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And I’d have to agree.
Who knew the smell of motor oil, mixed with soap and whatever cologne Hunter wore, could be such a turn-on?
For sure, not me.
From our brief interaction, I could tell Hunter wasn’t a man to be poked or pushed. Even though I had done both. Secretly, deep down, I enjoyed watching him clench his jaw. I wanted to lick the vein that visibly throbbed in the middle of his forehead. Feel the tendril pulse against my tongue while easing his anger, even though I’d caused it.
What the hell? Where the hell had that thought come from?
I shook my head. I shouldn’t be fantasizing about my client. I had to remember he had a baby he didn’t know about, and I treated him like a convicted felon. Which he wasn’t. Yet, even while I regarded him in such low esteem, Hunter never tried to intimidate me, nor did he become physically violent with me.
It wouldn’t have been the first time someone attempted to assault me. As a social worker, I didn’t always get to see everyone at their best. Yes, some people were just assholes, but occasionally they were down on their luck. I’d been called some truly horrible names in the years I’ve worked at CPS. Yet, there were always the few who came back later as better versions of themselves and apologized.
Those individuals were the ones I continued to fight for.
Why I got up every morning ready to conquer the day.
I did it for the kids. The ones who talked and the ones who were silenced or trying to find their voice once more. I fought for them because every kid deserved to grow up in a safe and stable environment. Children shouldn’t have to worry about when they’d get to eat next, or if they remembered to lock their bedroom door at night to keep out a predator. They sure as hell didn’t need to wonder if they’d be sold by their mothers or fathers for a fix, either.
Having grown up within protective services, I could relate to my case kids better than anyone in the office. My boss knows it too. It was part of the reason I’d been given some of the worst assignments within our division. Jenna and Darcy knew I’d defend them.
The kids labeled as troubled were also assigned to me. Most times, the labeled kids didn’t give me any issues. They recognized like for like rather quickly. I could hash out the same tired nonsense they could. The difference between us? I made it out. I’d be their role model if they let me. However, I was only a guide. I could show them the right path to take. How to harness their anger and resentment and do good in the world, but they had to make the conscious decision to do better. I couldn’t decide for them.
While they worked on themselves, I moved mountains and cut through all the red tape to get those kids out of unsafe homes and into good ones. Families that showed a history of abuse? I worked harder to remove them from the fostering system and made sure they’d never abuse another child. If that meant getting the police involved, so be it. I still had a long way to go, because I couldn’t weed them all out or help every kid, but I was determined to not go down without a fight.
Which brought me back to Hunter and Destiny.
Ugh. I’d been such an asshole to Hunter. My tone always set the meetings with parents and for some reason, when I looked at the wet dream/God-like cover model come to life, I couldn’t hold my tongue. I lashed out at him like defensive parents did to me when I knocked on their door.
You need to apologize to him, Posey. It’s the right thing to do.
I knew deep down Destiny was safe with her father. He was one of the good ones. He had a family he loved and supported. During my quick walked through, I’d spotted family pictures on every wall. All their smiling faces expressed their love and happiness. Even the small memorial of his parents, tucked away at the corner of the long hallway, showed better times among the bitterness of loss.
Hunter Banks had known what it felt like to lose his parents. In his grief, he’d stepped in and taken care of the younger siblings when he could’ve washed his hands and walked away. That strength and dedication shone brightly in a red-headed boy’s graduation photos. He was an admirable man. Those pictures should’ve told me everything I needed to know about Hunter.
Still, I’d been a dick to him.
Destiny was safe, and Hunter had a support system behind him. She would grow up with at least one cousin, no doubt more. The lack of food, and the horrible neglect she experienced for one so young, wouldn’t even be a memory. I was grateful for that. Content even.
With her father’s love and care, Destiny would never know what other kids in foster care could experience.
Even if her dad was a giant dick.
A hot, giant dick.
A giant dick I’d like to climb if the opportunity ever presented itself.
I snorted.
What a pipe dream. I need to pull my head out of the clouds and focus on reality. At least during the day.
Tonight was a different story. When I laid in bed, after reading my latest book, I wouldn’t be dreaming of some faceless man anymore. They’d be the non-asshole version of Hunter Banks.
I clenched my thighs, trying to relieve the aching arousal building in the pit of my stomach. When I saw Hunter again in two weeks, when I did my follow-up visit, I’d apologize for how I acted. Then I’d be the best version of myself, because Destiny deserved that much.
My phone rang as I exited the freeway and Darcy’s photo filled the screen. Since I was waiting for the exit light to change, I swiped my finger across the screen and hit the speaker button. “Hey, Darcy.”
My relationship was unique with Darcy while at work. When we stepped through those doors and clocked in, we were supervisor and case worker. I appreciated her not babying me. Although Darcy has never shown me favoritism, and never would, this job wasn’t easy. If I had my co-workers at my throat, while trying to deal with irate parents, I’d never survive.
