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“I’m throwing a party later if you want to come by,” she says, her voice hopeful. She gives me an angry glare while pulling down her shirt to expose more of her ample cleavage. Hunter doesn’t seem to notice since he only has eyes for his food.
“We’re good, but thanks anyway,” he answers, taking another bite, giving his burrito more attention than her.
“You know you’re an asshole, Hunter Cole,” she seethes. “If I were you,” she says, looking at me, “I would run.” She turns around and walks away with her girlfriends in pursuit.
Hunter shrugs, like nothing happened. “I’m sorry I called you my girl. She has a tendency to latch on and never let go, and she’s the third chick who’s called me an asshole this week,” Hunter confesses, swallowing hard.
“They will, if you keep calling us chicks,” I offer.
He flashes me a pained smile. “I don’t know, Shorty. Sometimes it’s easier to create some distance between the chicks I…”
“Fuck?” I prod, trying to hold back my grin.
“You got me there. But don’t change the fucking subject, what’s going on with you?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I recognize the look in your eyes.”
“What look? I don’t have a look,” I say, turning my head away.
“I was the same when I moved here. I was angry, mixed with I don’t know what. Jay would preach some shit about me being hurt, but I’m more like a let’s-beat-the-problem-to-a-pulp kind of guy, if you know what I mean,” he says, his voice serious.
I set my drink and food down, and run both my hands through my hair to buy me some time. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here to tell you the truth. You do know I haven’t seen Jay in years?” I ask. “To say it’s awkward is the understatement of the century. I have no idea how to talk to him.”
He scratches his stubble. “If it makes you feel better, he doesn’t either,” he says, making a face. “Just tell him what you need to say, and get it over with. I’m used to being the grumpy asshole around here.”
“I don’t know how,” I reply honestly.
“Shorty, we’re talking, aren’t we? And here I thought you kind of hated me, judging by our little run-in at the track.”
The side of my mouth hikes up into a full-blown smile.
“See? You’re warming up to me,” he teases, all seriousness gone from his voice.
“What about you?” I counter. “Why is it easier to behave like an asshole?”
“You want the honest answer, or the politically correct one?” he asks, his expression dark.
“What do you think?” letting out a slow breath while the muscles in my feet and legs start to hurt.
“Because then I never have to show them who I really am, I don’t have to be…” he says with his mouth full.
“Vulnerable, yourself?” I chime in.
He takes a moment to swallow and clears his throat.
“Fuck, I don’t know, maybe you’re right. Easier to keep parts hidden I guess.”
“You’re showing me parts aren’t you, even the asshole ones,” I tease.
He looks out toward the ocean, furrowing his brows while he takes his time to answer. “I know I’m an asshole, Shorty, but I’m so much more,” he says, still not looking at me. It comes out as a confession, a promise. “I’m showing you all my cards, and I don’t even know what game we’re playing.”
“I know what you mean,” I mumble, taking another sip from my drink.
He cocks his head. “About what?”
“Before Mom and Jay got a divorce, when I was six, I loved it on the West Coast. We didn’t have much but we had each other. At least, that’s what I like to believe. It all went to shit when dad started winning more and traveling the world for his races. He forgot about us. I guess it was an easy decision for him to leave when he had all this.”
