WE SPEND THE night at Cameron's house.

He offers to let me sleep in his room— he's actually quite insistent on it. But a glare from Hunter and a dismissive laugh from me silences him, and he informs Hunter that he knows where the spare room is.

He tugs me up the stairs playfully, leaving Cameron and Tomas to clean up the mess of bottles and cans and cups. We've each only had a couple of drinks, but I would be lying if I didn't say I'm kind of a lightweight. It isn't the same kind of wasted I get from my parents' expensive liquor cabinet, that much is for sure. But, the cheap beer and canned cocktails have seemed to get me just buzzed enough not to care that Hunter's fingers keep slipping under the hem of my shirt and grazing the skin of my waist.

"Well, you seem like you had a good time," he grins, coaxing me into the guest room by his firm grip on my waist and closing the door firmly behind us. "Glad you came?"

"You mean, glad my mother all but shoved me out the door?" I correct him, giggling to myself for no particular reason. "I guess. I like your friends, they're fun."

Its the truth, even if my words do slur together just a bit. Cameron and Tomas were actually hilarious, and I have to admit, Hunter's slightly more bearable when surrounded by his friends.

Hunter's smug smirk curves at his lips. "Well, I'm glad to hear it wasn't the worst night of your life."

I shake my head, my hair whipping around playfully. "Nope. That honor is reserved for the night I came home to find out my parents were getting a divorce. And that was only a couple weeks ago."

His smile falters as I dump a Staten Island sized boulder on the mood. "Shit, I'm sorry. That must've been horrible."

"Yup," I chime, popping my 'p'. My mood in no way matches the tone of our conversation. I mean, normally teenagers don't giggle and smile while talking about their parents' recent divorce.

But, apparently Drunk Peyton does.

"Where's your dad in all this?" Hunter asks, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans and leaning casually against the door. "I know you moved here with your mom and your brother, but you must still talk to him or something, right?"

I shake my head again, this time opting to walk around the relatively small room and inspect every surface. "I haven't talked to him since before we left, actually. He's too busy running off with his secretary or some shit. But whatever. I mean, I like seeing my mom happy. And, for whatever reason, being back in Rock Valley makes her happy."

"It's not the worst place in the world, you know," Hunter informs me, shrugging those broad shoulders of his. "It's actually a nice place when you look past some of the questionable residents and the outdated paint jobs."

"What are you, the Rock Valley spokesperson?" I ask, looking back at him over my shoulder from the other side of the room.

The side of his mouth quirks up. "Nah, I lost that promotion to Addison. Something about it not being acceptable to prey on unsuspecting new girls."

Apparently, my filter has been switched off. Not to say I have much of one in the first place. "And exactly how many unsuspecting girls have you hooked up with in town?"

"How many boys did you hook up with back in New York?" Hunter counters smoothly.

I spin around, leaning lazily against the wall behind me. "Define, 'hook up'."

Hunter shoots me a look that asks, "Are you kidding me?"

I silently do the math, counting numbers out on my fingers. "Three," I tell him. "Definitely— no wait, four. Actually, that's a lie. Its definitely five."

I watch Hunter's face morph into something akin to shock, his strong jaw popping open just a little. He looks handsome, even in his shell-shocked state. But I would never tell him that, of course. I would much rather watch from a distance.

"Out with it, then," I encourage him, waving for him to speak. "I showed you mine, now show me yours."

He can't resist the opening I've left for him. His shocked expression spreads into a suggestive grin. "Trust me, babe. If you were showing me yours, it would not be from the other side of my best friend's guest room."

Despite the suggestive comment, I push off of the wall and stride to stand just a couple of feet in front of him. I cock my head to the side, an easy smile curving at my lips. "Are you going to tell me, or am going to have to go downstairs and ask one of the boys. I mean, I'm sure they wouldn't be hard to convince."

Hunter's bright blue eyes are focused intently on my mouth. No surprise, come to think of it. His next words may be, "go right ahead," but the look on his face is more like a challenge. After all, if I really wanted to do that, I would have to physically get past him first.

I bite into my lip, sizing up my odds. Why I want to know so badly is beyond me, but once I set my mind to something, I don't give up easily.

Nonchalantly, I shrug my slim shoulders. "Alright then," I say breezily, moving forward with every intention of brushing past his broad figure between me and the closed door.

Of course, it's hardly that easy.

I barely make it two steps towards Hunter before a strong hand darts out and wraps around my bicep. The grip is surprisingly gentle, but either way, I'm certain he's not about to let me slip out of his grasp.

With a rather annoyed sounding sigh, Hunter rolls his eyes toward me. "Alright. What do you want to know?"

I grin smugly, rather content with how easily he's convinced. "All I've heard since I moved here is how much of a player you are. I just wanna know how true that is, and how much of it is phoney reputation."

Hunter's brow arches. "Okay... why?"

"Because I'm not tired and I realized I don't really know much about you."

Hunter appears to think it over for a second. "So you wanna get to know me," he clarifies, "by asking me how many girls I've slept with?"

"Only because that's all I hear about at school— how you've banged three-quarters of the female student body."

