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"What's wrong with this guy?"
He swallows. " You deserve someone who's got his shit together."
"You seem pretty together."
He chuckles, but it's a dry, humorless sound. "That’s just because you don’t know me.” He runs a gentle finger down from my throat, between my breasts. "You deserve the whole package, Libby."
"I'm not sure anyone has that." I haven't called to check on mom since I left California—because I just don't care. I'm still angry enough to spit nails at my dad. The more I think about seeing Dr. Bernard again, the more afraid I feel. "No one's perfect, Hunter. You need to give yourself a break?"
He swallows, and his eyes look so clear, like the river. "Don't try to get close to me. It's not a good idea.”
“I don't care if it's a good idea. I don't think I can stay away from you. Now that I know you better...”
He shakes his head. “You're wrong.” He pushes himself up and lithely shifts his body off the bed. “You don't know me. And what you do know should not make you want to learn anything more. You need to trust me, Libby. Stay in your own world, and leave me in mine. We can have a little fun together, but that's it.”
I'm surprised and humiliated when my eyes well with tears. “That's all you want from me?” I can't believe this. That he's giving me no chance to go beyond just sex. And after what I told Dr. Bernard. Since I've been here, and we've spent some time together, I'd actually started thinking…I don’t know. That we click. That there is something here worth exploring.
He rubs his face roughly, like he's frustrated, or his shadow is itching. “It doesn't matter what I want. I've got...a lot going on, and I don't want to get your hopes up falsely. If you're crazy enough to have those kinds of hopes,” he adds, pulling his mouth into an ominous frown. “Maybe you're not.”
I push myself off the bed. “All I said was 'You don't give yourself a break much'. It's not like I got down on one knee.”
He just looks at me, his jaw locked. For the longest time, I think I'm being stonewalled. Then his mouth softens, and he sighs. “Then maybe it's me,” he says, very, very softly. “Maybe it's me who's wanting more. Like I said, you're beautiful and sweet. I'm sure you're not surprised.”
He grabs my arm, gentle even as he steers me to the door that joins our rooms. I drag my feet, mostly because I'm shocked—and thrilled—and totally confused. Hunter wants more! But he doesn't want to let himself have it?
I frown up at him, but he's shaking his head again. “Libby, I'm so sorry that this didn't work. I guess I didn't think it through. You need to go. Tonight or tomorrow—as soon as you can get away. Tap your red slippers and go home to Napa."
My chest aches, and I'm shocked to find I can't speak over the lump in my throat. I swallow hard and try my best to look dignified, instead of like a beggar. "Hunter...I don't understand."
He shrugs. "This is how it's got to be."
He opens the door that joins our rooms, but I don't move. He puts his hand on the small of my back. “C'mon, Libby…I don't have room for wherever this might be headed, so why not end it while we're both ahead?”
“We're not,” I whisper.
He tugs me through the door to my room and sweeps his palm over my hair, giving me a look of what can only be longing before he holds up his hand in a goodbye pose. “Take care of yourself, Libby.”
I can't even form an answer as he steps back through the door.
*
~HUNTER~
I woke up sometime after Priscilla arrived. At first I thought it was a nightmare. Then I heard Libby, telling her to go away. I'm so ashamed that I just lay there, eyes closed, listening to that bitch talk shit about me—and listening to Libby, my avenging angel. I soaked it up. It soothed something inside me. Made me feel like I'm alive instead of dying.
That's what it's been like with Priscilla. Like suffocation. A slow snuffing out of everything I want and everything I need.
Like it was with Rita.
I don't understand how Libby is so different. After I peeked into the hallway and I realized Priscilla was being dealt with, I feigned sleep until Libby came back and got in bed with me. I stayed completely still while she wrapped an arm gently around the lower part of my back and nuzzled her face into the crook between my shoulder and my neck. Why did it feel so good? I've been touched before, but it never felt like that. What's so different about her?
I sit for a long time in front of the door I sent her through. I shut my eyes and try to feel her in the room behind me, packing up her things. There is a part of me—a raging, senseless part—that wants to burst the door open, rip her clothes off and fuck her until she can't walk anymore. She’ll be stuck in my bed, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon surrounding me forever.
However, the part of me that actually cares about her wins the day. I wasn't lying when I told her she deserved the whole package. She is selfless, kind, beautiful, smart, good, and in so many other ways out of my league.
I don't know why she seems to care for me, even just a little, but I shut my eyes and try to drown in the peaceful feeling that I get whenever she's around. It's more than the lust I used to feel whenever I bumped into her. It's like the amplification of that feeling I had the very first night I saw her, with the broken Porsche. Peaceful. Pleasant. Beautiful. Good.
As I listen to the room around me, I think that I can hear her voice. She sounds upset, and it kills me that I’m the reason why.
