Page 40 of Vital Signs
"Don't pretend that was just about proving a point."
My jaw tightened. "What do you want me to say?"
"The truth would be nice."
"The truth?" I pulled off the main road, taking us toward the abandoned factory lot where we could hide for the night. "The truth is, I wanted to kiss you. Wanted it ever since I watched you fight. Since you let me inject you. "
Hunter went quiet.
"But wanting something doesn't change the math," I continued. "You'll always need the drugs more than you need me. And I'm too fucked up to be anyone's first choice."
"You're wrong."
I barked out a laugh. "Which part?"
"All of it." His hand found my thigh. "You think I kissed you back because you provoked me? Because I was proving something?"
"Didn't you?"
"I kissed you back because I've been thinking about it for days. Because watching you work, watching you steal that keycard, watching you push me..." He stopped, jaw working. "Because I wanted to. Even high, even knowing it's a terrible idea, I wanted you."
The confession hung between us.
"You just told me you're trans," he continued, "and my first thought wasn't 'oh, that changes things.' It was 'good, now nothing's stopping us.' That's how much I want this. Want you."
I pulled into the factory lot, killed the engine. In the sudden quiet, I could hear both of us breathing. Fast. Shallow.
"This is a bad idea," I said.
"Probably the worst."
"You're still using. I'm still broken. Wright's going to come after us. The Laskins will..."
"I know," Hunter interrupted. "All of that is true. And I still want to kiss you again."
I turned to look at him fully. In the darkness of the van, with only the distant glow of the factory lights, he looked dangerous and beautiful and entirely too tempting.
"If we do this," I said carefully, "if we cross this line completely, I need you to understand something."
"What?"
"I'm not interested in casual. I'm not interested in 'just sex' or 'just tonight' or whatever you tell yourself to make it feel less scary." My eyes held his. "I want everything or nothing. And I don't do halfway."
Hunter's smile was slow. Dangerous. "Good. Neither do I."
"I'm serious, Hunter. I don't want to be another thing you use and discard when it gets too hard."
"You won't be." He leaned across the console, close enough that I could feel his breath on my lips. "You're already too far under my skin for that. Already making me want things I thought the drugs had killed."
"Like what?"
"Like mornings. Like someone to wake up next to. Like a reason to stay sober." His thumb brushed my lower lip. "Like you."
The way Hunter kissed me back—desperate, hungry, like I was the drug he needed—made me wonder if maybe I'd been wrong. Maybe I could compete with fentanyl after all. Maybe I already was.
I closed the distance between us, kissing him again. Softer this time. Without the urgency of security chasing us or the adrenaline of theft. Just us, choosing this, choosing each other despite every reason not to.
When we pulled apart, Hunter's smile was real.
