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I hop in the shower and begin washing my body and hair. As I scrub, I sing the Beatles songs I grew up listening to. Considering the Beatles released over three hundred songs, I have an almost unlimited morning repertoire. Just as I finish up the chorus to “I Want To Hold Your Hand,” I hear hard banging against the door.
“Shut up, Lennon! And hurry your ass up!” Hunter shouts, beating his fist on the door, which only encourages me to sing louder. I’m practically belting out the words by the time I’m rinsing the conditioner from my hair. I honestly don’t know how Brandon sleeps through this every morning, or maybe he’s just immune to it. At this point, Hunter and I argue worse than a brother and sister.
After I scream out the Broadway-worthy grand finale of my vocal performance, I turn off the water and hold back my laughter. Hunter hates it when I sing, especially early in the morning. He’s always a grump before eight, and getting a rise out of him is fun. It’s payback for all the times he purposely annoys the shit out of me. I’ve sung in the shower since I was a little girl, so I’m not changing that for anyone, especially not him.
Stepping out of the shower, I grab a towel and dry off. Hunter pounds on the door again, startling me, and demands I hurry for the thousandth time. As I brush my teeth, I think back to when we first met. Most assume we met after Brandon and I started dating, but that’s not the case. Hunter was bartending that same night, and we’d shared a moment at the bar before Brandon and I started talking that night.
At first glance, he gave me heart palpitations, but he was a total sweetheart and flirt, and made me comfortable ordering from him. I remember his tattoos and how they intricately covered his forearm, and wondered if he had more. I was in a different town on spring break and wanted to let loose and be reckless. We exchanged side glances and smiles, and as he poured different liquors into my glass, I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. But neither could every other woman in the bar. Nervous exhilaration coursed through me when he spoke. Hunter’s charismatic and charming vibe lured me right into his web.
I went back to my friends and kept the electrifying moment to myself as I tried to find the courage to go back to the bar and get his number. When I looked over at Hunter, a handful of women desperately vying for his attention surrounded him. He happily obliged, smiling and flirting with them just the same. They were all gorgeous, leaning over the bar to touch his muscular arms and laughing as if he just told the best joke. Though I didn’t have much experience with men, I still wanted a week of fun and spontaneity. However, my insecurities got the best of me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to satisfy a guy like that, not even for one night.
My fears and self-doubt kept me from going back to the bar alone for the rest of the night. I played it safe, staying within my comfort zone, and kept my friends nearby. After seeing the way he bantered with other women and they clawed at him, I convinced myself what we shared was nothing more than him working hard for his money. Considering the bad attitude and rude comments he continues to throw at me, I know with certainty there wasn’t anything special between us that night.
The first summer after Brandon and I started dating, Hunter had a different woman over every other weekend I was there. He couldn’t even remember their names half the time and had no qualms about openly bragging to his guy friends for being able to “bag and shag” any girl he wanted. If he wasn’t bragging about his conquests, then he’d go on about how hot or how built he was. Hunter’s muscular, there’s no denying that, but his appeal was lost after hearing him talk about it for the tenth time. Since he no longer works at the bar, the number of women he brings home has slightly slowed down, though he still acts like a manwhore and is superficial. “Bartender Hunter” was nothing more than a façade, a made-up gentleman my imagination created. “Real-life Hunter” is a smartass jerk who complains about my singing, lives like a slob, and has a revolving bedroom door.
Once my hair is dry, and I’m happy with my appearance, I go to my bedroom where Brandon is still sleeping.
I look through the closet and slip on a skirt and a comfortable blouse. Before leaving, I carefully lean over the bed to give Brandon a kiss goodbye when he suddenly grabs me and pulls me on top of him.
