The Hunter (Boston Belles #1)(48)

I saw Hunter opening his mouth in my periphery and held a hand up. “No, sexual favors are not a currency I am offering, or accepting.”

“Too bad. Sex is the bitcoin of our generation.”

“It is actually the oldest form of payment in civilization. Prostitution, anyone?” I rolled my eyes, but still smiled.

“Why, yes, I’ll take two of those. Look, I have another deal to offer you.”

“Thanks, but no.” I quickened my pace.

“I can hook you up with the Patriots’ physical therapist.”

“You can do that?” My breath caught in my throat, but I kept my pace even as we nearly raced through the corridor.

“Money is power, baby girl, and the universe has a twisted sense of humor, which is why I have a lot of influence. But if I do this, you make out with me—full-blown, second-base, tit-sucking, dick-rubbing make-out sesh. Oh, and I get to tour that orange forest between your legs. My time of choice, of course.”

“No,” I groaned, horrified at the mention of my private part. I trimmed and tended between my legs, but I’d never seen the need to shave or wax the hair away completely.

“I’ll let you think about it.” He patted my back condescendingly, purposefully riling me up.

“How long do I have?” I side-eyed him.

“Three seconds, or the offer is off the table. A friend of mine pulled the same shit this morning. Worked wonders on me.”

Is he kidding?

Also, is that what we are now? Friends?

“Three,” he began to count, slapping the exit door open and nodding for me to go out first.

We surged through, advancing toward my car, and I smiled a little when I noticed the progress Hunter had made. Less than a month ago, he’d stood in this parking lot, begging me to take a deal. Now I was the one bargaining with him.

“No,” I clipped.

“Two.” He ignored me, unlocking the car automatically.

I was about to walk to the passenger’s seat, but he grabbed me by the waist and forced me to stand close to him, in an awkward half-embrace, chaining me to the moment.

I swallowed. It was just making out. It wasn’t sex. He’d still be celibate. And the Patriots’ physical therapist? I mean, come on. I’d be a fool not to take it.

You’d be a fool to take anything this family has to offer you. The Fitzpatricks are one step away from ruining you. They already made you cross every line you thought you had.

“One,” he whispered hoarsely.

I opened my mouth. He put his thumb inside. It was warm, rough, salty. I clamped my lips around it. He pressed his thumb against my lower teeth, immobilizing me. My heart pounded so hard, my ribs were shaking with the effort of not letting it burst out. His eyes, dark blue and brooding, bore into mine.

“I’m going to have you, prey. One way or the other. Our little deals are just a way for you to give yourself excuses for letting me into your panties. Do the smart thing, and get something out of it, too. Yes or no?”

I looked up at him: a beautiful, unexpected curse, sweet poison dripping from petals onto my tongue.

No, my mind screamed, but it stood no chance. I could already feel my mouth shaping the word, giving it body and voice and weight.

“Yes.”




I ate bacon, eggs, and one slice of whole-wheat bread at the diner. Hunter opted for an Everest-sized stack of pancakes, drenched in enough maple syrup to drown Canada, complete with a milkshake that he hoovered through a Tim-Tam bar, with a donut perched on its side, like a slice of lemon on a Coke. He devoured the food, ignoring his phone on the table between us, which blasted with incoming texts.

I eyed him curiously, like he was a strange animal, something that had yet to be recorded on Earth. He felt completely foreign. Before we started all this, I wanted to think of him as a reckless, stupid playboy with very little heart and intelligence to match. Every day he proved to be more than that brought me closer to my demise.

I wanted to undress him. Inhale him. Cinnamon and laundry detergent and thatHuntersmell that made my insides tingle. The kiss we shared was going to haunt me to the grave. The anticipation of making out with him sent jolts of electricity through the nape of my neck.

“You should probably take some of your calls,” I suggested as I watched him eat, suddenly conscious about making suggestions and grilling him again. Last time we tried to eat somewhere public, it didn’t end well.

He didn’t look up from his plate, working through his fifth pancake.

“Is that your dad?” I asked.

“Affirmative.” He stuffed his mouth with more food.

“Did you tell him you skipped work today?”

“Negative,” he said around a mouthful of dough.

“Why the self-sabotage?” I threw a piece of crispy bacon into my mouth, chewing. “You had a good reason. I could vouch for you.”

Hunter sucked his thumb clean of maple syrup, releasing it with a pop. Something fluttered between my legs when he did that. “He’ll choose to believe the worst about me no matter what. Also, work is kind of a shitstorm ATM.”

Yup. He was abbreviating at the moment.

“Why?” I asked, surprised.

I’d emailed his father back and forth and read between the lines. He didn’t seem displeased with Hunter. He was actually, dare I say, pretty happy with his progress.