This Love (This Boy Book 3)

by Jenna Scott

  “Have we reached our destination?” I ask, excitedly running ahead on the path.

  Hunter laughs behind me. “Wait up!”

  Through thinning trees, I get a glimpse of tumbling water flashing in the sun. The trail starts leading us downward, and suddenly we’re right on a riverbank. The water is a deep, dark blue, but close to the bank you can see right to the sand at the bottom. It’s a pretty calm current, with the river rocks creating small pools and foaming eddies.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he says.

  I hear the sound of the backpack hitting the ground and then strong arms come around me as Hunter squeezes me to him. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his rapid heartbeat against my back. Turning in his arms, I give him a quick kiss, and then a slower one.

  “I’m sweaty. You can let me go now,” I say.

  “Never.”

  He picks me up and spins me around, and I’m still laughing giddily when he sets me back down.

  “You want to cool off?” he asks, already untying his boots.

  I follow his lead, thinking that dipping my achy feet in a nice cold river is exactly what I need. But I’m only halfway done rolling up my pants leg when a slightly damp, cologne-scented T-shirt hits the side of my head.

  “Hey—” My word dries in my throat as I take in the sight of Hunter shirtless, unbuttoning his pants as he strides toward the water, barefoot and gorgeous.

  “You coming in?” he asks, dropping his pants with no ceremony.

  Hot damn. I might actually be drooling as I watch him toss his pants on a rock and run into the river, flashing that firm, grabbable ass, naked and perfect. As soon as he’s in up to his waist, he lets out a yelp and goes under, then pops back up in the middle of the river shaking the water out of his hair.

  “What are you waiting for?” he shouts, a huge grin on his face.

  Is this crazy? Yes. Am I going to freeze my ass off? Definitely. But screw it.

  I whip off my shirt and sports bra, then wiggle out of my pants and underwear, dropping the bundle of clothes next to Hunter’s and then bolting for the water before anyone can happen upon us and see me naked.

  The air is cool against my sweat-slicked skin, but nothing prepares me for the sheer icy coldness of the river water all around me as I splash toward Hunter.

  “Aggghh!!” I yell, feeling the muddy sand of the river bottom squishing between my toes. “Cold!!”

  My body is covered in goose bumps, my arms are crossed tight across my chest, but it does nothing to keep me warm.

  “Come here, you big baby.” Hunter pulls me against him, rubbing my arms and back to warm me up. “Now hold your breath.”

  “What?”

  And then he suddenly pulls me under with him, just long enough to give me a good, quick dunking.

  I come up gasping with the cold, laughing and squirming in Hunter’s arms.

  “You asshole!” I yell, wiping water out of my eyes.

  “Feel better now?” he asks.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then you should be thanking me.”

  He lifts my chin and kisses me, playful at first but quickly changing to long, slow strokes of his tongue that warm me up in no time. Under the water, his hands drop down around my ass, squeezing as he pushes his hardening cock between my thighs.

  “Hunter—”

  “Shh.”

  “What if someone sees?”

  “Let them see.”

  His lips are back on mine, and then his tongue surges past my lips. A second later, his fingers slide between my legs, parting me and then dipping into my pussy. I’m ready for him, aching for his touch. As he pumps into me, I grind on his hand, bending his thumb inward so I can use it for friction against my swollen clit.

  “Mmm, Hunter…”

  I’ve never thought of myself as an exhibitionist, but the idea that we could get caught any moment is turning me on. Not that anyone will know what we’re doing out here—the water is almost up to our necks, and we’re halfway across the river—but it might be obvious if I’m screaming with pleasure. So I’ll just have to be quiet.

  Weightless in the water, I wrap my legs around his waist to give him better access. Soon I’m riding his fingers hard and fast, panting against Hunter’s neck and tasting the drops of river water clinging to his shoulders. I’m losing myself in the sensations of the warm sun on my skin, the electric tingle of my nipples against his chest, the rush of cool water all around us.

