Never Been Kissed: A Never Been Novel (19 page)

“There you are, Sera,” Matty whispers, while I hear drawers banging behind me. His arm extends outward, pointing me in the right direction. There I am, my face cradled between two hands, eyes big and terrified and earnest. He’s captured me in a few lines of pencil, taken what I am and copied me onto a piece of paper
so that I half-expect the woman there to move her eyes and start staring at
me
.

If this is how he sees me... I’m not
sure what to do, or how to be.

One picture will not completely change how I perceive myself. One picture can start to make me ask questions about how I look, how I make myself feel. In that drawing, Hunter’s captured me like he’s stolen a piece of my soul and soldered it to paper. I’m
there
, in those lines, in the shading.

“Here
.” A palm settles on my shoulder, and I turn around. Hunter’s holding out a pair of sweats and a ratty t-shirt that has been washed so many times, it feels like cashmere against the skin. A little thrill chokes me as I realize I’m going to be wearing his clothes – like I’m really his.

Do not swoon, do
not swoon. Is grinning allowed?

“Trade off,” I say, hoisting Matty further up my body, and turning him around for Hunter to grab onto. I get the sweats and shirt and make my way to the bathroom. I have a total girl moment where I stand there, fully dressed in his clothes and take a whiff of his scent, rubbing
the material of the clothes all over me because I’m a loser.

“Close the light, would you?” Hunter asks
when I walk back into his room, Matty snuggled up into his ribs, a corner of the bed turned down for me, the dark blue sheets looking inviting.
What’s stopping me from coming home to this every single day?

My heart tries to leave my body by using an escape route up my throat. I nod, and shut off the lights, taking baby steps until I hit the edge of the bed
in the dark. I lift up my knee and slide in, heart still pounding at my throat, excitement making my organs do little dances that would pull all the professionals on
Dancing with the Stars
to shame.

I collapse onto my left shoulder, shoving my arm under the pillow so I’m on my side, looking in the dark at Hunter’
s silhouette, and the smaller one of Matty’s body plastered to his side. Hunter positions himself to lie down on his side, facing me. We stare at each other in the darkness, sharing air, sharing sheets and a bed.

“He’s finally asleep,” Hunter whispers in the dark, I shut my eyes, listening to the cadence, the rhythm of his words caressing me in the dark. He sounds close. Intimate. All mine.

“You should be, too. It’s been a long night.” I wish I had taken more Tylenol; my hand’s starting to smart underneath the cast, but I try and use all sorts of techniques to block it off of my emotional landscape. Here, in his bed with him, I just want to feel good. Safe. Wanted.

Hunter’s quiet.

“I’m sorry I’m not sorry that I said those things to Alysha.” God, I can feel him grin in the dark. Matty’s steady breathing counts the time between answers. “Is that how it is between you two?”

Hunter clears his throat, his whisper even closer to me as he rustles the sheets and shifts closer. I tamp down a squeal of delight, and the urge to haul him
closer so our bodies are pressed close.

“
Aly and I have been off and on forever. I was with her when I was a kid, and she was the first person I told when I learned I had diabetes. I was seventeen at the time, and thought I was in love. She thought she could fuck me through it.”

A gurgle comes out of me, half-lau
gh, half-gasp.

“Yeah, baby.” He’s most definitely smiling now. “Aly’
s M.O. is all about her and what she can get out of it. She doesn’t deal with my lows or my highs, or with Matty. She doesn’t deal with anything but her need to come.”

I turn red; my cheeks are burning.
I think I’m going to go all Human Torch and
flame on!

“Is that why she came to see you tonight? To get her fix?” Hunter MacLaine is a drug I could
so
get addicted to.

Hunt grunts in the darkness. “She just needed reminding it was over. That I’m not going to answer to her beck and call ever again, no matter h
ow much manipulating she does.”

I’m pretty sure I’m glowing red right about now.
“I don’t think you should be telling me this when Matty’s asleep between us,
and
we’re in your bed. I’m sure that’s not good parenting,” I whisper, settling myself deeper into his pillow. It’s all I can do to ignore the way my skin is tingling, the way my heart is racing in my chest.

