35. Hunter

"Okay, boys. Next on the list: shower caddies." I march past an aisle filled with colorful storage containers and head for the toiletry section.

"What the heck is a shower caddy?" Levi asks, pushing one of the two carts.

I insisted they each have their own cart, and now they're dutifully following me down each aisle.

"Caddy, like in golf? Oh! Or like Caddyshack?" Greedy suggests.

"Dude," Levi drawls out. "Such a good movie."

"Let it happen," Greedy declares, then points to Levi.

"And be the ball," Levi finishes.

In unison, they break into laughter.

I would be exasperated with them if they weren't so damn cute together. Still, I don't want this to take all day.

"A shower caddy," I explain, waving my hand with a flourish like I'm on a game show, "comes in handy when you have to take your things back and forth between your room and the dorm showers."

Half the aisle is dedicated to different styles and colors. Naturally, I home in on the pink options, comparing a more compact design against a bigger model that comes with a shower cap and matching loofah.

"I'm pretty sure my dorm has an en suite bathroom," Greedy says, squinting at the rows of bins.

That makes sense. He's in the honors dorms at South Chapel. He's also a student athlete, so he'll probably shower at the field house most days.

Levi abandons his cart and comes to stand beside me. "I don't understand why I would need a container to carry my container." He picks up a dark blue caddy, frowns at it, then puts it back on the shelf.

"What do you mean by container? Like, all your toiletries and supplies?"

"I don't have toiletries. Or supplies." His face screws up in confusion. "I use a three-in-one shampoo–shower gel combo."

"That's two of the three, Leev. What's the third ingredient in your special sauce?" Greedy asks with a laugh.

Levi hums, genuinely considering the question. "I've never really considered what the third function is."

It's conditioner. At least I hope it is.

I poke Levi in the stomach. His abs tense in resistance, forcing me to jam my finger. "You're telling me," I say, shaking out my hand, "that you use the same product on your whole body?"

"Yep."

"Okay, fine. But you won't want your loofah or washcloth touching the gross shower floors," I argue. "A shower caddy would be useful for that."

"That's what God gave me hands for, Hunter." He holds both up, palms facing me.

I wrinkle my nose. "So you're telling me you use one single product—"

"A three-in-one product," he corrects, brows raised.

"And apply it with your bare hands? Therefore, you don't need a shower caddy?"

"Now you're getting it." He palms my head and musses my hair.

With a step back, I swat his big hand away.

"But I might get one to keep my Xbox remotes together," he muses, picking up a black utilitarian caddy.

"Oh, that's a great idea," Greedy says, snagging one for himself.

With a huff under my breath, I shake my head at their ridiculousness. Theoretically, I love back-to-school shopping. Fresh pens, new notebooks, and unopened packs of Post-its are my jam. Clearly, the boys don't share my enthusiasm.

This year, it feels like more of a chore than ever. Just one more item on the long list of things to get done before classes start, and I'm doing them all on my own. My mom and I are barely on speaking terms right now. It's not that I want her to be here for this, but it's hard not to wish that she wanted to share these kinds of moments with me.

She's officially moved out of the house and in with a man I've yet to meet. She's kept contact to a minimum, opting to text me a few times a week, mostly to tell me to tidy up the house and when to be gone for various showings.

I'm better off on my own. I know that. There's truly no coming back from our last interaction. Before that moment, she had never hit me. Yet I'm not even that shocked that it happened. If I needed a last straw, I found it. I hate that it came to this, but at the same time, I've been filled with a sense of relief since. It's finally over; the drawn-out dissipation of our relationship is done. Now, hopefully, we can both move on.

Warm hands graze over my hips, and then Greedy is hugging me from behind. He does this a lot. He gravitates to me when I'm feeling low or just lost in my own head. He's become my anchor, a safe harbor against the tempest that is my crumbling relationship with my mom.

He tightens his hold and rests his chin on my shoulder. "You okay?"

I didn't give him all the details about the altercation with my mom. He knows we had a fight. He knows our house is up for sale. Beyond that, I've compartmentalized the best I can.

For these last few weeks of summer, I want to focus on enjoying my freedom and time with Greedy. Even though we'll just be thirty or forty minutes away from each other, it won't ever be like this again. Soon, our lazy days and long nights will be replaced with two-a-day football practices and study groups.

Going to different colleges means there will be complications, but the way I feel about this boy isn't like anything I've ever experienced.

Greedy slotted into my life with kismet timing. He loves me in a way that leaves me feeling more fulfilled than anything ever has.

I wish things were different with my mom, but I don't have enough space in my heart to mourn the loss of her. Greedy lifts me up. Part of me hopes I never have to introduce him to her.

It's an unrealistic dream, but I can't stand the idea of my mom tainting the very best thing in my life.

Head tipped back, I sink deeper into his hold.

"I'm okay," I tell him. "I promise. I'm excited about my orientation overnight this week."

"I'm gonna miss you, Tem," he says, squeezing me tighter.

With a light groan, I unlace our fingers and tug on his arm so he loosens his grip around my middle. "I have the worst cramps today."

He instantly releases his hold on me, only to bring his hand to the base of my spine and knead the muscles there instead.

I practically swoon. He loves me so well.

"Do you want to come over tonight?" he asks. "I got all my stuff at Levi's packed up, and I'm planning to go back to my dad's place so I can start getting ready for school."

"Tempting," I tell him, "but I think I want to get packed up for orientation."

"Okay. Let's get this done so you can go rest." He kisses my shoulder, then takes the paper from my hand. "What's next on our list?"

With a hum, I scan the bullet points I created. "Hampers and laundry bags. This way, boys."

Naturally, they grumble about how they don't really need a laundry basket the whole way there. Greedy's clothes will be laundered as part of his student-athlete support services. Levi doesn't know the details at his school, but he insists he doesn't want to be the only guy to show up with a collapsible hamper.

"They're functional and fun," I assure him, perusing the options of springy mesh circles lined up on an endcap. "I'm getting pink."

"I don't know," he hedges. "I'm not convinced."

"When we come to visit you," I say, tossing my selection into the cart, "I don't want to have to wade through a sea of stinky clothes all over your floor."

He surveys me, then Greedy, his lips pulled down into a small frown. "You think you'll come out to California?"

"Of course," I tell him.

"We might not make it out until spring semester because of football," Greedy adds. "But you didn't really think we'd let you go out to California and forget about us, did you?"

A huge grin paints over Levi's expression. "You guys could come out for spring break," he suggests. "How cool would that be?"

"We could go to the beach," I chirp, already excited, though it's months away.

Greedy snags my hand and kisses my knuckles. "We have access to the beach here, Tem," he teases.

"I know." I give his chest a light smack. "But there's something dreamy about a California beach. Don't you think?"

Levi's smile widens. He selects a dark blue hamper and adds it to the cart. "All right, what's next on that list of yours?"