  The river may be cold, but all I feel is heat.

  When I come in his arms, it feels like I’m flying.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Camilla

  I guess I’ve never really understood the allure of camping. Sleeping on the ground, getting attacked by bugs, trying to cook food over a campfire. Bears.

  But helping Hunter pitch the tent is actually one of the most fun things we’ve ever done together. Instead of just building the whole thing while I watch, which is kind of what I expected, Hunter has me first clear the ground of big rocks and tree branches and then lay out the tarp that the tent will sit on top of. Meanwhile, he lines up all the tent stakes and collapsible tent poles and folded pieces of green and tan nylon that we’re going to somehow turn into a small dwelling.

  The whole thing collapses a few times as we’re trying to get the tent poles crossed and staked, which has both of us laughing. Once that’s done, Hunter ducks inside and uses an air pump to fill up the inflatable mattress he brought—I assumed we’d be sleeping on the ground, so it’s a pleasant surprise. He’s thought of everything.

  Standing back, I look at our humble abode with a sense of accomplishment.

  “Our little love nest,” I joke.

  Hunter puts his arm around me and squeezes me to his side. “You like it?”

  “It’s perfect.”

  It really is—it’s a cute dome-shaped tent with these mesh fabric windows that zip open and closed, including one in the ceiling that will let us see the stars. Supposedly it’s big enough for four people, but that just means we have enough room for all our stuff inside. Well, except for the food, which we have to keep in this heavy metal locker box provided by the park. It’s so the animals won’t try to burgle our tent.

  “You ready to shower up, or should we eat first?” Hunter asks.

  “Definitely eat first. I’m starving.”

  We unload the rest of the car and then sit in our camping chairs to eat the cold cut sandwiches and BBQ potato chips that Hunter packed for us.

  “So when do I get to see you swim with the team?” I ask, passing him the Dr. Pepper we’re sharing.

  He shrugs. “You can come to the next meet if you want, but they tend to be kind of boring. Not much to look at.”

  “You’re plenty to look at,” I tell him with a smirk.

  I prod him some more, until I get the full rundown on the coach, the rest of the team, and how his times have improved by leaps and bounds already. As hesitant as he was to share, now that he’s on a roll he’s talking animatedly with a smile on his face.

  “What about you? How’s the psych major going?”

  “So far so good. I’m learning a lot.”

  Part of me wants to tell him how much I’m loving my Lit class, to the point that I’m considering changing my major—but I don’t want him to get weird about Professor Laurens again, so I keep it to myself for now.

  The bathrooms are a short, easy walk from our campsite, and Hunter gives me a handful of quarters and a towel, both of which I did not pack. At this point we’re covered in dirt, sweat, and dried river water, so the showers are a necessary luxury. Unfortunately, the water only seems to have two possible temperatures—ice cold or scalding hot. I go back and forth between the two, practically dancing around in the tiny stall with every temperature shock, and by the time I’m done I feel like a million bucks.

  “You almost done in there?” Hunter calls from outside.

  “Just
getting dressed!” I yell back.

  “You ready for that piggyback now? I’m a man of my word.”

  Is he kidding? “Hell yes!”

  There was a time when I wouldn’t have been comfortable letting Hunter carry me anywhere. Thanks to my mom, I was always extra paranoid about my weight, my body shape, what other people thought when they looked at me. But rather than making me even more self-conscious, my physical relationship with Hunter last year helped me start to break those mental walls down. Become more accepting of the skin I’m in. Not just because he appreciates my body (he’s certainly never been shy vocalizing it), but because I’m more aware now of the pleasure I can give and get. My shape and my curves are a big part of that. This is a body I feel good in.

  At camp, I slide off Hunter’s back and set our damp towels over the hood of his car to dry.

  “Should we gather firewood like we’re in a fairy tale?” I ask.

  He laughs. “I actually brought wood. It’s in the trunk.”

