The Hunter (Boston Belles #1)(53)

“Lights are down, and reception is empty. This place is a ghost town. Did you know the electricity is off in the entire building? I had to take the stairs.”

I didn’t, but that meant that Da’s assholes weren’t on my case for the first time in weeks, and I wasn’t even aware. The CCTV was down.

“Nope.” I took the food from her, rummaging my pocket for the tip (people who didn’t tip DoorDash heroes twice were dead to me).

“Enjoy your meal, Rapunzel.” She winked, but didn’t make a move.

“Enjoy it with me.” I threw her a lazy smile.

“For real?”

“Forreal, forreal.”

Sailor was out. The building’s electricity system was down, other than in the actual apartments, I guess, because my lights were on. No one knew I had a chick in here. Bonus points, it had been a long-ass time since I’d shared a meal with something that wasn’t a textbook or Sailor.

“I’m Emily.” She stretched out her hand.

“Hunter.” I took it, pulling her in gently. She fell into my chest, giggling breathlessly.

“Whoa. This place. Are you loaded or something?”

“Cocked, too.” I was openly flirting. She was openly responding.

I closed the door behind us and took another LaCroix from the fridge. There was only one left, and Sailor was going to kill me, but whatever, served her right for not being here when I needed her. We ate.

Two hours later, Emily was still here. We watched Brick on Netflix because she said she was crushing on Joseph Gordon-Levitt like it was 1998. Honestly, I didn’t care for the movie. But the situation was nice. Natural. Our socked feet on the coffee table, munching on the organic dark chocolate the housekeeper stocked the fridge with.

It was the last ten minutes of the movie when she realized I wasn’t going to pounce her. Emily put her thigh on mine and wiggled her socked toes to touch my skin. I didn’t make a move, watching it play out, and knowing I was going to stop it—probably—but also feeling dangerously high on the two hours of freedom I’d been given.

“My bra is super uncomfortable,” she purred, pouting. “Can I take it off?”

“Is that even a question?” I asked groggily.

Hey, that’s just being a cordial host.

Emily reached under the bottom of her shirt and removed her bra with her shirt still on, throwing the lacy, white thing in my face. I let it sit there, draped on my head, for comic value, popping another chocolate square into my mouth.

“You’re such a dork.” She laughed.

Brick, my ass. She was interested in watching this shit like I was interested in bathing in acetone.

“Are you going to hit on me?” she asked, finally, her eyes not wavering from my bra-clad face.

“I’m a deadly sin you don’t want to commit,” I confessed.

“I’ve done them all.” She looked at me, straight-faced. “Do me.”

I shook my head, not believing I was doing this, but doing it anyway, because fuck, I needed the money, and fuck, a dirty fuck was just not worth it.

“Sorry, lovely. Getting fucked is not in your cards tonight.”

The door opened.

“Honey, I’m home,” Sailor sing-songed sarcastically. She froze on the spot when she realized I wasn’t alone. I sat upright, thinking, This is salvageable, until I felt the bra falling from my face onto the carpet.

Shitfuckhell.

Song of the day: “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen.

“CT, this is Emily.” I motioned to my guest, pretending this chick hadn’t been in the process of hoisting herself onto me a hot second ago. Swear to God, the idea of fucking her hadn’t even occurred to me. I mean, in the future—one-hundred-and-ten-percent yes. Right now, though? Too risky. My bloodline, my inheritance, my future depended on my ability to keep my pants on. Plus, I was putting a dent in the Sailor project. “Emily, that’s my roomie, Sailor.”

“Hi!” Emily jumped to her feet, waving and flashing a smile. Her tits bounced, bra-less, and her nipples were semi-hard. Sailor didn’t return the gesture. I paused the movie no one was watching anyway and strolled over to my banshee frenemy.

You could feel the atmosphere shifting, dipping in dark smoke. Emily picked up on the awkwardness. She scooped up her bra, phone, shoes, and car keys while shuffling around like a harassed ostrich.

I took Sailor’s duffel bag and disposed of it in the spare room for her. “How was the photoshoot, kiddo?”

They’d put Sailor in bright red lipstick and thick, neon blue eyeliner. Combined with her copper hair, it made her look like a sexy David Bowie cross-dresser. Her eyes were still on my face. Round and wide and bottomless and what the fuck have I done?

“I’m out of here,” Emily chirped to no one in particular.

I walked her to the door because I wasn’t a complete douche canoe, and because I was pretty sure she thought Sailor was my girlfriend. I squeezed her shoulder.

“I’ll call you,” I lied.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Hmm, would you mind taking the stairs?” I shifted my weight from leg to leg. “Ya know, cameras and stuff.”

“It’s a skyscraper,” she hissed.

“Oh, come on. Going down shouldn’t be that hard for you.”