This Love (This Boy Book 3)

by Jenna Scott

  “To talk to you.”

  A frustrated sigh huffs out of me. “Okay. About what?”

  He doesn’t answer right away and when I glance over, I see how uncomfortable he looks. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. As we step out into the quad, I grab him by the backpack straps and pull him over to an empty bench.

  “Talk,” I command. “I just want to get this over with.”

  Hunter opens his mouth and then closes it. Then he clears his throat. I check the time on my phone—I still have to stop by Laurens’ office and make it to my next class on time, so I’m about to tell him to forget it when he says, “I went home over the weekend.”

  “Okay. And?”

  He winces. “Your mom moved into my house.”

  “So what? She’s your full-time housekeeper. It’s not like you guys don’t have plenty of spare bedrooms.” I’ve had enough of the theatrics, and I’m getting impatient.

  “Camilla, listen to me. She moved in. Not for work. To be with my dad.”

  I frown at him, my stomach suddenly knotting with an ominous cramp. “What do you mean, to be with your dad—”

  “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Our parents are fucking.”

  It feels like a bucket of ice water just got dumped over my head. It’s lucky we’re standing by the bench, because I collapse right onto it. I’m so shocked that for a few moments, all I can do is stare at him.

  Finally, I manage a choked, “No. Are you sure?”

  He nods. “Yeah. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

  No one can really prepare you for the horror that is your mom getting it on with your ex-boyfriend’s dad.

  How long has this been going on? And how long has Hunter known? Because he sure doesn’t look surprised, though I guess he’s had a few days to digest this revelation. Suddenly, I’m full of suspicion—for all I know, he’s doing this just to mess with me.

  “You’re lying, right? This is a joke,” I try, hoping that this is all some form of twisted amusement on his part.

  “I wish.”

  God. This is just…beyond. Of all the shitty, icky things my mom could do, banging my ex-boyfriend’s dad has got to be a new low.

  “I don’t know how long it’s been going on for…” Hunter looks down, lip curled up and hesitant. “I think it may have started back when we were together.”

  Wait, what? “Oh my God, what Lannister shit is this? And you knew?” I’m full-on grimacing, overwhelmed by a combination of anger and disgust. “You knew and you didn’t tell me? Hunter, what the hell?”

  “I didn’t know for sure, and trying to find out wasn’t exactly my priority,” he growls, defensive. “You can’t say you weren’t suspicious either.”

  My mouth falls open to protest, but the memory of our parents looking cozy during our graduation dinner back in June rears its ugly head. Back then, I’d found the familiar way they talked to each other a little weird, but I’d locked that thought behind a deadbolt and buried it under ten pounds of concrete. Guess finding out about our parents wasn’t my priority either. Now that it’s out there…seriously, Mom, what the fuck.

  That’s when the laughter gets me. Hunter squints at me, confused. I wave a hand in front of my face, trying to control the giggle fit. “I can’t help it. It’s just…so absurd, and at the same time, of course this would happen to me.”

  “Yeah. Imagine my reaction when I walked in the door, and she was sitting on the couch.”

  “And let me guess—drink in hand.”

  He shrugs. “My dad’s scotch. With his permission, of course.”

  God, this is so…I have no words, not even in my thoughts. All I know is, I really don’t want to keep talking to Hunter about this.

  “Well, thanks for dropping the bomb,” I say, forcing nonchalance. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like we’re together anymore. They can do whatever they want, right?”

  “Yeah. That’s a fair point,” he says, but all the humor is gone from his voice.

  I feel like shit hearing his defeated tone, but I don’t know what else to say. This is gross, and I don’t want to talk about my mom screwing someone, let alone screwing my ex’s dad. Still, just imagining the Christmas dinners this could lead to makes me want to heave.

  “Listen, I have to go,” I say, standing up and adjusting my backpack. “I’m running late to my TA duties.”

  “Yeah, cool…” Hunter rolls his shoulders and tries to give me a joking smile. “At least this way, we don’t have to worry about them ruining a nice person’s life, right? They can be shit to each other instead of us.”