“I really wi
sh I could kiss you right now.”

Screeeeeech.
My heart’s stopped beating.

“But you’re going to turn me down, again. I can hear it, those wheels spinning in your head. You don’t think I’m good enough.” I open my mouth to tell him I think no such fraking thing
.“S’alright, I’ve got my dreams.”

I need a crash cart – Jesus, ventricular fibrillation! Somebody help me!

I pull in a breath, ease it out. “Thank you for taking me to the hospital, and thank you for hanging out with me. You didn’t have to, but you did. So, thanks.” The words seem inadequate, and I squirm to get into a better position. No matter what, my left arm’s gonna go numb.

“I figure we’re on even footing now. One trip to the hosp
ital each.”

I don’t like what he’s saying – like he’s somehow less of a man for having diab
etes, when he isn’t. Not to me.

My tongue comes unstuck. “You know that picture you drew of me?” Hunter grunts an affirmative.
“You really see me like that?”

He turns his head towards me, a vague gray shape changing form in the darkness. “Baby, I did that from memory – it doesn’t do you justice. Not when I have the real thing right next to
me, keeping me and Matty warm.”

“God, stop talking.” I close my eyes, and draw the covers over my head. Sensory. Overload. This beautiful man wants
me
!

“It’s torture not being able to touch you, to feel your skin und
er my hands. To taste your mouth, the hollow of your shoulder, the dent between your collarbones.”

I shiver under the covers, just stopping shy of covering my ears. I want to hear what he has to say,
what he wants. I want it, too.

“I want to hear those noises y
ou make when you read when I’m inside you. I can’t wait when those shirts of yours to be on my floor, right before I take you to my bed. I want you, Sera.”

I peek out of the covers for some much needed oxygen. His big body is another shade of gray in the darkness, but
it’s there, ominous, alive, and all mine if I just step forward and take what I want.

Can I do that?

Can I?

“Fuck,
baby. Do you think you could want me back?”

I didn’t sleep at all last night. His perfect words ricocheted around my skull, playing back at me at different angles, echoing and going on forever. Every time I shut my eyes, they were
there
– taunting me, telling me to do what he said – to be brave and want him back. To show him that I want him.

Coward as I am, I couldn’t
move, or do anything to show him I’m ready to be with him in that way. I just stayed in bed, opposite him and Matty and pretended to fall asleep. I couldn’t even answer him when he said those words.

Fuck, baby. Do you think you could want me back?

Gah, what a thing to
say
. I can’t breathe just thinking about it. How many times has he put himself out there – for me? Telling me he wants me?

And we haven’t even
kissed
yet.

As soon as there was a little light outside, I high-tailed it out of there. Now, I’m watching Sunday morning cartoons. Where did the Power Rangers go? Or what about old school Sonic the Hedgehog, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? I swear, if Dora asks me one more question, I’m going to throw the remote at the screen and never have access to Netflix agai
n.

A knock comes at the door, while my phone vibrates at my feet, which are settled on my coffee table. I take the door first, chec
king peephole like a good girl.

Opening the door, I try and settle my face into an uncaring smile, like
I’m too good for you, but you can have me if you really want. As long as you buy me diamonds later for all the suffering I’ll have to go through
. I’m not sure I get it quite right, though.
Hunter MacLaine is a big guy; my doorframe the perfect border to his portrait. Swoon-worthy. Totally. He’s wearing that black hoodie again, a plain black t-shirt, and sweats. Oh yeah, those badass boots that I imagine him taking me in. And now I’m red. Awesome.

“Hey.” I do a stupid wave, like we’re a football field apart instead of three feet.
Dork
.

Hunter nods at me.
“Uh, does Matty need Peter Pan again or something?” I ask, scratching the skin under my cast as much as I can.

Hunter clears his throat, blue eyes unreadable. “I wan
ted to spend the day with you.”

Sweet; he’s sweet. Then why do I want to throw up, and my throat hurts, I want to cry and run away, screaming my head off? He’s not my friend; I don’t know how to act with a man,
alone
, in my
apartment.

