The Hunter (Boston Belles #1)(24)

I looked up, my cheeks so hot, I was sure I looked like I was going to explode.

“Whoa.” Emmabelle dropped a heap of clothes to the floor, her eyes zoning in on my face. “Why do you look like you just got invited to your own funeral, Sailor?”

“Because…” I tore another, final piece of dead skin from the corner of my thumb with my teeth. “I think I just did.”





Belle and Persy were one squeal away from leaving me completely deaf when I told them they were coming to the fundraiser with Hunter and me. When the day arrived, they swung by my place a few hours before the event, looking like modern goddesses. Persy was clad in a romantic white gown, while Belle rocked a leopard mini dress. They shoved me into my own gown—an antique pink off-shoulder dress with a sweetheart plunge. The striking floral appliques at the front miraculously highlighted my nonexistent curves, and Persy put my hair up into a messy-yet-sexy chignon, with bits of flyaways framing my face. Emmabelle applied my makeup, and we found out nude colors and a thick layer of eyeliner worked best for my pale complexion and red hair. By the time Hunter woke up and shoved his Adonis form into a suit, I looked the best I ever had.

It was funny how Hunter believed he was dumb, and I believed I was unattractive—and that these opposite sources of insecurity made us enemies. I despised him for his looks, and he thought I was an unattractive bore.

He strode out of his room, cuffing his cufflinks with a frown, his black velvet bowtie still undone. The minute he spotted the three of us in the living room, Emmabelle leaning over me to apply lip gloss while we took advantage of the natural stream of sun pouring from the glassed wall, he halted.

“Holy shitballs.” He whistled low.

All three of us raised our heads to look at him. Persy gasped at his imperial beauty. I could tell Belle was undressing him, one article at a time, with dilated pupils.

“Told you they were gorgeous.” I cleared my throat.

“You’re the one I’m looking at, Carrot Top.” He stared at me, making everything else around us melt into a fuzzy background. His gaze radiated heat that could perish me. At that moment, I wished it would. “No offense, girls.”

“None taken.” Emmabelle grinned conspiratorially.

“I was talking to Sailor’s tits.”

That earned him a wild laugh from both my friends.

Momentarily losing the ability to produce words, I turned my head back to Belle. Our eyes met, and hers were twinkling with mischief and delight.

“Disney movie,” she mouthed, standing to her full height. “Make the prince fall in love. Seize the castle. Become his queen.”

She’d officially lost her mind.

“You ready?” Hunter asked, tying his bowtie with one hand as he walked to the kitchen and poured himself some coffee. I forgot he’d had the upbringing of a duke and knew how to do all sorts of things that weren’t un-sexy, like tying a necktie with one hand.

“Yes!” Persy and Belle shrieked.

“CT?” He glanced at me from under his lashes. He was back in his element after being MIA all week.

“When will you stop calling me that?”

“Hmm, that would be never.”

I let my friends shake hands with my roommate while I regulated my heart rate and drank two glasses of water, immediately regretting the decision. Peeing in this dress seemed more difficult than securing a spot in the Olympics.

The ride to the Roosevelt Hotel was full of chatter. Belle and Persy asked Hunter questions about living in California. Not only did he answer, he also seemed to take genuine interest in their studies and lives. By the time the limo slid to a stop in front of the hotel, the only person who wasn’t having a ball was me.

The driver opened the door for us, and we all poured out. A slightly hysterical event coordinator in an all-black outfit met us at the lobby, introducing herself to my friends as Penny.

“I’m just going to borrow you for a second so we can get your tickets and put your names down for the grand prize. Thank you for supporting the School is Cool Foundation!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell Penny my friends had donated zero dollars for the cause, and felt panic climbing up my throat as I watched the blonde twosome galloping to the far corner of the lobby along with her.

Hunter stood beside me, hands in pockets, his eyes on them.

“You weren’t exaggerating. They are hot.”

“Drop dead.”

“Don’t tempt me after the week I’ve had.”

“How did you manage to pay for the tickets?” I wet my lips, knowing it was bad form to ask someone to drop 10k on your friends. But it was for charity. And ten thousand dollars was nothing to a guy like Gerald Fitzpatrick.

“Told Da I owed my local drug dealer money from way back.”

I choked on my own saliva. “Do you?”

He tore his eyes from my friends and frowned at me. “Fuck’s the matter with you? I don’t have a drug dealer. Or a drug problem. I just needed to get this shit done. Da will never pass up an opportunity to think badly of me. If he could find this imaginary dealer and convince him to lace my cocaine with anthrax, E. coli, and cyanide, he would.”

“Can’t blame him,” I piped. But actually, I could. Hunter wasn’t all that bad. He definitely wasn’t malicious.