  “So you’re saying I won’t get to see you chop wood shirtless?” I have to pout.

  “Disappointed?”

  “The universe is cruel, indeed.”

  “How about I take my shirt off while I’m building the fire up?”

  “That’ll do.”

  I actually do end up gathering some twigs and smaller branches to help get the fire started, but once Hunter has it going, I have to admit I’m impressed. He’s never struck me as a particularly outdoorsy type, but he put that fire together like a pro. Stacking the wood in a teepee structure and arranging the kindling underneath.

  We move our camp chairs over to the fire and I get my hoodie, since the temperature’s starting to drop as the sun sinks toward the horizon.

  “Were you a Boy Scout?” I tease. “Because I’d love to hear how you went from being a goody two-shoes to a total degenerate. I mean, this fire is legit.”

  Hunter regards me with a sly smirk. “Joke’s on you. I was always a degenerate. But yeah, I’ve actually camped here before. More than once.”

  “Really? Like with Mason and the guys? I never saw you as the camping type.”

  He shakes his head. “Nah. It was a long time ago. Back when my mom was still with us.”

  He goes silent, staring into the flames. I reach over and take his hand. He rarely talks about his mom, and when he does, there’s this undercurrent of pain and sadness. She walked out on him when he was a kid, and I don’t know if he’ll ever totally recover. For now, I’m content to just sit with him while he sifts through the memories.

  After a few minutes, I say, “I can’t actually picture your dad camping, either,” subtly letting him know we can go back to making jokes if he needs a change of subject.

  “He wasn’t such an asshole when I was younger,” Hunter says bitterly. “And when we came here, we always had a good time. After she left, though, my dad just…changed. He got more distant, he worked later and later hours, and it felt like he had a hard time looking at me. Like I reminded him too much of her. Or maybe he just got tired of all my questions about where my mom was, or when she’d be back.”

  “Did he…expect her to come back?”

  “I don’t know. If he did, I doubt that fantasy lasted very long.”

  There’s nothing I can say that will make it better. I just want Hunter to know I’m here, and I’m listening. So I sidle up closer, the outside of our thighs pressing together.

  “We don’t have to talk about it,” I whisper. “If you don’t want to.”

  Hunter looks over at me and tightens his fingers around mine. “I know. But you’ve only heard half the story, and you shared all your dark shit with me.”

  I nod. “I know that she left…that you have a memory of swimming with her at the beach…”

  He lets out a sigh. “The thing is, I always thought we were a regular family back then. When you’re a kid, whatever you have at home, whatever you grow up around, it seems normal, you know? Even when it’s bad.

  “I knew my mom could be moody sometimes, I knew she’d disappear into the bathroom a few times a day and then come out smiling. Or sometimes she’d go see her friends and disappear for a few days. But I never realized she had a drug problem until years after she left. When I started to put it all together.”

  Drug problem. Hunter’s mom had a drug problem.

  It hits me in the chest, the way he says it like that. So cold and distant. As if he can make the truth hurt less by turning to stone when he talks about it. I never heard this part of the story before. That she was an addict. My heart breaks for him, not just for him now but for that lost little boy.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “My dad put her in rehab a few times, but it never worked. I’m pretty sure the reason she left is because he tried to pull some tough love bullshit on her. Probably gave her an ultimatum: get clean or get out. Obviously, the choice wasn’t too hard for her. She didn’t love me enough to get clean.”

  He smiles, and there’s nothing but sadness in it. Although my mom didn’t leave me, I can relate. She never stopped drinking, for her sake or mine. Between bills, my education, clothes, food…she always made alcohol her priority. She never chose me.

  Hunter goes on, “She’s living this whole other life somewhere. I don’t know anything about it. She never calls or writes. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if she just died, so I could get over it.”

  I get out of my chair and move in front of Hunter, putting my arms around him.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” he says.

  “Shh. It’s okay.”