“Alright,” I say, sounding like him spending the day with me
is even worse than the Daleks taking over the known Universe. I clear my throat. “I was just gonna stay in, watch some TV, movies, maybe read. You’re welcome to join, if you want.”

He grins at me, that stranger’s look on his face has disappeare
d. “I apparently have to watch
Pirates of the Caribbean
. I’m under strict orders.”

I laugh, a nervous titter. I keep scratching at my right arm, that area under the cast that smarts like a
mother
. I swallow, and step back into my apartment, opening the door wider for him to come in.

“Where’s the little guy?” I ask, glancing back into th
e hall once Hunter’s inside.

“I wanted to be alone with you tod
ay. The kid steals my thunder.”

“Well...yeah. Have you met him?” I close the door, lock it, and move into my kitchen, hyperaware by the tingles on my back that Hunter is behind me and following me wherever I go. “Do you want something to drink, eat?” He shakes his head no. “You’ll let me know when you need
anything? Alright. Lemme get the movie started.”

After nabbing a glass of water for myself, and blushing when I use my
Star Wars
coasters (mine has Han Solo on it), I pop in
Pirates
into my DVD player and hit play.

“Whose shirt are you wearing, baby?” Frak, I love it when he calls me baby. No, I
adore
it.

“Uh, mine. You like?” I turn away from the DVD player and face him. Sitting on my couch, he makes the
thing look dainty. He sits with his legs splayed open, knees cocked. I know I’m not brave enough yet to walk between his legs, straddle him while I sit on his lap and kiss him until I can’t breathe. But maybe one day...soon.

I hold out the navy t-shirt with the word SAMCRO written on the chest, displaying my love for the show
Sons of Anarchy
.

Hunter’s eyebrows lower.
“Yeah, but I want to know who it belongs to.”

I frown at him, taking in his rigid
shoulders and tightened jaw. “It’s mine, Hunt. I’m not a klepto.”

“Whose was it before it was yours?”

The question throws me. Well, whose was it before it was mine? Does the online store actually make the shirts to order? Or are there some just waiting around to be delivered... or even, have some been returned and that’s the one that’s on me right now?

“I don’t actually know.”

His whole body winds up tighter as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. His face is the epitome of serious, and that’s sexy hot, too.
Frak!
“Did an ex-boyfriend give that to you?”

I stumble on my way to the couch, tripping over his foot and crashing into the leather and half his body. I start laughing, from embarrassment and
his ludicrous thought process.

“Are you serious? I wear my shirts big, Hunt. I got it on-line, actually. Sweet deal, too.” I laugh, heaving myself up to stand between his legs. Hands on his hard thighs, I lean close to him, smiling still,
and gather up what little courage I have and kiss him on the cheek.

“Why is that so funny? You’re wearing a man’s shirt
. It was a logical assumption.”

“You’re right
, it was,” I say, mollifying him. I take my seat next to him, and get his arm over my shoulders, a heavy warmth at the top of my back. The hint of possessiveness does things to me, things that I can’t put into words.

“Y
ou wouldn’t like it if I had Aly’s shit lying around at my place.”
I turn to look at him. Golden skin, blue eyes. Strong cheeks and jaw - manly, hard. Blonde-brown stubble on his cheeks and chin, tired eyes, sexy mouth. Fuller bottom lip than the top one.

I’m a firework about to explode into my show of lights in the night sky, just by looking at his mouth, thinking about the kiss we
almost-almost
had.

Tearing my eyes from his lips
, I say, “Hunt, if you’re wearing her shit, then we’ve got problems.”

His eyes slide shut and he lets out a laugh, curling me into his side and kissing the top of my head. I let my bad arm snake around his waist, trying not to notice the chiseled perfection that are his abs, the six pack I want to trace with my tongue.

“Ten points to Gryffindor.” He grins down at me, then turns to watch the screen. I want to soak up all his attention, feed off the looks he gives me, feed off the way I make him laugh and smile.

“As soon as Captain Jack comes on screen, it’s quiet time. No interrupting. I get really into it, so I might fidget or make noises, or whatever. No judging allowed.”

I get another kiss on top of my head, and snuggle closer, finally realizing I could have this all the time if I could just let go.

