The Hunter (Boston Belles #1)(27)

“To being awesome,” Persy exclaimed.

“And real,” Aisling added quietly.

“And never settling for an asshole to get a pair of Louboutins you can get at the butcher shop.” Belle laughed throatily.

Aisling peered between us with confusion at the last statement. When our mirth died, they shot me an expectant look, waiting for me to throw my two cents into the pact.

I thought about something I wanted—one thing I wished for my true love to have.

“To being with someone who loves you just the way you are, and vice versa.”

We squeezed our hands together. It felt like the end of something.

It felt like a new beginning, too.




After the pact, Aisling confessed that she had very few friends at her all-girls school, and she was happy to graduate after this year and move somewhere new.

Belle made an executive decision to invite her to our weekly Friday-night hangouts, an invitation both Persy and I were happy to extend.

Whenever I glanced at the Fitzpatricks’ table, it was jam-packed with visitors coming to congratulate and shake Gerald’s and Cillian’s hands. Aisling said it was about a new refinery they’d opened in Maine. She added that it had been giving her father a headache and not going as planned.

Hunter was perpetually ignored. He picked at his food and checked his phone. Whenever his mother tried to talk to him, he either pretended not to hear her or offered her a one-word answer. I tried to keep my guilt to a minimum level and avoided texting him. Here was a guy who’d said he wanted to bed me just because I was the only woman around he could get his hands on, and I still felt bad for him.

I excused myself to go to the restroom. It took me ten minutes to push all my skirts up my waist before I peed. As I rearranged the heaps of fabric around me, I heard voices outside my cubicle.

“…came with Troy and Sparrow Brennan’s daughter. Sally? Stephanie? Something with an S.” One woman clucked her tongue.

“Sailor. Her brother is hot, though.” Another laughed.

“Adoptive brother, and he is too much of a daredevil. Rich, handsome, but bad pedigree. No, thank you.”

“I saw her ad on a bus downtown. You think they’re together?”

“Sailor and Hunter? No way. He is basically sex personified, and she is…well, a great ad for contraceptives.”

Laughter. Lots and lots of laughter.

“Mousy,” the first one agreed. “But they came in together, and there’s a rumor going around that they live together.”

“Maybe he lost a bet,” the second woman tooted, delving through a bag of makeup by the sound of it.

“Maybe he’s running out of women to sleep with,” the other cackled.

“She better enjoy it while it lasts. He goes through them fast. I doubt she’ll keep him interested.”

“Maybe he’ll leave her with a souvenir. Did you see his sex tape? H-a-w-t.”

I flushed the toilet and stomped out of the cubicle noisily. I offered them a serene smile as I squirted soap into my hand, catching their horrified gazes in the mirror when they realized who I was. They looked to be in their mid-twenties, both wearing tight, revealing dresses and the shocked facial expressions of horrified koalas.

“I’m so glad you ladies aren’t interested in Sam, because knowing my brother, he’d never look at you twice. As for Hunter, he’s too good for you, too. But I’ll be sure to bring him up to speed regarding everything you discussed today. And his brother, Cillian, too.”

“Wait, you know Cillian?” the one with the fake tits asked.

I nodded. “Absolutely. We were just discussing the merits of women with natural breasts who stay out of gossip. Well, have fun!”

I turned around and marched away on shaky legs.




Ten minutes after the restroom incident, which I kept from my friends because there wasn’t any need to rehash my humiliation, the band began to play, starting with “Twist and Shout.”

Belle ran to the dance floor like her butt was on fire. She didn’t know how to twist. But lack of knowledge never stopped my best friend from trying something new. I loved that about her. It always made her the most interesting person in the room.

Persy and Aisling were locked in a heated conversation about reality TV shows I’d never heard of while I fed my inner self-destructive gremlin by scrolling through my phone, reading an article about Lana Alder, who’d apparently gotten a small part in another Hollywood film. I took a deep breath, trying to control the jealousy expanding in my chest like a balloon as I watched pictures of her on set. I didn’t know how she did it, how she stayed focused on the craft while traveling, interviewing, launching sportswear lines, and making movies.

A hand appeared in my vision, two fingers snapping together to get my attention. I looked up from my phone screen.

Hunter.

“Dance with me, CT.”

“Why?” I asked, blinking at him in confusion. I had two left legs and the coordination of roadkill. I couldn’t dance if my life depended on it. I’d tried dancing at the only party I’d ever gone to—sophomore year—and was subjected to such thorough humiliation. People took videos of me dancing and forwarded it to half my school. Saggy Sailor, they’d graffiti-ed on my locker. Apparently, my back looked hunched and droopy when I danced.