  I snort at the shred of truth in that statement. “I wonder who’s going to get on the other’s nerves first.”

  “I bet five bucks on my dad.”

  “Pff. No way. This will be the easiest five bucks I’ve ever made.”

  Hunter smirks. “You underestimate my father. Shake on it?”

  He holds out his hand, and although I’m hesitant to touch him, leaving him hanging is not an option. I put my hand in his, and his familiar warmth seeps into my palm, leaving me so on edge I rise to the tips of my toes. My heart is racing. Time seems to stop.

  “See you around, Milla,” he says, suddenly dropping my hand.

  “Sure. See you.”

  As I walk away, I feel his eyes on me, and I can’t help noticing that my heart is still racing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Camilla

  “Um, excuse me—are you Camilla? The TA for English 130B?”

  My head whips to the left, and I see a girl about my age with Gatorade-blue braids poking her head into the private study room I’ve reserved until six o’clock tonight.

  “Yup,” I say. “Come on in. What can I help you with?”

  Looking anxious, she closes the door behind her and drops into a chair at the study table. “I’m Abby. I need help with an essay, if you have time.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m here for,” I tell her with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  Luke and I have been taking turns setting up camp here at the Cecil H. Green Library every day around dinnertime (most students are at the dining hall then, so it’s easier to find an empty study room). Besides completing our usual TA work, we’re also supposed to be available to assist students, but it’s been pretty slow so far. Probably because it’s still early in the semester. I’d bet anything it’ll pick up around midterms.

  “So. Tell me about your essay,” I say to break the ice. “Is this the one that’s due Friday?”

  She blushes. “Yeah. I didn’t save it for last minute or anything, but I printed it out for proofreading last night and realized I have no central thesis. I’m kind of just rambling on for twelve pages about the history of graphic novels, and I’m afraid I’m gonna have to completely trash this and start all over from scratch. I’m panicking.”

  “Can I look it over?”

  “Yes! Please do. Here,” she says, pulling the pages out of her bag.

  Honestly, I’m glad for the distraction. For the past hour I’ve been grading short-answer tests for Laurens’ Lit History I, because his TA for that course had a family emergency and he asked me to cover for her. Which I’m happy to do. Except that it’s all Beowulf and Shakespeare and Chaucer, and I’ve been practically falling asleep at the task. Not that I don’t appreciate the foundations of English Literature…but reading the same responses from hundreds of students has my ass dragging. Plus, I’ve got the kind of brain fog that comes from eating nothing but vending machine snacks all day.

  I nod as I skim over the pages, underlining a few lines here or there with my red pen. “It seems like you’re most focused on how these stories depict young women—which is awesome, by the way—and the intentions of their creators, who are also women. That’s fantastic.”

  “Thanks. Graphic novels are kinda my thing,” Abby says.

  “This is actually really solid,” I tell her, looking up. “I mean, you discuss tons of examples. N
imona, Speak, Persepolis. These are all great.”

  “Most of the research was already in my head, ha ha.”

  “I can tell. I’m underlining a few sentences that I think you could rework into a thesis statement, if you can figure out what the main thrust of the paper is.”

  Abby sighs. “I feel like I know what it is, but I’m having trouble putting it into words. I tried to talk to Luke after class about it, but he just told me graphic novels aren’t literature, that they don’t have the same cultural impact as ‘real books.’”

  Hmm. “So you disagree?”

  Her jaw drops. “Of course I disagree! Ms. Marvel changed my life. Graphic novels absolutely belong in the literary canon, and their impact is huge. Especially on young people who might not otherwise read books at all.”

  I smile at her and slide the paper back across the table.

  “Sounds to me like you have your thesis,” I say. “Maybe Luke did help you after all.”

  “Oh my God. You’re a genius!” Abby squeals.

  “Nope, you are,” I tell her. “All you have to do is put your statement in the intro paragraph and then reiterate it in the conclusion. Your body paragraphs will support it exactly as they are, so you don’t have to rewrite anything or add in new stuff.”

