Page 3 of The Boy Next Door

The last time I saw Hunter Cruse's car, the shiny black surface and gleaming chrome features looked brand new. The vintage convertible obviously wasn't brand new, only in pristine condition. While not a total junker now, the shine has dulled a bit and I notice a scratch or two.

Those changes are nothing compared to the differences in the man himself.

"Hunter, you're here!" Dylan exclaims as he rushes over.

"Look at that," he drawls casually, as if this isn't a big surprise reunion. "So are you."

Lame. Does he think he's cool?

Dylan throws himself into his older brother, and they fall back against the vehicle. Dyl's probably still wearing a gigantic grin that lights up his face. Even as his arms wrap around his brother, Hunter Cruse's dark blue eyes meet mine with something like a challenge.

My guess? He's the same superior asshole he used to be. He left for Los Angeles chasing bigger and better dreams with the attitude of someone never coming back, which suited me just fine.

Only the way he looks has changed. His trusty ultra-cliché black leather jacket is missing, his arms are more toned, and that blond hair . When they part, his shirt rides up. Is that a tattoo?

"Hey, Sam," Hunter greets me as an afterthought. "Do I get a hug from you too?"

"You're blond," I blurt out.

"Guess I'm returning to my roots in more than one way." He runs a hand through his hair. Is that another tattoo on his wrist? "Glad you like it."

"Didn't say I liked it," I offer like an idiot, feeling more idiotic when he only smirks at me.

The brothers chat happily, apparently able to pick up right where they left off. Me, I’ve been thrown for several loops. This is the last development I expected on an otherwise ordinary school day.

I keep staring at the hair. It's the biggest change. What's up with their alternative hairstyles lately? Dylan's is dyed for the first time ever and Hunter's isn't.

Hunter started dying his hair black as night practically as soon as he reached preteen years.

The blond fringe falling in his eyes now reminds me of the cherubic golden curls that framed his face when we met.

His angelic appearance duped me into trusting him and then he pushed me into the pond when I couldn't even swim.

"Total surprise," Dyl gushes happily. For me too.

"Nah, come on." He waves his brother away. "Always coming back for your graduation."

"Sure, but it’s September." He elbows his brother. "You get tired of being a big rock star?"

"Something like that." Mysterious as ever.

"Are you a rock star?" I ask.

While nobody knows for sure how to snag titles like 'rock star' or 'super model,' they aren't just handed out to everybody.

"I'm a guy with a band, some drums, and this beautiful face." He uses a hand to frame his face. Definitely a tattoo there. "You tell me."

"Do you have records? How many shows have you played?"

"Wow." He rolls his eyes, leaning casually against his car. "Everyone's a music critic."

Nope, not even close to a rock star.

Though not terribly tan, he's also not as pale white as he was before.

I'd almost mistake him for a California surfer dude before the punk rock jerk who used to.

.. 'torment’ me is too strong. Bugged, bothered, and befuddled me?

Something like that. He acted largely unpleasant if he remembered I existed before promptly forgetting me again.

"Seriously though," Dylan says. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, of course." He hesitates and glances at me but can't help softening under his brother's earnest concern. "I'd be heading back here eventually, and a vacation sounds okay. Especially after so much damn sunshine and you know..."

"The high cost of living?" I guess. Especially on not-a-rock-star's salary.

Hunter winks. "Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll."

I blush, staring down at my shoes and cursing him for still being able to fluster me. He’s only two and a half years older than me, but I always feel so immature compared to him.

"Well, I wanna hear all about your groupies and ill-advised adventures," Dylan says.

"How long are you staying?" I can't help asking.

"You sound just like the fanboys I left behind." Hunter grins, though it looks a tad mean to me. "Play your cards right and I might give you an autograph."

"Shut up!" Dyl groans, shoving him before I can think of a comeback. "Let me help you with your bags already, you freak."

Hunter relents, opening a door. "Oh, little brother. I kept waiting to forget you when I became famous."

"Don't you need to be famous first?" he jokes before staring at the bag thrust in his direction. "We aren't lugging your precious drums inside before anything else?"

Hunter's expression changes from cool and above it all for a single second, but the emotions in those stormy ocean eyes are unreadable. He shoves his brother, instructs him to do as he's told, and everything returns to normal.

When they each have a bag over a shoulder and a box in hand, they remember I'm there.

"Uh, do you wanna come in with us?" Dyl offers politely.

Hunter just smirks, clearly loving that I know I'm not wanted here anymore.

"You two catch up. We'll see each other later." I manage to smile and head home.

Internally? I'm not smiling. Not at all.

When I claimed that this is my year and nothing will stop me? I figured I'd get over my own tied tongue and confess my love for Dylan, whether shouting or mumbling how I felt. Any other obstacles were fictitious.

I certainly wasn't imagining Hunter Cruse, the asshole older brother of my crush. Did I mention he hates me?

Yeah, he can stand in my way.