Hunter's eyes roll, the side of his mouth quirking up in a crooked smile. "That's not exactly true."

Now we're getting somewhere.

"Am I gonna get a number anytime soon? A ballpark will do. 'Cause, I mean, if you're just gonna dance around how much of your rep is bullshit, I might need to go and get another drink. Or three."

There's a brief pause, the time it takes for my heart to beat twice, before Hunter shrugs and drops his hold on my arm. "Seven."

I can't stop my eyes from widening in surprise. "Seven? Mr. Steal-Your-Girl, I-Don't-Date-I-just-Sleep-Around is telling me his head count isn't even in the double digits? Color me surprised."

This time, Hunter rolls his eyes with almost theatrical dramatics. "You might not have noticed, but I don't actually go around bragging about who I've slept with."

"Except me."

The smirk on his face is quite possibly the cockiest, most mischievous look I've seen in my life. "Well now, that's a different story. That's my way of making sure all the douchebags at school think better of coming onto you. I'm just protecting you, Skirt."

My jaw drops open, more than a little offended by his insinuation. "I'm perfectly capable of handling myself, Maddox. So you can cut that out."

"I'm mean, I could," he considers, watching me intently as he leans in towards me, his voice dropping lower. "But I'm pretty sure Clarissa might get a little suspicious if I suddenly stop bragging about just how incredible our sex life is."

Screw Hunter Maddox and his surprisingly-relevant logic.

I grit my teeth, glaring at Hunter with all of the annoyance I can muster while breathing in the scent of his cologne. For a girl so used to Tom Ford and Clive Christian, I'm actually kind of surprised by how intoxicating I find him. Then again, I can probably blame it on the alcohol fogging my brain and my senses.

Because I will never admit that Hunter smells pretty damn good right now.

"Fine," I mutter through a tense jaw. "Keep on bragging. It's too bad you'll never actually know."

That is not what I meant to say— at least, not like that. Too bad for him? Absolutely. But not for me. I'm absolutely certain I will survive in life not knowing just how incredible Hunter is in bed.

Dammit, brain! Stop that!

It's times like these I wish I had a rewind button in my life. Especially for times when I decide to have conversations with pretty boys who smell good after having one or two too many coolers.

Tequila will be the end of me, I swear.

My foggy brain takes a minute to register that while I've been internally arguing with Drunk Peyton, I've been slowly backing myself into a corner. Literally. And Hunter hasn't stopped getting closer.

"Too bad," he shrugs, his hands resting on either side of my head while he watches me. His voice is low again, with that husky inflection to it that tells me that talking about sex while the two of us are alone in a room together was certainly not a good idea.

I'm having sudden flashbacks to the last time we stood like this, back in that tiny closet in the barn at Ethan's party. The tension between us is palpable, and as much as I yell at my body to stop, my raging hormones and the tequila in my veins won't let me.

Part of me, well the part of me that realizes how terrible this is, wants to kick myself. My body seems to think I'm some naïve teenage girl— which I'm not. I'm not shy, and I don't get nervous around guys. I know how to play their games almost as good as they do. But for some stupid reason, I'm frozen, my heart beating a mile a minute against my ribs as I recognize, with a sinking feeling, just how close Hunter is.

His body, his hands, his mouth...  Gamóto.

The split second it takes me to to remember the Greek curse word is all the time it takes for my reserves to fly out the fucking window, and back to New York.

I'm not sure who leans in first, or if we both give in at the same time. But the next thing I know, I'm kissing Hunter.

And I mean really kissing him.

We're talking hot and heavy, full contact, no holds barred, I-wanna-screw-you-to-the-wall kissing. Not that I actually have any intentions of going there with him tonight, because I don't, but— well, you get the picture.

My back is pressed firmly against the wall, my nails clawing at Hunter's shoulders through his thin shirt as he kisses me hard. It's like we can't get enough. No matter how hard he presses into me, there's no such thing as too close.

Even though he tastes like cheap beer, and the little fact that I can hardly stand him most of the time, I can't stop myself from kissing him back with all of the intensity and fire that I can muster. It's impulsive, I know, and I'll hate myself in the morning, but Hunter Maddox is a whole different kind of intoxicating.

His hands fall to my hips, gripping my body firmly as he pulls me away from the wall and holds me tightly against him. I feel him pulling me forward as he steps backward, not breaking the contact of his mouth on mine, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he stumbles down onto the mattress.

I inhale just enough of a breath to laugh at the surprised look on his face before he pulls me into his lap and his lips collide with mine again.

Hunter kisses me hungrily as his hands travel over my legs and under my skirt. He's made more than a handful of innuendoes about the "easy access" my skirts provide, and without any inhibitions stopping him, he seems to be taking full advantage of that ease.

His fingertips leave a trail of electricity wherever they move across my skin, and I soon find a moan escaping from between my lips where they're crushed against his. A deep, throaty chuckle vibrates through his chest as I pull away from his kiss and tilt my head back. Hunter's mouth is on my neck in a heartbeat, pressing hot kisses anywhere he can reach.

