Chapter 9 - Oliver

17 YEARS OLD

T he door to the Jack-N-Jill bathroom opens, and I barely have to strain my eyes in the dark to figure out who it is. Although my heart does beat a little faster the closer his footsteps become. At seventeen, I know he shouldn't be coming into my room—to my bed—and sleeping with me. Even after Dad told us not to, he still finds ways to bend the rules. Or break them entirely.

"Ollie?" he whispers as he climbs into bed with me. The blinds to the window are open, so the moonlight coming through glows on his face. He's frowning, and he's definitely upset. "We lost the game."

They're not going to state.

"I'm sorry," I whisper back, and he sighs. Cupping his jaw, his eyes dip down to my lips, and my back breaks out into a cold sweat. "It'll be better next year. You'll get it next year."

"I better," He huffs. "Next year is my last year."

"And then you'll have college," I remind him.

"You weren't there," Hunter points out. "I needed you, and you weren't there."

My heart drops, and I open my mouth to make excuses, but then I close it. "I'm sorry," I tell him. "I was at the studio. I have an assignment due for Art class."

"I needed you," he repeats.

"Do you still need me?" I bite my bottom lip. When his eyes dip down to my lips again, I lick them. He follows the movement, and when he realizes he's been caught red-handed, he looks back up at me. "Hunt?"

He nods, and I burrow closer to him, burying my face in the crook of his neck. He drapes an arm over me, flattening his palm against my back and pushing me impossibly closer. Our legs are tangled, our breathing heavy. I slowly lift my head and put it on the pillow, our noses brushing.

Hunter's eyes are dilated, and he stares into mine like I'm his whole world. And that's when I do it. I lean in. Maybe I'm reading this all wrong, and I'll probably regret this. He'll freak out and never talk to me again. He has a girlfriend, after all. One he flaunts in my face all the time. It hurts so bad, yet I have to get over it. He's straight.

Only why is he leaning in, too?

Why are his lips centimeters from mine?

I cup his jaw, tilt my face toward his, and then press my lips against his. The first touch of our lips sends electricity coursing through my body. I feel the sparks all the way down to my toes, and I breathe in sharply. He stays stock-still against me, then parts his lips on an exhale. I take advantage of it and suck his bottom lip between mine, and he groans. His fingers curl, fisting my shirt, and my hand grips his jaw in a death grip. I'm sure it hurts, but he doesn't say anything. And when I brush my tongue against his lips, he opens even wider. Our tongues tangle, dancing together, and he moans for me. I do too, trying not to rut against him. My dick is so damn hard, and when I shift my hips, I feel his is too.

Oh, God.

I suck his bottom lip between mine again, then his top. Then he finally sucks mine, returning the kiss with a ferocity I feel in my bones. We're both panting by the time I bite his lip, tugging it slowly, softly. Suddenly, he shakes his head quickly and jumps off the bed as if I burned him.

Fuck.

"What the fuck did you do, Oliver?!" he whisper yells, though I can see his erection poking out of his boxer briefs. "What did you do ?"

"I'm sorry, Hunt," I plead. "I thought you felt the same." I get up and try to get off the bed, but he just shakes his head, halting me with a hand. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't," he growls. "This is done."

I nod quickly.

" Done , Oliver."

Tears sting my eyes, but I don't let them fall. Instead, my nostrils flare with the exertion of taking in air. He gazes at me one last time before leaving, shutting the door to the Jack-N-Jill bathroom and locking me out. I sigh and fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

What in the world did I just do?