Page 38 of Falling With a Spin

“Is this the same room I woke up in?” I set my stuff down next to the bed and look around, seeing all of the band posters he has up on one side and pictures lining the opposite side.

“Yeah, it was.” He still stands over by the door, rubbing the back of his neck.

It’s probably a nervous habit that he has. It’s quite adorable.

Taking a seat on the bed, I bend down and grab my book bag. “Well, shouldn’t we get started?” I ask, looking inside my bag. “I don't have work today, so we can study as long as we need, or I need.” Snap my head up, eyes wide. “Unless you have plans today, then that's fine. You probably do have plans. I mean, who wouldn’t want to have plans with you? Unless you have band practice to continue with or tests, you have to study for them as well. Because -” Hunter cuts me off by sitting down on the bed in front of me, taking my small dainty fingers in his.

“Emma, breathe. Just breathe, okay?” He quietly says and starts rubbing his thumb on my hand, soothing my nerves. The chill from earlier makes its way back up my spine, and the warmth returns into the middle of my stomach. I like the feeling. But also, at the same time, I shouldn’t.

“I’m okay, really,” I say, taking a few deep breaths. “We should probably get started, though.” I take my hands out of his grasp and pull out my calculus book.

Rummaging through my bag for my notebook and pens, I curse under my breath. I must have left them on my desk at home.

Sighing in defeat, “Do you happen to have an extra notebook and pencil?” I keep my gaze on my bag as my cheeks flush red from embarrassment.

“Yeah, give me a second. Why don’t you open up to the chapters on which the test was covered?” I watch him as he walks away. He’s wearing a thin white t-shirt, and I barely make out a dark tattoo on his right back shoulder. The blue jeans he wears, which lay low on him, are worn out and have holes in them from being used over and over. He turns around after grabbing the supplies from his desk, and I snap my head to the book.

“Okay, here you go,” handing me the notebook and pencil, he sits back on the bed, much closer this time. “Did you find the chapters yet?” He asks

“Umm yeah, I believe it’s chapters Four through Six,” I say, flipping through the pages.

“Alright then, let’s start with Chapter Four.” He says, opening up to the chapter and guiding me through the first problem.

I’m working through one of the three hundred million problems that Hunter gave me when my stomach makes a horrendous noise that can wake anything or anyone up.

I take a glance to my right to see Hunter stifling his laughter. I mumble an apology and continue to work on the problem in front of me. I’m unable to concentrate with the monster in my stomach, or the fact that Hunter keeps moving closer to me to where I can smell cinnamon and spice coming from him.

“When was the last time you had food?” Hunter asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

“I think last night when you were over. I lose track of time sometimes.” Shrugging and leaning back onto the pillows, I pull my knees up to prop the book against my legs.

He closes his textbook and gets out of the bed. I give him a questioning look, but he comes over to me and takes the book out of my lap, setting it on his desk.

“Hunter, what are you doing?” I question him.

Pulling me out of the bed and towards the door, “We are getting you some food before you wither away.”

As we get to the bottom of the stairs, a familiar garlic smell makes its way to me, and my stomach makes another growl.

Walking into the kitchen, I’m surprised by how cozy it feels, with marble countertops black and white tile backsplash underneath the cabinets. A three-panel glass window on the right side of the kitchen, and in front lies a black wooden table. In the middle is an island where the boys sit on wooden bar stools.

“Garrett, come on, dude, is it almost ready? I'm dying over here.” Justin whines, dropping his head onto the counter and banging his fits. It reminds me of a toddler not getting what he wants, and I have to stifle my laughter.

“If you continue to whine, Justin, then you aren’t getting any of my Famous Pasta,” Garrett says, bending down to take out what smells like garlic bread from the oven. Hunter walks over to Garrett, stealing a few slices and setting them on a napkin before leading me to a seat next to Matt.

“You can’t rush the Famous Pasta.” Garrett points the spoon at all the guys and returns to the stove.

“Hey, Garrett,” I say and take a seat on the bar stool.

Garrett looks over his shoulder and gives me a small wave.

“This should hold you over until he’s done cooking. By the way, it’s not that famous. Anyone can make it,” Hunter whispers in my ear.

“I heard that asshole,” Garrett grumbles, and I roll my eyes as Hunter takes a bite from his slice.

“Hey Emma, how have you been?” Matt says, looking up from the sheet music that he’s been working on.

“Pretty good. Hunter is just helping me study for a test I have.”

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