Page 52 of Bad Love

I glance over my shoulder to find Hunter watching me. I expect to find amusement in his expression, but there’s only interest. As if I’m some fascinating creature he’s never before encountered in histravels.

“As much as I could spend all day dissecting your appalling fantasizing-about-strangers theory, there’s one glaringflaw.”

“What?”

“We’re not strangers,Peach.”

His words dig at my stomach, but it’s the implied intimacy that guts me. As if he knows me. As if we’ve shared pieces ofourselves.

Because wehave.

I always figured intimacy was like an eighth-grade slow dance. At the beginning, it’s cordial. Fingertips grazing waists and shoulders. Gradually, you work your way closer until you’re nestled against eachother.

Trust takes time. What’s new has to become comfortable before thingsprogress.

Hunter never got that rulebook.

Forget fingertips. He hauled me against him and made me feel every inch of his body until I had nothing tohide.

I meant what I said to him at my place. That he’s so much more than he pretends. That’s what makes this even more dangerous. I shouldn’t want him closer. Not because of Rory or Nadine, but because intimacy with Logan would be a gateway to something I don’ttrust.

“I’m not looking for something physical, Logan.” His given name slips out before I can stop it, and I swear his eyes darken. “Or emotional, for that matter. It was one kiss. No worlds were rocked.” I clear my throat, folding my arms with the empty spray bottle still hooked on one finger. "So, I need your go-ahead on the vibe. Do I haveit?”

He studies me a long time, then reaches over to grab the vibe oncemore.

My phone buzzes on the table, and Hunter’s hand stills as he stares at thescreen.

“What?”

I lean over the table to read the notification. It’s atext.

Blake:Kendall, babe, you’ll never believe what Idid!

Perfect.I should’ve known he’d want to talksoon.

I let out a little grunt and turn itfacedown.

It vibrates again. Another message. I clear my throat. “Do I have your go-ahead,Hunter?”

He stares at me, folding his arms over his muscularchest.

Oh, for goodnesssake.

It looks bad, a guy calling me “babe” after my sermon on abstinence, but I don’t owe himanything.

"You have no idea what you read,” I sayanyway.

“No? It looks pretty clear to me.” I don’t know what Hunter’s thinking, but judging by his expression, it’smurderous.

I set the empty spray bottle down with aclunk. “If you were hoping to criticize my personal life, you don't pay me enough for that.” Hunter’s chest rises, slow, as if he’s trying to restrain the urge to lunge over the table. “Now, I need a decision on that vibe. If you want to do any further personal testing in the interim"—I nod at the vibe in his hand—"knock yourselfout."

I grab the bottle and stalk out thedoor.

It's not until I hear the loud whistle that I realize he's right behindme.

11

I’ma man who’s willing to admit when he’swrong.

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