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A moment later, Hunter stands to get everyone’s attention and the table chatter dies down.
“Thank you all for coming tonight.” For a split second, Hunter’s gaze meets mine and I feel that familiar warmth rush over me. No wonder women fight for his attention, it’s intoxicating. And then it’s gone. “I want to thank the team that put this deal together. Walt, Rachel, Kip, and Tanya. And Griffin, you joined us toward the end, but we’re grateful for you stepping in and getting up to speed quickly.”
Griffin’s not one to boast or show a lot of emotion, but I can tell he’s honored to be recognized by Hunter.
“Also, huge props to Andrew and Madeline for raising the bar yet again and selling this building out with another square footage increase for the neighborhood.” Hunter raises his glass to toast. “Great work, team. I can’t thank you all enough.”
“You can thank me later.” Madeline winks up at Hunter.
My mouth gapes open at her directness. I’m at the other end of the table so if I heard it, so did everyone else. Gross.
The puzzle piece clicks into place. Madeline and Hunter work together. And as he explained in the bathroom, she’s a ‘friend,’ but she clearly wants to be more.
My stomach rolls over. Is he going to sleep with her tonight?
The thought makes my skin crawl.
I have no claim on Hunter. We sure as hell didn’t make any promises to each other before his head went between my thighs. Or when we rushed up to his suite in Vegas for that matter.
But that doesn’t mean I have to sit here and watch them together. Gather more mental images of what the rest of their evening will be like. I love Griffin and want to support him, but I think I’m at my limit.
“I need to go,” I whisper to Emma.
“What?” Emma pulls her attention away from Hunter’s end of the table. “Why?”
“I’m not feeling well. My stomach is bugging me.”
She touches Griffin’s arm to get his attention and informs him of the situation.
Griffin leans back in his chair to meet my gaze.
“Stomach issues.” I gesture to my tummy and hope after the little white lie I made by the bathroom earlier, he’ll understand.
“You okay to get home on your own?” he asks.
I nod and grab my clutch off the table.
“Text us you made it home, okay?” Emma puts a comforting hand on my arm.
“Yeah. I will.”
I don’t bother to look in Hunter’s direction, but I can feel his eyes on me as I move past his end of the table and quickly toward the front door.
CHAPTER9
Hunter
The cool morning air fills my lungs, yet the high humidity has drops of sweat already gathering along my brow, clinging to my hairline, and dampening my t-shirt. It’s early Saturday morning, but there are a good number of runners and walkers already hitting the paths of Central Park. I pass Bethesda Terrace and cut left to take the upper loop. My feet are on autopilot while my brain replays last night.
Seeing Sophie with her brother had been unexpected. So was the jealousy I felt when I saw her laughing and talking to Andrew. It shouldn’t have bothered me. I was there with Madeline and Sophie and I had already discussed that keeping our distance under the circumstances would be best, but that didn’t stop me from cornering her in the bathroom, then dropping to my knees to taste her.
And when she left? I wanted to stand up and follow her out of there. No doubt she was not pleased with the events of the evening. Why would she be? I’d given her an orgasm then returned to my seat next to Madeline, whose hands were practically groping my crotch throughout dinner. She thought I was hard because of her, having no idea I nearly came in my pants when Sophie exploded on my tongue minutes earlier.
It doesn’t matter that Madeline and I aren’t together. That I told Madeline that I wasn’t interested, that we should keep things between us platonic, when I dropped her off at her place after the party. Even if I’m not interested in Madeline, I shouldn’t be interested in Sophie.
I also shouldn’t be out here running the same route that I told Sophie about when she texted me this morning. She made no mention of anything that happened last night. A simple text,What’s a good three-mile running route?
I’d been lying in bed, debating sliding my hand in my boxer briefs to try to once again to relieve myself of the constant hard-on that is present whenever thoughts of Sophie enter my brain, which lately has been every fucking minute of every fucking day.