  “Thanks, Camilla. Luke had me totally freaking out. I thought this paper was trash.” She rolls her eyes. “I thought he was cute at first, but after that? Dead.”

  Ha…so I’m not alone. “Same, girl. Same,” I enthusiastically agree. “He’s a literary snob. Every time he sees me with a YA, he always says something like, not in the mood for a real book?”

  “And that is why I came to you for this.” She taps her pages. “I saw you carrying And I Darken, so I figured you’d be cool.”

  “Well, I’m honored.” It’s not a lie, or an exaggeration, even. “Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

  Abby beams at me. “Thanks. I’m gonna go make some tweaks on this.”

  She packs up and I wave goodbye, turning back to the rest of the Lit Hist tests I have left to grade. By the time I’m done, it’s already past seven and I’m legit starving. Emmett was supposed to meet up with me, but when I grab my phone to text him, I find a message from him saying he’s not going to make it because he had to take an urgent video call.

  No worries, I text back, and then a second later, I start to worry. Everything okay with your parents?

  But he won’t elaborate on what’s going on—only that it’s nothing bad.

  You’re hiding something from me? I reply. Our friendship contract doesn’t support this kind of secrecy! I demand a mediation session.

  Emmett texts back, You and Isabel keep secrets from me all the time!

  Only when it’s girl talk!

  This is the equivalent, but for guys, he replies.

  A grin tugs at my lips. You’re aware you pretty much just told me you’re seeing someone, right? Who is it?

  … he types.

  And then, frack. It’s not ‘seeing’ someone. It’s a casual thing.

  Come on, spill it! I write, egging him on. Do I know her? Is it Olivia? Give me a hint!

  Nope, he instantly responds. And I’m not telling you anything else, so you can stop with the 20 questions.

  OKAY fine, I’ll stop, I text. But only because you’re my bff.

  My phone stops buzzing, and I figure that’s the last I’ll hear from Emmett—until All right all right, I’ll give you this pops up. We had a secret fling over the summer.

  My eyes go wide open, my fingers furiously tapping on the screen. Emmett had some secret lady friend all summer long and didn’t tell me? Does this mean the girl is from La Jolla? I want to yell at him for sneaking around, but it’d be hypocritical of me. I took forever to tell him about me and Hunter.

  SO SHE’S SOMEONE FROM HOME? I write.

  That’s all you’re getting. No more clues, he responds. See you Monday.

  Walking out of the library, I’m thoroughly distracted by this new gossip. Because I see Emmett as something like a brother, I tend to forget he’s actually really good-looking. Also, he has dimples. I should’ve known he could charm the pants off someone that wasn’t me.

  The sky darkens and the streetlamps flicker on as I cut across the Centennial Green, so I pick up my pace. The dorms are across campus, and I have no choice but to take the long walk back.

  When I reach the quad, I see a tall silhouette coming my way, one that gets clearer as I walk west and he walks south. There are thousands of people on this campus, and countless ways to get from A to B—but somehow, I end up crossing paths with Hunter Beck.

  My eyes narrow, and I give him a skeptical smile as I take in his wet hair and gym bag. “I’m not sure I believed you were actually on the swim team until now.”

  “My acceptance was contingent on me joining the team. And I want to stay, so…” He shrugs. “Do you have a night class or something?”

  “Nah. My TA stuff ran long.” I fiddle with the backpack strap on my shoulder. “I’m just heading back to my dorm, hopefully in time to grab dinner.”

  There’s a bit of an awkward silence before he says, “It’s dark.” He nods in the direction of the underclassmen dorms. “I’ll walk you home.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Yeah, I do. I need to make sure you’re safe,” he says. “Come on.”

  We start to walk, side by side, and I can feel the heat radiating off his body against the chill of the night air. Catching the scent of his shampoo sends a shiver down my spine. It really is unfair that he still has that big an effect on me.

  “Want me to carry your bag?” he asks.

