“Nice robe, by the way.”
“Shut up, jerkface.” I hold the edges of the robe in my fist to make sure there are no more scar flashings and turn to face him.
“Jerkface?” He’s barely suppressing a laugh. “What are you, four?”
Admittedly, it’s not one of my better comebacks. But itisfive freaking a.m.
Our gazes meet. A charged silence fills the kitchen with an invisible current. A wave of awareness skates across my skin. The tiny hairs on my arms stand on end. It reminds me of when he grabbed me last night—whichalsoreminds me of how angry I am with him. He has no right to stand there all sleep-mussed, a hint of stubble shadowing the unburned edges of his jaw, his muscles looking far too muscly in his gray tech shirt and black Nike shorts.
“You owe me an apology,” I blurt.
“Excuse me?” His eyes narrow; the current goes cold.
“For last night.”
Hunter crosses his arms over his chest. I’m very sure if I ran my hands uphisbiceps, they’d be even bigger than Austin’s.
Stupid muscles.
“I didn’t do anything that requires an apology.”
All thoughts of his muscles flee. I’m about to tell him exactly how many things he did thatverymuchwarrant apologies when the kettle I put on the stove begins to whistle behind me. “You know you did, so don’t act all innocent and dumb.”
“I’ve never claimed to be innocent, but did you just call medumb?”
I shrug.
Hunter barks a laugh. “If you don’t like how I acted last night, then maybe you shouldn’t date scumbags.”
“I’ve been ononedate with the guy.” I level a glare sharp enough to cut glass at him. “What did he do that warrants an accusation like that? Besides being interesting, funny, and generous enough to pay for you—even afteryouwere nothing but rude?”
A tendon tics in Hunter’s jaw. “I told you, I know guys like him. You are a challenge to him—nothing more.”
I feel like the kettle that is now shrieking angrily behind me, my blood boiling hotter and hotter until I might erupt. “Noted,roomie. And filed right next to when you said we’d never be scar buddies oranythingelse. Which was when you lost the right to weigh in on my love life.”
“Fine with me.”
“I think you better go for that run now,” I bite out.
“Great idea.” Hunter whirls on his heel. “Next time you’re up at five, try not to be so loud. You woke me up even though I live next door,” he calls in a half shout as he storms away, his back tensed beneath his straining T-shirt.
I grab the kettle handle and move it off the burner. My hands shake so badly I nearly spill the boiling water trying to pour it into my mug. I don’t take time to add honey or any other sweeteners to my tea, refusing to run the risk of seeing Hunter again. Instead, I rush back to my room so I can get ready and leave for the bakery as quickly as possible. But when I’m halfway through changing, my phone dings with a text from Lou.
Is a freakishly early-morning fight going to be a daily thing for you two?
I sigh. I really wish it were a gym day. I have a lot of steam to burn off. But I’ll have to settle for kneading dough—and try extra hard not to ruin today’s orders.
Only when I begin the morning baking do I remember Farmor asking me to give Hunter a second chance because they want to use his supposedmarketing geniusto help us at the bakery. But wasn’t that what I did last night? Offered him the chance to be a normal,decenthuman? And he was the one who was a jerk—again.
I take way too much anger out on the dough I’m kneading, and it ends up overworked. I can only hope no one notices the decline in quality for the batch ofkanelbullarfor the day.
I do my best to avoid my mom when she arrives at seven, sticking AirPods in as I bake, claiming I’m listening to a really fascinating audiobook when really it’s a variety of angry music.
Around eleven, I get a text from Austin, telling me he had so much fun on our “fake date” he wants to take me on a real one—that he gets to plan—and asks if I’m free tomorrow night. I stare at the screen for far too long before I set it aside without responding. When I think of going out with Austin again, I feel unaccountably nervous.
And it’sHunter’swarnings, not Talia’s, that are echoing through my mind.
Ihatethat Hunter’s voice is somehow in my head at all. Thathiswords are making me hesitate. The fact that hesomehow got under my skin makes me itchy and hot, as if my T-shirt is suddenly suffocating me.