Hunter finally understands my
Pirates
movie references. He laughs at Captain Jack, tenses when the Pirates become walking skeletons, and has the good grace not to comment on how hot Keira Knightley is like Josh, Tommy, Alex and Eli would’ve done. Point Hunter.

I check my phone when
I start making us a late lunch/early supper.

Katie: So? What happened last night?

I end up calling her – texting with one hand is bad news.

“What’s up home-slice?” Katie answers. I want to fight my grin, ‘cause I wanna be mad at her for ditching me last night, but I just can’t. I mean, who keeps a straight face to
home-slice
?

“I broke my hand when Tommy’s face hit my fist. I have a cast and everything.” I look down at said cast, and wonder how I’m going to make grilled-cheeses with my left hand only. “Gimme a sec.” I hold my phone to my chest and recruit Hunter to help with the chopping of the salad. I stick my
tongue out as I spread butter on the slices of bread I’m going to fry up.

“Did I just hear right? He’s there? What did he do
, sleep over?” Knowing Katie’s voice and the problem she has with volume control, I quickly move to my bedroom, shutting the door.

“No. He didn’t. I’m pissed at you right now.
You don’t deserve that story.”

“Are you kidding me? Sweetie, you’ve been waiting for this for twenty-five years – I’ve been waiting for ten, and you can’t even tell me if you had your way with Mr. SexyPants?
You’re meaner than Voldemort.”

I snort, and cuss myself out. Making me laugh is halfway to making me forg
ive her. Katie knows this.
Bloody hell
.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, alright? Lunch – same time, same p
lace.”

“I need details, Delos
! Details!”

“I swear you’re worse than
the guys, you giant horn-dog.”

“You know you love it. Speaking of those assholes, I think Tommy wanted to pass by your place and grovel today. I think you should enjoy the show and p
rolong it as long as possible.”

“He’s not coming here! He wouldn’t just show up like that. I don’t care, I don’t want to see him. I’m with Hunter, anyway. Can you spell awkward? T-o-m-m-y. No, thanks.” The smell of grilled cheese hits my room, making my stomach growl. “’Kay, I gotta go. We’re eati
ng now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Can’t you just give me a little nugget of information – please?” Katie wh
ines, making me cringe. “Delos, don’t you dare hang up on m-”
Click.

“So
rry, Hunt, I had to take that.”

His eyes are warm when he sees me, flipping over our grilled ch
eeses.

“Is this enough food for you? Do you have more protein next door? I ran out of everything – I have to go grocery shopping tomorr
ow.” I say in a way of apology.

“I’ll be good. I’ve been to the gym already, and you only have brown bread so the sugar intake goes down some.” Hunter tosses me a smile, using the spa
tula to squash the sandwiches down.

I get the plates out of the cupboard and pull down my
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle
glasses. They’re green, and have each turtle’s face painted on them, an angry gin, eyes hidden by their respective colored bandanas.

I take Leo away from the equation, and let
Hunter choose between Mikey, Raph or Donny. He picks up Raph, grinning down at the glass. Interesting.

I pull out two Coronas, give ‘em a pour, and we settle in front of the
TV, legs propped on the coffee table, plates in our laps. The man knows how to make some
sweet
grilled cheeses.

As t
he day progresses – I pop in more movies:
My Cousin Vinny, Good Will Hunting,
and
3:10 to Yuma.
I laugh so hard, I nearly choked on my beer with Vinny Gambini, I cried when Will Hunting broke down, and my chin jutted high and proud when Dan Evans told his son that he was the only man that got Ben Wade to the train station.

By this time I’d drank three beer
s. Three. Beers. In Sera Delos land I might as well have chased tequila shots with vodka sevens. I was drunk, fuzzy in the head, tongue thick, no filter in my brain so whatever I thought immediately came out.

The glory that accompanies being drunk is I don’t
care
. I don’t care what people think of me, how I look, how I act and how that reflects on both myself and the friends I’m drinking with.

I can handle insults – convincing myself that all the memories associated with the temporary pain I would feel would disappear come morning, or remain fuzzy and unfocused enough that I c
an just forget them altogether.