Page 58 of From Now On

She pats the top of my head before taking the seat next to mine.

I’m in the middle of twisting the top off the Gatorade when the patio door opens and Hunter walks in. I figured he was still asleep in the living room, but he looks like he’s been up for hours.

And he’s…shirtless.

My body temperature instantly rockets ten degrees warmer.

As slutty as it makes me sound, my focus was…lower during Dickgate. I got a glimpse of the rest of his body—enough to tell that he’s musculareverywhere—but it was not an opportunity to really take it all in.

Heat crawls up my spine and blasts the back of my neck as I stare. Broad shoulders. Bulging biceps. Solid pecs. Stacked abs. There’s a thin line of golden hair that disappears into the elastic waistband of his black basketball shorts. And it’s framed by a defined V that points directly at what I know is a huge penis. A golden Adonis, sweaty and in the same room as me.

If Harlow’s to be believed—and I can’t think of a single reason why she would make it up—I was pressed up against that impressive physique last night. And not only did I not get to enjoy it, I have absolutely no memory of it happening.

My cheeks burn as hot as the rest of my body as I focus every ounce of my attention on twisting the plastic lid off the Gatorade.

He’s just a guy. He’s just a guy. He’s just a guy.The chant does nothing to cool me off.

I hear the low rumble of Hunter’s voice as he says something to Conor, who’s manning the toaster. All I catch is “six miles.”

He just ransixmiles?

Jesus. No wonder his muscles have muscles. I’d probably pass out after one mile. Definitely pass out today.

Aidan folds his large frame into the seat across from me. He’s every bit as tall and muscular as Hunter is, but I’ve never felt the slightest spark of attraction toward him. Not even when he was single and known as thegood time guyon campus. Same with Conor. He’s ridiculously attractive, but I spoke in full, normal sentences the first time he showed up at our house, back when Harlow was insistent that she had no interest in the campus “Hart-breaker.”

Realizing I’m not harboring a secret fantasy about justanyhockey player should be reassuring. But I wish this awarenesswasn’tspecific to Hunter. Wish I’d felt a fraction of this sensation last night with Julian. I mean, Finn.

I didn’t just remember Hunter’s name after our first conversation. I recall our entire interaction, years later.

I rub my temple, praying the painkillers will kick in soon.

Aidan gives me a sympathetic grin across the table. “How ya feeling?”

I sip some Gatorade, then more coffee. “Like there’s a construction crew working on my brain and the rest of my body got run over by an eighteen-wheeler. Sorry about last night, guys.”

I make it a group apology, careful not to look toward where Hunter’s voice was coming from last. Aside from Harlow, he’s who I feel most indebted to. And Harlow and I have years of history between us. We’ve laughed and cried together. We spent the night on the bathroom floor together after one party sophomore year. I feel bad she had to help me last night, but we don’t have the same uneven dynamic that exists between me and Hunter. He didn’t sign up to carry the drunk girl who stole his bedroom to the car because she got too wasted to walk.

Shit, that sounds bad. I don’t drink very often, which was one reason last night turned into such a disaster. I have no clue what my alcohol tolerance is, and by the time I realized I was past it, I waswaypast it. Too past it to consider consequences.

“Don’t sweat it,” Aidan says. “We’ve all been there.”

I doubt he’s ever thrown up in front of a secret crush, but I appreciate Aidan’s effort to make me feel better.

“When we get back to campus, you can brag that you drank three hockey players under the table,” he adds.

I reach for my mug of coffee again. “Yeah, I’ll add that to my résumé. Thanks.”

“Bon appétit.” Rylan sets a steaming pan of eggs on the table.

“Ooh la la,” Aidan says, in the worst imitation of a French accent I’ve ever heard. He pulls Rylan into his lap.

“I still need to get forks and plates,” she tells him, struggling to stand.

“Hart! Morgan! Plates and forks!” Aidan calls, not letting go.

“Youcould get them,” Rylan suggests.

Aidan smirks at his girlfriend. “Nah. I’m comfortable.”

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