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I sit back, relieved I didn’t say anything… didn’t touch him. I misunderstood. This is about work, not me. Not us. There is no us.
“He’s very full of himself.”
Hunter looks down at me. “He is. But it’s more than that. I don’t like the way he talks to you. The problem is, it’s difficult for me to do anything about it, when…”
“When he’s not really doing anything wrong.” I finish his sentence for him.
“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”
“Wasn’t it? Well… it’s true. Commenting on someone’s lipstick is hardly a federal offense.”
“Maybe not, but if it makes you uncomfortable…”
“I’ll have to grow a thicker skin.” I get to my feet and he steps back a little further, giving me some space. “A—Are the figures ready yet?”
“Yes… sorry.” I’m not sure why he’s apologizing, but he reaches over, handing me the piece of paper from his desk.
I don’t want to look up at him. I feel embarrassed now for having misunderstood his concern and almost acted on it. Instead, I stare down at the page before me and walk from the room, taking care not to rush… not to make it look like I’m keen to get away.
I’m not really, but that’s the first time there’s been any palpable awkwardness between us… and I don’t like it.
***
I was glad that episode happened on Friday, and that I could spend the weekend at home in my apartment, trying to come to terms with my feelings for Hunter.
I couldn’t, of course.
Every time I thought about him, my mind and my heart did battle, muddled thoughts and confusing emotions racing through me. In my heart, I know how much I love him. It’s like a physical ache, touching every part of my body and putting all previously held thoughts and convictions into perspective. I might have believed Cole was perfect, but I was so wrong, and that realization hits home whenever I think about Hunter… which is pretty much every moment of the day. I long to be held by him… to be wanted by him. My need for him is no different from my need for the other basic elements in life; food, water, warmth… love. In my head, though, there’s a voice that keeps saying none of this is real; that it’s fantasy. Wanting Hunter, needing Hunter, loving Hunter… they can’t happen in the real world. I’ve known that all along. I’ve been misreading his reactions, and it’s my inexperience with men that’s causing the problem here. Just like it did with Cole.
No matter which part of me was winning the battle over the weekend – whether it was head or heart – I was grateful I hadn’t said anything to really embarrass myself. I hadn’t told him how I feel, or what he does to me. My secrets are safely locked away, and they’re going to have to stay that way.
It’s for the best.
By the time Sunday night came around, I’d convinced myself of that. I’d told myself, over and over, that the real world was the best place to be. It was simpler and much less complicated than any fantasy involving Hunter Bennett.
That worked absolutely fine… until I came into work on Monday and saw him again, and all my grand ideas flew straight out the window.
Even now, at the end of another week, no matter how hard I’ve tried to separate myself from my feelings, I’m still struggling. I gaze at him every time I’m in his presence, trying not to fantasize about what it would be like to be held, and touched, and kissed. But when I look at his arms, his fingers, his lips… I want him more than ever.
Fortunately, I’m going to Mom and Dad’s for the weekend. Hopefully, while I’m away, I can get some proper perspective and come back on Monday with a renewed determination to leave Hunter in the ‘dream’ zone.
I’m packing away my things, looking forward to driving my lovely car up to Falmouth, and seeing Mom and Dad for the first time in ages, when I look up and see Hunter standing in his doorway. I’ve got no idea how long he’s been there, but I haven’t been aware of him, and I sit back, tilting my head.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” He comes over, walking around to my side of the desk and leaning against it, like he did last week. I take a long breath, trying hard not to react to having him this close. “It’s been a crazy week, hasn’t it?”
“It has. I thought last week was busy…” I don’t need to finish my sentence. We both know how insane it’s been.
“Can I assume you’re looking forward to catching up with your sleep again this weekend?”
I wonder why he’s asking, but knowing my capacity for misunderstanding almost everything he says, I decide to play it safe and keep it about work.
“Did you need me to come in, then?”
“No. We might be busy, but we’re not that busy, and besides, you’ve done so much already…” His voice fades and he sucks in a breath, his chest expanding, and then deflating as he lets the breath go again. “I was just wondering what you were doing, that’s all.”
He sounds a little quiet, maybe even slightly dejected, and although I don’t understand why, I decide to tell him my plans. It seems the easiest solution.
