he’ll be my downfall.

“Good morning.” His voice is deep and soft from sleep.

“Morning, Collins,” I whisper, fighting the temptation to lean forward and press a kiss to that scar.

“Good morning, honey! Your dad is making bacon, eggs, and chocolate chip pancakes on the Blackstone. Do you and your friends have any more requests?” his mom chirps, coming into the living room and looking at Hunter.

The look in her eyes seizes my chest. Seeing a mother look at her son with something other than disappointment or indifference is shocking.

Hunter yawns, and his jaw cracks. Looking at me, he asks, “Anything else you want?” I’m frozen, staring at him and willing my mouth to cooperate and say something. Anything.

Instead, I’m staring at his mouth and wishing we were two different people, so I could lean forward and press a kiss to his lips and tell him how much I appreciate him.

It’s just a question, one that should easily be answered.

But when’s the last time someone asked me what I wanted?

Not because it was a nice thing to do, but because they genuinely wanted to know if I needed something else or something different. It’s not a big deal. It’s not.

The way Hunter is staring at me, wondering if I’m okay with the choices for breakfast for a trip I wasn’t even invited to, makes me feel something I can’t put a name to.

“No—” I clear my throat, refusing to choke up over a dumb question. “That’s fine with me.” He smiles at me, a bright, wide smile. He pushes himself up, and the blankets pool around his waist.

“I’ll go outside and help Dad. Do you mind waking Danielle up? I’d hate for her to miss out on my dad’s breakfast. He’s a good cook.” Standing, he stretches his arms above his head and shows off a little strip of skin above the waistband of his pajama pants.

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that.” I follow suit.

“Your dad is an amazing cook. I’m lucky that I don’t have to cook anymore, thanks to him.” His mom bumps his hip with hers, and Hunter rolls his eyes good-naturedly. I feel like I’m intruding on a moment between mother and son. His mom glances at me around Hunter’s back.

“I just say that so I don’t have to cook. I hate it.” She winks at me, and happiness floods my veins at being included in the joke.

“Whatever, Mom. Dad never made you cook; he was always scared you were going to burn our house down.” She gasps in outrage, and I can barely hear the argument as they walk outside.

I go down the hallway to the room Danielle slept in last night.

Hunter’s room. The room where Hunter has spent his life.

“Wake up,” I say, grabbing the pillow from under her head.

“Dick,” she mumbles, pushing her face into the bed.

“I do have one of those,” I remark.

“Go away,” she whines.

“Breakfast is going to be ready soon. I was sent to fetch you so you wouldn’t miss out.”

Her eyes peek open, and I know it’ll be a matter of minutes until she’s fully awake.

“Fine, fine. I’m up.”

Walking back through the hallway, I look at the photos on the wall.

The ones I didn’t get a chance to see. In every one, Hunter has the same bright smile, but with an undertone of sadness.

How can such a sad boy play happy so well?

Would I even know if I didn’t carry the same sadness deep inside of me?

Hunter and his parents are setting the table when Danielle and I make it into the kitchen.

Cute lemon decorations take over the space. Lemon cookie containers, dish towels, even the plates they’re putting food on.

When we’re all seated, with me right beside Hunter, we dig into our food.

The only sounds are our forks scraping the plates and people chewing. It would normally piss me off, but today it feels right.

“What do you have planned today?” Hunter’s dad asks, and Hunter shrugs, stuffing a forkful of chocolate chip pancakes into his mouth, leaving a smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. I have the urge to wipe it away, but I don’t think this is the time or the place.

“Not sure yet, I figured we could hang out here for a little bit and decide something later.”

“Be home by six, we have a dinner reservation at The Spot,” his mom says, and Hunter groans.

“Mommm, no. What did I say?”

“I’m sorry, but I already made the reservation. And they know it’s your birthday, so there’s no getting out of the serenade.” I choke on my pancake because birthday.

“It’s your birthday?” Is that my voice? That can’t be my voice. But as I look around the table, Danielle doesn’t show the same surprise I feel. I guess it was just me who was left out of the loop.

Hunter’s face flushes red, and he waves his fork around in a circle. “It’s not a big deal, we never really celebrate anyway…” He trails off, a sad look flashing across his face, then he shakes it off.

That will just not fucking do. I’m going to make sure this is the best birthday he’s ever had.