  Although my shoulder is aching, I can’t let him do those small nice things for me anymore. They feel way too intimate. “I’m good. You have your own bag anyway.”

  “That I do. Stanford might be fancy, but I still have to bring my own towels to swim practice. And a shower caddy. And flip-flops.”

  Imagining him carrying a caddy and worrying about flip-flops proves funnier than I thought. When Hunter asks why I’m giggling, I say, “I seriously never thought I’d see the day where you’re worrying about shower caddies and towels.”

  “What can I say?” He gives me a lopsided smile. “I’m full of surprises.”

  “How are you liking the rest of the team? And your new coach?”

  “They’re okay. Coach Elba is miles ahead of that asshole Moore at the Academy. I’m actually getting better.” He grins. “He says I have a shot at the Olympics.”

  “Wow.” At that point, my elbow brushes his arm, and a shock runs through my body. I go silent for too long, and then blurt out, “Where are you staying, by the way?”

  “I have an apartment off campus. It’s nice. Got a pool and everything.” He smiles a little. “Totally empty after midnight.”

  I laugh again, because swimming alone in the dark is the most Hunter thing ever. “You always did need a pool at the strangest hours.”

  “And you always read books at the strangest hours, you little Ravenclaw.”

  Hearing Hunter mention my Hogwarts house always makes me melt. Silence falls between us again, but it feels warm with familiarity now. I have to keep stopping myself from drifting closer to him, and keep my fingers busy with my bag’s strap so I won’t accidentally reach out and try to hold his hand.

  “So, are you gonna let me copy your History notes?” he asks.

  I roll my eyes. “Is that what this is really about? You’re after my class notes?”

  “What? Milla, you wound me!” He takes his hand to his heart, melodramatic as always. “I was planning to give you copies afterward so you’ll also have nice, readable studying material.” Hunter’s now pouting, and shit. It’s cute. “You know you write all sloppy when you’re in a rush and it takes a special decoder to figure it out later.”

  “Hmm.” I consider it. “You do have pretty handwriting.”

  “And a willingness to color-code.”


  “Careful, now,” I say, in a mock warning tone. “If you promise to use stickers, I might just let you have your way.”

  “I will use functional stickers, but no cute ones.”

  “Hm.” I wrinkle my nose and look up as I pretend to give it great consideration. “I’ll give them to you, but only if you show up on time for our next study group. I told Zach, Monica, and Allison that I’d talk to you about it. How are your Hamilton pages coming along so far?”

  “I’m working on it,” Hunter says, in a way that makes me not believe him.

  “You better work fast. Our first drafts have to go to Monica on Sunday night.”

  He sighs. “I’ll do my best. Not everyone is a genius like you, Milla.”

  “I’m not a genius,” I say. “I just try hard.”

  “Genius,” he insists, and that’s when we come up to my residence hall.

  I smile. I feel so whole being near him. When we’re together like this—even just walking in silence—so much of my sadness and discomfort melt away. It’s easier to breathe. Especially when he’s being nice. And normal. The Hunter I used to know. Talking and joking with him right now, it’s just like old times.

  “This is me,” I say, pulling up outside the entrance. I don’t want to go, but the longer I stand out here with him, the harder it will be to say goodbye. “Thanks for walking me.”

  Hunter shrugs. “It was nothing.”

  I nod and grab the door handle, but then I turn back around. He’s still standing right there, watching me. “For what it’s worth…I wish things were different.”

  “For what it’s worth,” he replies, “I’m sorry it’s not.”

  It’s the closest thing to contrition I’ve gotten from him thus far, and Isabel’s words—about him needing to start with an apology if he ever wants to make amends—echo in my mind.

  We lock eyes, and the air gets warmer between us. My entire body wants to tilt in his direction. I want to reach out and touch him. I want to curl up against him and let the world disappear the way it used to.

  There’s a moment where I think it might happen. Hunter reaches out, his hand moving toward my face, but then it stops at my hair, and softly, his fingers brush a loose strand behind my ear.