  “It’s just hard. Knowing she could see me or talk to me if she wanted to, but she doesn’t. Some stupid part of me even thought maybe it was my dad all along she was avoiding. That maybe she’d surprise me by showing up on my eighteenth birthday or at graduation to tell me we could have a relationship now that I was an adult and my dad couldn’t take her ass to court or something. How stupid is that?” His voice cracks.

  “It’s not stupid,” I soothe. “I’ve had the same thoughts about my dad… And now look at us. Two half-orphans who get to take care of each other. Maybe it’s what the universe planned for us all along.”

  His shoulders shake a little, and at first I think he might be crying, but when I pull back I realize that he’s smiling.

  “The universe, huh?” he says.

  “Yeah,” I say, smiling back.

  Cupping my face in his hands, he pulls me down for a kiss. “I think I like the sound of that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Hunter

  I wish we could’ve stayed at Portola forever. Hiking in the forest, skinny-dipping in the river, fucking under the stars. The sound of Milla’s laughter and wonder filling the night when we toasted marshmallows and made s’mores after dinner, the way she clung to me as we watched the flames dwindle down to embers and kissed by the firelight. Life was perfect in our bubble.

  But Sunday afternoon comes way too fast, and before I know it, it’s time to head back to Stanford. Once we get caught up in our schedules again, life slams us hard.

  Midterm exams are right around the corner, so both of us are hitting the books. We still have History together, and I bring her muffins and walk her to class every morning after swim, but it’s hard to see each other as much as we’d like.

  It’s not all bad, though—Milla spends a few nights a week at my apartment, and I plan to keep her with me on the weekends indefinitely. She’s here now, taking inventory of my fridge and the cupboards, trying to figure out what to make for dinner.

  “I’m thinking mac and cheese,” she says, plunking the boxes of pasta on the counter. “But your selection of cheeses leaves much to be desired.”

  “I have shredded cheddar and parmesan!”

  She frowns, squinting into the depths of the refrigerator. “My secret recipe calls for at least three kinds of cheese. Minimum. Don’t you have any cream cheese in here?”

  “There�
��s sour cream,” I offer. She pouts. “Sorry! I mostly buy meat and vegetables. I’m on kind of a mega-protein athlete’s diet at the moment. Add whatever you want to the shopping list and I’ll pick it up next time I’m out.”

  “Fine. But don’t blame me if dinner isn’t cheesy enough.”

  I’m filling up a pot with water for the noodles when her phone buzzes on the counter. She glances at it and then shoots me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I have to get this. It’s Isabel. She’s pretty militant about our weekend FaceTimes. I’ll be quick.”

  “Does she still hate me?” I ask.

  “She doesn’t hate you!”

  I give her a look.

  “Okay fine, she’s a little wary,” Milla admits. “She’s just super protective of me when it comes to you.”

  “I guess that’s fair,” I say. “But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to get off her shit list.”

  “Just be good to me,” she says, giving me a quick kiss. As if it’s that easy.

  “I’m trying my best.”

  “Then just keep doing what you’re doing.” With that, she picks up her phone and heads to the bedroom for some privacy.

  By the time Milla comes back, the water’s boiling and I’m tipping the box of pasta into the pot.

  “Isabel says hello,” she tells me. “Also, you apparently earned some serious points with her by changing your Instagram profile picture to one of me and you eating s’mores on our trip to Portola.”

  I have to laugh. “Well, you can tell her there’s plenty more where that came from. Maybe we can invite her next time.”

  “Pretty sure Isabel wouldn’t be caught dead camping, but we can definitely ask. Maybe she’d go if Emmett was there too…” She lets the question hang there, and I’m sure it’s because she wants to gauge my reaction to her mention of her male bestie.

  “Cool with me,” I say. I don’t dislike Ortega. Any beef we’ve had in the past was directly related to Milla, and yeah, my jealousy—but not him as a person. He’s actually a decent dude, and I know he’s been a good friend to Camilla.