My breathing has been reduced to shallow pants, but in the brief moment I spend catching me breath, I manage to find some semblance of sanity.

"You know," I say breathlessly, running my hands down the front of Hunter's shirt, feeling the contours his abs between us. "This doesn't mean I'm going to sleep with you."

To my surprise, Hunter pulls his mouth away from my collarbone just enough that I can see his lips curve into an entrancing smirk.

"That's alright," he says mischievously. "There's plenty of other ways we can entertain ourselves."

My head is pounding. It's hardly the worst hangover I've had in my life, but that certainly doesn't mean it's enjoyable.

I'm vaguely aware that I'm lying on top of the bed in the guest room at Cameron's. On top of the covers in fact, having not bothered to actually climb into the bed before passing out.

Thankfully, I don't have to open my eyes to see that all of my clothes are still fully intact. My memory may be kind of hazy about whatever kind of "entertainment" Hunter had dreamed up for us, but I'm confident in saying it wasn't the kind that could end up coming back to bite me in nine months time.

I'm not alone, either. Not that I expected to be. I can feel Hunter's hard body pressed against my back, one arm firmly wrapped around my waist as he continues to snore behind me. He's actually quite warm and comfy, making up for the lack of covers.

But it's the odd minty smell coming from in front of me that's got me really confused.

"I gotta say, I'm disappointed by the lack of nudity in the room. Missed opportunities, man."

My eyes fly open quickly to meet a set of baby blue I know for a fact are not Hunter's.

I all but shriek in surprise, unintelligible curse words flying out of my mouth, and I sit up so quickly my head spins. Behind me, there's a grunt of pain and a string of more commonly used swear words.

"Fuck, Cam, I thought we talked about this," Hunter groans, quickly looking over at where his best friend is stretched out on the bed beside me, one hand propping up his head. Shooting him an unamused glare, he flops back down against the pillow.

Cameron's answering grin is dazzling to say the least, but does nothing for the fact I'm incredibly annoyed by his presence. "I was just comin' to wake you two lovebirds up for some breakfast. But this one," he says, reaching out and quite literally bopping me on the nose, "looked too cute to disturb."

I smack his hand away and and turn to shoot a scowl in Hunter's direction over my shoulder. "I take it back when I said I like your friends."

"I'm wounded, darlin'" Cameron draws, miming taking a knife to the heart.

If only.

I manage to groan as I turn away and scour the room for my phone, which must have fallen out of my pocket at some point in time last night. As hard as try not to let my mind wander, I can't help but wonder how exactly we got here.

And where the hell is my phone?

"I have work this afternoon," I grumble, finally retrieving the blasted thing from under Cameron's foot. "You better not make me late."

Hunter rolls his eyes, seemingly in phases by my bitchiness. "It's nine in the morning, Skirt. I'll get you home in plenty of time, relax."

I don't know which annoys me more. Him calling me Skirt for the millionth time, the fact that he just told me to relax or that he actually has the brass to reach out and put his hand on my leg.

I don't hesitate to reach out and smack his hand off of my leg.

"Ouch," Cameron chortles beside us, watching the two of us intently as if we're more amusing than cable. Which, on a Saturday morning, might not be a long shot. "Feisty. I like it."

I don't reward his comment with a response, instead throwing a middle finger up in his line of sight. "I liked you better when I was intoxicated."

Cameron only grins wide. "I've got some beers left over downstairs if that'll help. After all, there's no better cure for a hangover."

"Leaving would also work," I grumble.

Hunter laughs at that, reminding me that he hasn't in fact magically disappeared like I hoped he would in the past thirty seconds. "Come on, Skirt, where's that smile from last night? You said it yourself, you had a good time."

"It disappeared somewhere around the time the clock struck midnight," I snide. "Kind of like my tolerance for your presence."

"I dunno, Cinderella," Hunter snickers. "I'm pretty sure it was still going around two A.M."

My automatic reflex is to grab the pillow I'd slept on last night and hit him in the face with it. Which is exactly what happens.

To my complete surprise, the pillow explodes in contact, showering Hunter and the area around him in a million tiny white feathers. The annoyed looking glare he shoots me once they settle into his hair is a complete one-eighty from the snickering he'd made in reference to our extra-curricular activities in the early hours of the morning.

The scene, feathers floating and drifting on the air around a disgruntled and rather disheveled looking Hunter is comical, and Cameron is the first to laugh, his loud guffaws echoing through the small guest room. And, even in my foul mood, I manage to crack a smile as a giggle escapes my lips.

Spotted: the elusive author posting a rare update.
It must be an almost-summer miracle! I hope y'all enjoyed it 😉
In case y'all don't know, this August I've been invited to participate in the "Wattpad Block Party - Summer IV Edition". I'll be posting a short one-shot from my other series "The Scarlett Chronicles" so be sure to add the book to your library so you can receive all the latest updates.
Until next time, enjoy this gif of Thomas Doherty, who I imagine as Cameron. Not gonna lie, his Scottish accent makes him 7000x hotter. Dove Cameron is a lucky girl.

Lots of love...