The Hunter (Boston Belles #1)(81)

“Thank you for taking care of our boy. We know he’s a cunt.”

“Knight!” Luna giggled, butting into our hug and squeezing me, too. She smelled like a warm fabric softener sheet, and had zero mean-girl vibe about her despite her beauty. “I’m Luna.”

“I’m Sailor.”

“We know,” they said in unison, laughing. When we broke the hug and turned to Hunter, we found him staring at us, his expression blank.

“I said Madonna,” he pointed out matter-of-factly. “‘Like a Virgin’? Not after I’m done with you, baby girl.”

“Yeah. ‘Burning Up’ would be her song the morning after, though.” Knight swaggered over to Hunter, slapping him on the back.

We all laughed, but I didn’t feel anywhere near happy. I was coming face to face with my nightmare, AKA Hunter’s very recent past and reputation, which I’d tried to pretend wasn’t a part of who he was.

A Casanova.

A manwhore.

A guy not to be trusted.

“So, are we going clubbing or what?” Knight cracked open another root beer, downing it in one go and emitting a loud burp. “We gotta celebrate Luna’s new book contract.”

“Clubbing with two recovering alcoholics sounds like real fucking fun, said no one, ever.” Hunter stuck his fingers into the empty bottles on the kitchen island, using them as makeshift nails to point between him and Knight. “We’ll celebrate your girl kicking ass in another way. Ye Gold Rush kids of the West are in the Athens of America. While Todos Santos is more like Aiya Napa, I’m going to show you a good time. Get ready. We leave in fifteen minutes.”

Knight and Luna exchanged glances and headed toward Hunter’s room for a change of clothes, but not before stressing to me, once again, how grateful they were for the accommodation—as if it was my apartment, not Hunter’s.

I didn’t fail to notice that Hunter hadn’t included me in their plans for tonight, or even acknowledged me directly since I’d walked into the apartment. I wasn’t a part of their evening plan. I tried to ignore the sharp slice of disappointment in my chest, but the realization made it hard for me to breathe.

“Heading to the shower. Hope you had a good day,” I offered him a wave and half a smile.

“Yeah, you too.” Hunter turned his back to me and began to discard the empty root beer bottles in the recycling can.

I halted, unable to take another step. Was it something I did that made him ignore me? I didn’t think so. We’d slept together last night. And the night before. This morning, he woke me up with his face between my thighs, biting, nibbling, and licking me all over.

But that’s just sex, I scoffed inwardly. A part of your arrangement. He doesn’t see you as more than a warm hole to keep him satisfied, a means to an end. Namely, his very fat inheritance.

I hopped into the shower, letting the extra-hot water pound against my skin. I also brushed my teeth to try to wash the bitterness from my mouth. By the time I stepped out of the bathroom wearing my Surely not everyone was Kung Fu fighting PJs (ten bucks on Etsy, a far cry from the people I was sharing a roof with this weekend) I was met with three pairs of angry stares.

Hunter, Knight, and Luna stood in the hallway, cross-armed, scowling at me like I’d wronged them somehow.

“What?” I looked down, making sure I’d remembered to put my pants on. I had.

“What were you doing in there? Finger-banging yourself to the image of me five hundred times? We’re already late, and you’re wearing your goddamn PJs. Put on some jeans.” Hunter waved a hand in my direction.

“Oh.” I flushed scarlet. “I didn’t know…I thought…” I clapped my mouth shut, realizing I was being super awkward again.

At the same time, I was also so relieved, I nearly threw up.

“Yeah, you didn’t. Letting me run around looking like this in a city full of red-blooded women and alcohol?” Hunter gestured to his full height, head to toe. “You’re supposed to keep me celibate and sober. So get your ass dressed and do.”

So that’s why he needed me there.

My heart sank. Figures.




An hour later, Hunter pulled over in front of the Cutler Majestic Theater on Tremont Street in my car. The place was famous for being apparently haunted. A former, albeit fictional, mayor of Boston had died there watching a performance. There were also supposedly the two spirits of a married couple and one of a little girl who accepted hidden gifts that were left there for her.

I shared this information with our guests, who looked like they were about to bolt back to California on foot as Hunter got out of the car and started opening doors for us.

“Ghosts? Blood? Murders? Vaughn would have married this place,” Knight said, making Hunter and Luna laugh.

I’d heard the name a few times, but it meant nothing to me.

“Well, fucker’s not on the continent. Besides, he and Sailor would’ve probably murdered each other, and I don’t have time or energy to be a witness at a lengthy trial.” Hunter closed the passenger door with a bang after we all poured out. “Especially when I can almost taste freedom. And pussy. I can taste that, too.”

You do, every day, I wanted to scream. Or do I not count?

But of course, I knew why he did it. We couldn’t show people we were together in the biblical sense of the word. That was our agreement.