Golden Boy Read Free

makes his gait appear threatening. He drops his hips in a strange, wolf-like way. He stops about a metre away from me, holding a black rucksack. ‘I said I’d say hi to you before I left. And your parents said it was alright.’
    ‘Oh.’
    Hunter grins. ‘You were—’
    ‘No,’ I say, for no reason at all, because it’s so obvious.
    ‘I saw you.’ He is silent for a moment. He wets his lips. ‘Can you?’
    ‘Of course I can!’ I say crossly.
    ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just . . . it’s more a boy thing to do, isn’t it?’
    ‘Oh,’ I mumble, blushing. ‘Err, I guess.’
    ‘It’s OK.’ He comes to sit on the edge of my bed, and I subtly try, again ineffectually, to move the duvet and sheet a bit more to cover my exposed leg. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed about.’
    ‘I know.’ I frown.
    ‘I meant touching the bit you were touching.’
    ‘What? How long were you at the door?’
    He smirks. ‘Can I see?’
    ‘Um, no!’
    ‘Forget it,’ he laughs. ‘I don’t really want to. I just . . . ’cause I saw you touching it.’ He pauses, watching my face.
    My throat tightens at the ‘it’ word. ‘It’ is not a word I like.
    For a while, there is just the sound of both of us breathing heavily, and cautiously in the quiet room. A car passes outside.
    ‘I’m not going to tell anyone,’ he says, sounding threatening. I look up at him and he smiles.
    ‘Fuck off,’ I murmur.
    ‘Ooo!’ He holds his hands up in mock protest, then rests them on his knees and shrugs. ‘I’m just surprised. I just didn’t think you would touch yourself.’ He emphasises the ‘you’.
    I think about this, shrug and colour red. ‘Oh. OK. Sorry.’ ( Why did I say sorry? I think.)
    Hunter looks around my room with the proprietary air he has always had regarding my life and possessions. He’s always been the leader and, sometimes, the bully. He’s tall and muscular and masculine. I feel small next to him, wearing just a T-shirt, covered by the duvet. Hunter’s wearing a T-shirt with a band logo on it and jeans, with a heavy metal key chain attached to his belt loops. His arms are strong and hairy. He smells of musky deodorant and beer. I probably smell of shampoo.
    ‘D’you want a Stella?’ he asks suddenly, as if he has been searching for something to say. ‘I have some in my bag.’
    I shrug. ‘Sure.’
    He takes two bottles out of his black rucksack and passes me one.
    ‘Are you alright drinking and driving?’ I say.
    Hunter puts his left leg up on the bed and turns to me. I manage to get my leg under the cover and I sit up, sipping the beer.
    ‘It’s just Stella. Not everybody’s a complete lightweight like you,’ Hunter says, swigging from the bottle like it’s Coke.
    ‘So . . . what have you been up to? I haven’t seen you in ages,’ I say, careful not to bring up New Year.
    Hunter just looks at me from under his eyelashes and rolls his eyes. ‘I grew up.’
    I raise my eyebrows. ‘So getting stoned and egging houses is grown up now?’
    ‘Fuck off, what do you know?’ Hunter mutters, grumpily, but he shoves me as if we were playing, and he keeps his hands on my stomach and moves closer to me on the bed, curling up to me like we used to when we were little. ‘You haven’t changed,’ he says, tousling my hair. He leans on my shoulder.
    I smile with the bottle in my mouth and feel beer wetting my bottom lip and chin.
    ‘Oops,’ I say. Hunter watches me closely, like he’s concentrating, while I wipe it away. ‘Are you drunk?’ I ask.
    ‘No.’ He looks down and chugs his bottle, then takes the tops off two more. ‘I’m really thirsty.’
    I take the bottle he hands me and put it on my bedside table. I can already feel my head going woozy from drinking too fast. Hunter wriggles around on the bed and leans back against the wall, his legs on my lap pinning me down.
    ‘So . . .’ I try to think of something to talk about. ‘Are you still going out with Kelly