Four

      When I came back from the shower, Hunter was in bed, shirtless and in just boxers, sitting with his back against the wall, guitar in his lap. It was a scene most girls would have swooned over. Between the dancing skills and the guitar, he could rack up plenty of attractiveness points. He plucked a few strings before realizing I was in the room. For a split second, I saw a dreamy look on his face. He quickly hid it behind a smirk.

      “You’re all wet.”

      I didn’t miss the double entendre. I tossed my balled-up clothes in the hamper and twisted my hair in my towel to squeeze some of the water out.

      “Not the kind of nightwear I was picturing, but it’ll do.”

      I looked down at my oversize T-shirt and shorts. I’d thought twice about wearing a tank top and boy shorts, which normally I would have, given the temperature. I’d left my bra on so my nipples wouldn’t show through the thin jersey material.

      “Are you one of those douches with a guitar, or can you really play?” I tried to keep my eyes on the guitar and not on his bare chest. There was another tattoo on his left pectoral. A four-leaf clover.

      “I only play if you’re a paying customer. Although I’d take a trade instead of money.”

      Why had I even asked? I’d been trying to break the ice, but he didn’t seem to want to. I went to my dresser and found a quarter that I chucked at him.

      “There. Now play, music boy.” I sat down on my bed and faced him.

      “What do you want?”

      I thought about it. I wanted to pick a song there was no way he would know. I threw out anything hard rockish or folksy. He seemed like one of those guys who would be into Bob Dylan.

      “‘C’est la Mort’ by The Civil Wars.”

      He gave me a look like that wasn’t what he was expecting.

      “What? Don’t know it? Not hip enough for you?” He looked away from me and down at the guitar. He plucked a few notes. I waited.

      Then the song emerged from his fingers, slow and haunting. I sat back against my pillows, getting lost in the music. I hated to admit it; he played very well. He hadn’t had just a few lessons last week. He’d been playing for years. He finished the song with a flourish and looked up at me. The dreamy look was there again, and it took longer for him to put it away.

      “Singing is extra,” he said.

      “You can dance, you can play the guitar. Jesus, Hunter, what can’t you do?”

      “I’m very good at a lot of things. If you want to come over here, I can show you a few more,” he said, laying the guitar back in the case. My throat suddenly went dry, and I had to swallow. His comments had been different when we were fully clothed and with a group of people. In this dark, quiet room they took on a heavier meaning, or at least they did to me. I was making too much of it.

      I sat up. There was something about lying down that made me feel more vulnerable.

      “I’m not sorry for punching you,” I said for no reason in particular. My hand was still swollen and sore, and I hoped his face hurt for a long time.

      “I know you’re not. I’m not sorry you did either. Most girls bore me. You, Taylor, do not bore me.”

      “Thank God, I can die a happy woman.”

      “I’m not going to make a move on you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

      I had been, but I didn’t want him to know that.

      “I never screw girls I like.”

      “That doesn’t make any sense.” Wait, he liked me?

      “Of course it does. All relationships end eventually, right? So why not end it before it begins and save yourself the trouble?”

      “That’s pretty fucked up thinking, Hunter. What did your parents do to you?” In my experience, guys like Hunter usually had deep-rooted Mommy issues. It was why they could never have close relationships with women.

      “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

      I got up and put my phone in the charger, mostly so I could stop making eye contact with him. Normally, my nightly routine would involve putting in my retainer, slathering my face with moisturizer and putting on an eye mask, but there was no way in hell I was letting Hunter see any of that.

      It was too intimate, too personal. Maybe tomorrow housing would be open to finding him another place. I would simply tell them that I was uncomfortable living with Hunter. I wanted to believe that I would have the balls to tell him to get out. It would have been so much easier if we could have taken care of this hours ago. Also if he hadn’t played that stupid song. Why had I picked that? I should have picked something stupid like “I Am the Walrus.”

      He clicked his lamp off, and we were left in almost total darkness. The only light came from the small lamp on my dresser that I hadn’t turned off yet.

      “Just to let you know, I talk in my sleep.” He shifted on his bed and chucked something on the floor. It could only be one thing. “Also, I sleep naked.”

      I made a sound of disgust. I was definitely sleeping with my bra on, even though I’d have uncomfortable marks in the morning. I climbed into bed and pulled the comforter up. I was the one who felt naked. I swore I could hear his sheets rubbing against his skin. Damn, I should have gotten some earplugs.

      I wasn’t going to sleep at all.

      I also talked in my sleep, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

      “Well, good night. Feel free to dream about me naked and scream all you want. I’ll sleep right through it.”

      I wished I had a pillow, or perhaps something heavier, to chuck at him. I quietly grabbed my retainer and put it in, hiding the case under my mattress. I wanted to pretend like I didn’t give a shit what he thought of me, but honestly, I did.

      It felt rude not saying good-night, so I did. I got a mumble in response. I lay on my back and looked at the ceiling. Even with the memory foam mattress pad, the dorm bed was as comfortable as a sack of hay.

      Hunter was breathing quietly, but his disturbance in the room was unmistakable. I didn’t know why, but guys breathed differently than girls. Deeper somehow. I heard every single time he shifted or moved or twitched at all. I knew the exact moment he was asleep when his breathing became slow and he stopped moving so much. I tried closing my eyes, but it didn’t work.

      I grabbed my MP3 player and put it on Shuffle. I had tons of fast songs on there, so I had to keep skipping things. Usually, alcohol made me tired, but the soda had been a bad idea. It was too late to take my sleep medication, so I was stuck. I only had two classes the next day, and they didn’t start until eleven. I hoped Darah and Renee weren’t too loud in the morning. I hoped Hunter wouldn’t be too loud in the morning.

      I hit repeat when “C’est la Mort” came on, and I finally faded off.

      ***

      “Taylor, Taylor!”

      A hand grabbed my shoulder, shaking it.

      “What the fuck?” I said, flailing against it, trying to get it to let me go. “Don’t touch me!” I whipped my arms around and made contact with something warm and fleshy. A chest.

      “Jesus Christ, stop it!”

      I finally opened my eyes and assessed the situation. I was in bed, and there was a shirtless boy holding my arm. I froze, and he let go of me.

      “What are you doing?” I snapped at him, but it came out slurred because of the retainer. I spit it out in my hand.

      “You were screaming in your sleep and freaking out. It woke me up.” Shit. Usually when I took my sleep medication,