The Hunter (Boston Belles #1)(89)

Hunter was the guy, I thought bitterly. Thanks to him, I had Ash, had learned how to push myself forward, to believe in myself, and stood up to Junsu. Because of him, I’d started dressing up and paying attention to what I looked like. Hunter had dragged me out of the house to restaurants and the theater and to meet his friends and family. He made me a part of something bigger than my teeny-tiny life. I couldn’t deny it. And Hunter, like my parents, hated my obsession with what I was doing—my tunnel-visioned quest to the Olympics.

“He is,” I croaked, staring at my hands in my lap now.

Dad looked up at me, surprised.

I cleared my throat. “He is that guy. He changed me, Dad. Maybe not as fast or as thoroughly as you and Mom had hoped, but he did. I’m not the same person I was when we moved in together.”

“Then why the fuck are you still like this?” He peered at me, puzzled. He was such a man.

“Like what?”

“Still…” He motioned in my general direction. “Consumed. Obsessed. You.”

“Because it’s not so black and white. And anyway, we’re not together-together.” I felt my cheeks heating. I couldn’t believe I was talking to my dad about this, of all people. It was like taking dating advice from Dracula. “He is not serious about me,” I admitted, my voice coming out softer than I intended.

“I wasn’t marriage material before your mother made me. Be patient.” He flashed me a rare smile, ruffling my hair. “Now get the fuck out, sweetheart. I have work.”

I chuckled, pushing the passenger door open and getting out with more energy than I’d had for the couple days I spent in New York.

“Good luck, baby.”

“Thanks, Daddy.”




Bill, the receptionist at the club, informed me that Junsu wanted to see me in his office, but he was running a little late.

“Emergency at home. He’ll be here soon. Just walk right in.” Bill mock-punched my shoulder hello.

I rolled my luggage around his counter. “Thanks. Mind if I leave this here?”

“Be my guest.” He shrugged, getting back to hunching over the desk in front of him, playing solitaire on his laptop.

Walking to Junsu’s office felt daunting, death-row like. I knew he was unhappy with me, and I knew we were growing apart. The familiar hallway felt narrower, the air stuffy. I realized Dad was right. It was time to stop resenting Hunter for his past and give him a fair chance. Maybe after I moved out we’d continue seeing each other. Maybe—just maybe—Hunter said all those things about our arrangement and how it was all temporary for the same reason I reminded myself that we had an expiration date: to keep himself from hurting.

To dare me to defy our six-month plan.

The truth was, for the past few months, there was nowhere I’d rather be than with Hunter Fitzpatrick. He was my home, the little corner in the universe that understood me.

I knocked on Junsu’s door before remembering Bill had said he wasn’t there. Pushing the door open, I took a step in.

Froze.

Sucked in a breath.

My lungs collapsed first, then my smile. One brick at a time. My system shut down, my throat dried up, and my heart…

It skipped a beat…no, two, three beats before it started hammering in my chest violently, desperate to burst out and flap helplessly on the floor, like a fish out of water.

“Jesus Christ!” My throat burned with the scream.

Hunter was sitting in Junsu’s chair, naked. Lana was on top of him, straddling his narrow waist. She was wearing his dress shirt and seemingly nothing underneath. She had her back to me, but there was no mistaking the lush, brunette hair extensions. Her arms were wrapped around his neck possessively, her face buried in his chest.

I wanted to throw up.

Lana spun her head in my direction, her lips curling into a vicious smile that cut through me like a blade. Seeing her up close like this after so much time felt like coming face to face with Echinda—half-woman, half-snake, all poison.

“Oops, was this one yours?” she purred, running a manicured, nude-colored nail across his fine jaw. Hunter swatted her touch away, sobering.

I took a step back. Tentatively.

“Fuck.” He darted up. “Sailor, wait!”

Fuck indeed.

He had his pants on—thank God for small miracles. Lana dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, and he stepped around her like she was dirt on his way to me. I turned around and ran. Not walked—ran. I knew if he got to me, he’d see everything on my face, the ugly, pathetic truth of my feelings for him. The only thing I had left was my pride. He was not getting it.

My heart, maybe, but not my pride.

Hunter chased me, his footsteps ringing off the walls of the hallway. I thought about what they’d done, putting the story behind the horrific scene together. She had his shirt on, which meant she had to have been naked with him at some point. They’d had sex—filthy, intimate, rough sex. When he knew how much I hated her. Bad blood ran between Lana and me like a river, and Hunter had bathed in it. He’d handed her my ass. He’d betrayed me.

“Stop! Just let me explain.” Hunter was at my heels as I burst through the glass door of the club, realizing I didn’t have my car. Frantically, I looked left and right, noticing there were a lot of cars I didn’t recognize in the usually empty parking lot.