Chapter 13 - Hunter

18 YEARS OLD

I 've been conflicted lately.

More than conflicted, honestly. I think I'm confused about my sexuality. I'm definitely straight, but then why aren't girls doing it for me? I have been going out with plenty of them—sampling different flavors just like Dad suggested. Yet I don't like any of those flavors.

I only like vanilla—fucking Ollie.

Which is all kinds of crazy considering he's a guy. Nothing has happened between us other than kissing, and I honestly don't know if I want it to either. I don't know how to feel, or what to think. It's all so damn confusing. I've been making an effort to notice guys a little more. Staring at them for longer than usual. Except I don't feel anything. Yes, I think some guys are attractive, but I don't want to have sex with them. I'm beginning to think I'm Ollie-sexual, and that's just the cherry on top of all of my problems.

Dad hates that Ollie is gay, so I know it would be even more disappointing if I wasn't straight. Which means I have to be.

Still, the way Ollie presses his forehead against mine during our little midnight escapades as he tells me all about his day, his future, and his dreams…it's fucking with my head. It makes me feel like we're more than we are—to the point that I broke up with Celeste over it because we kept kissing. He's not my boyfriend by any means. We're not even hooking-up. So why did it feel like I was cheating on her?

He clearly doesn't feel the same, though, if his getting ready for a fucking date with Caleb is any indication. That's one of the only other guys at school who is brave enough to be out of the closet, one who doesn't even get bullied for it because he's hot as fuck. Not that Ollie isn't, but my boy is more vulnerable than most. He feels deeply, and he shows it. If he wasn't so bothered by people making fun of him, I bet they would stop.

Ollie is wearing ripped black jeans, his Converse, and a long-sleeved band shirt. It's his signature style, except this time, he's wearing eyeliner…and he looks so fucking pretty it hurts. I watch him get ready, styling his hair until it appears tousled, and then he applies lip balm. I close my eyes and try not to flip out even though it's hard. My nostrils flare, and my fists tighten with the effort to keep myself in check, and he clears his throat.

"What's up, Hunt?" He asks me casually, like I'm not about to rip someone's head off for daring to ask him out. Doesn't he know he's mine? "You good?"

"No," I say roughly. "I'm not fucking good."

"What's wrong?" he asks, clearly confused.

I don't know how he can't see it, but I'm about to show him that he can't just give himself to anyone he wants. Not when we've shown each other everything. I know every dark and broken part of him, and I've held the pieces with my bare hands, even when they're cut and bleeding. He can't fucking do this to me.

" You ," I whisper, and he tilts his head to the side and waits for me to say it. To spell it out for him. "How dare you?"

"Dare?" He smirks. "If you have a problem, just say it."

"Why are you going?" I ask him. "Did I do something wrong?"

Ollie shrugs. "I just want to go."

"Do you like him?" My voice rises an octave, and I clear my throat. "Is that it?"

"Would that be so bad?" Ollie throws his arms up. "To like someone who can actually like me back?"

"I like you back," I blurt, and he rears back. I clear my throat again and cough. "You know what I mean."

"No." He shakes his head and walks toward me until our shoes are touching. "I don't think I do."

"Don't make me spell it out for you, please, Blue." His face softens slightly. "I don't think I can do it."

"You're going to have to say something ."

What do I say, though?

That I'm confused? That I don't know what I feel? That I don't know if I'm straight anymore? That I'm curious to see where this is going?

How do I even explain that?

"I don't want you to go," I reply, cupping his face. "Please don't go."

He seems conflicted as he wraps his hands around my wrists, holding me closer. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't go," he says. "Just one."

I search his wide eyes and peer down at his lips for a long moment. Our breathing is ragged, and I can taste his anticipation. It's lingering in the air like a fucking virus, waiting for me to be weak enough to make me its host. And I am… I'm so fucking weak. That's why I lean in—why I close my eyes and let my lips meet his.

His lips are so fucking soft. I suck his bottom one into my mouth, and he groans, then his hands move from my wrists to my face. He holds me to him in the same way I hold him to me, and my heart expands in my chest when he pries my lips open with his tongue. We both whimper at the contact, and it feels like I'm being shocked as his tongue connects and tangles with mine. We're at war with each other, but I always dominate him. Sucking his tongue into my mouth—hard—I feel my dick harden. And when he moans for me, I swear to God I'm about to come in my pants.

He lets go first, gazing into my eyes and down at my swollen lips with a heaving chest. I feel the exact same—short of breath. Like, I might just pass out. His are the best kisses of my fucking life—and I've been kissing girls for years. Yet none of them have made me feel like this. As if he's my oxygen and I'm not getting enough to survive.

"That's your reason," I say, sounding breathless as fuck. "Now cancel the fucking date."

Ollie frowns, but I don't reject him when he comes back and presses another soft kiss to my lips. I give in, switching my hands from his face to the back of his neck, holding him to me.

"Okay." He breathes, then clears his throat. "I'll cancel."

That makes me smile, and I wrap my arms around his waist and do what I've been wanting to do.

I kiss him.

Again.