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When she stands, heading toward the door, I smile. “Ryann?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For being you. I’m happy to have you.”
“Backatcha, babe.” She winks before strutting off.
When she leaves, I let my mind wander. To a place where maybe Hunter and I never hated each other—or pretended to hate each other. Where his ill brother didn’t love me and Hunter wouldn’t feel obligated to keep me at arm’s length. Maybe then things would have been different between us.
When we were kids, he was the boy at events and family get-togethers who would tease me, making fun of anything from my dress to my hair. As much as I wanted to hate his guts, whenever I caught him smiling, my heart would do a flip. The older we got, the more he pretended like I didn’t exist. And that pissed me off. I was far from perfect, but I wasn’t awful enough to be treated like an invisible piece of dirt. All along, I guess both of us were using a messed up defense mechanism of ours. He didn’t want to risk falling for the girl his brother wanted. And I wasn’t about to look like a fool by showing my cards to the boy who made it a point to hurt my feelings.
Such a shame really. But perhaps it means those rare occasions when I could almost swear Hunter was watching me, growing up, maybe I wasn’t crazy after all.
A yawn rips through me, and I close my eyes. Drifting off to a land far away. Where Hunter Thompson’s hands are back on my body and his lips are on my own.
17
Hunter
Itake the long way home after the team dinner, driving by Sutton’s place. I have no fucking clue if I’ll stop or not. But I haven’t been able to talk to her much this week with hockey season being in full swing, and I really miss that girl.
But the problem is, when I do see her, I worry I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself. The past week since we got back from our mini getaway—where she, hands down, gave me the best blow job of my life—we haven’t really talked about what happened. And it sort of feels like she’s avoiding me a bit. Then again, I’ve been insanely busy, and I haven’t been able to make much time for her either. But maybe I’ll change that tonight. And maybe, if I’m lucky, she’ll let me.
I don’t want to declare us happily ever after. But one time of tasting her wasn’t anywhere near enough.
She’s a complicated creature. And I’m dying to find out everything about her.
Sutton
I zip my hoodie up a little higher when I feel a shiver run through my bones. I’m not sure if it’s because with fall arriving, it’s brought some cooler temperatures this week. Or if it’s because I’m walking home in the dark from the studio and I’m secretly afraid of Bigfoot. Or bears. Or really anything that might be lurking.
Needing to practice my solo routine, which is the week after the charity, I looked at the studio’s schedule and saw that late nights were really the only time it was free. Ryann is working, Lana is with her boyfriend, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to ask Poppy for a ride, which is my reasoning for being out here on a pitch-black night.
Hunter would have let me use his truck. Or he would have figured out some way to make sure I had a ride. But I felt too guilty to ask. Between hockey practices, games, and now getting ready for our dance routine, the man has a lot on his plate. And tonight, he had a team dinner after practice, and I didn’t want to bother him with needing his truck.
Headlights flash behind me, and I inhale a breath. Reminding myself that this is a safe campus and that if I take off running, I could, one, have an asthma attack and the killer would catch me anyway. He’d probably see my lungs were shit, and I wouldn’t be worth anything to him, so he’d leave me alone. Or, two, I’d draw attention to myself when it was a perfectly sane person behind me.
When the vehicle stops beside me, rolling the window down, I know it’s neither option.
Hunter might not be a serial killer. But judging by the look in his eyes as he sees me walking at night…he’s not exactly sane either.
Holding my hand up, I gulp. “Hey.” I smile. “Fancy seeing you here. I was just, uh…well, you see—”
He growls as he jumps out of the truck and walks quickly to the passenger door. “Get in.”Opening it up, he points to the seat. “Now.”
Stuffing my hands in my hoodie pockets, I start toward the truck. “Nice to see you too,” I attempt a joke, but he only shoots me a harsher glare. “You look nice. Real nice.”
“Shut up. I’ll deal with you when we get home.”
Like a little kid, I climb in, but not before sticking my tongue out at him and scrunching my face up like I’m five years old. Actually, I’ll give five-year-olds more credit. I’m acting more like I’m three right now.
Pulling into my driveway, he wastes no time in getting out. And within a moment, he’s on my heels, following me inside.
When I walk into my room, he shuts the door behind him, turning the lock.
“Walking at night isn’t safe. First of all, there’re a lot of bad people, Little Bird. Wake the fuck up. You’re not safe in a cage anymore. Second, you’re wearing all black clothes!” He waves his hand at me. “Not one fucking reflective piece. And, third, what would you do if you had an asthma attack on the side of the road? Huh? What the fuck would you do, Sutton?”
He walks toward me, crowding me against my desk. He’s mad. No, he’s irate. Yet he’s so incredibly hot right now that my face heats.
