On the Rocks (Last Call #1)(40)

He was glorious. His wet hair slapped across his forehead as he crouched on his board, aiming right at the photographer. His right arm stretched out, his fingers dragging through the wave as the barrel rolled over him. He was looking straight at the camera when the photo was snapped and, when I stared at it, it seemed like he was looking directly at me.

It’s mesmerizing… just like Hunter himself.

The only reason I’m here on a Monday night is because Hunter is here. Otherwise, I’d be at his house with him. He’d probably either be riding me hard or taking me slowly… you just never knew with Hunter. But he asked me to come out and hang here tonight because his buddy, John, would be showing up soon. He had flown into Raleigh and rented a car to drive in, and he and Hunter arranged to meet here and have a beer or two before heading home.

I pointed out to Hunter that there was no need for me to come out. It’s not like we could really interact, at least not without giving away something. And I could certainly meet John another day.

But he had insisted… telling me that even if he couldn’t touch me, he wanted to look at me. That warmed me straight through to my toes. Of course, he told me that this morning, just before he pinned me up against the wall of the shower and pushed himself into me from behind. Just the memory of that has me squeezing my legs together to ease the ache I’m feeling.

Hunter slides his gaze around the room, his eyes coming to rest on mine. He stares at me hard, his eyes burning and needy. I have to swallow twice to get past the lump that is there, because the way he’s looking at me right now makes me feel like the most special and cherished individual in the entire world. It makes me want to stand on top of our table and shout out to the world, “Hunter Markham is mine.”

But I won’t, because even if that was something I had the freedom to proclaim, I’m too afraid that I’m not his and would never get the same sentiment back.

Shaking my head from those morose thoughts, I tear my gaze away from Hunter and watch as Casey carries over our drinks. We decided to go with Bloody Marys this evening because Brody makes a damn spicy drink, and they are on special tonight.

When Casey takes her seat, we all grab a glass and hold it up for a toast. We always do that every time we have a fresh drink, feeling the need to praise something good in our lives.

“It’s Alyssa’s turn,” I point out.

Smiling, Alyssa says, “To Guiseppe… who is the wizened old, Italian man that handpicked the olives that rest inside of our drinks right now. Thank you, dear friend, for making this drink fantastic.”

“Here, here,” Casey and I shout out, and then knock our glasses against one another while laughing.

“We’re starting to run out of things to toast to,” I say as I set my glass down.

“Speak for yourself,” Alyssa admonishes. “I think Guiseppe was completely deserving of that toast.”

“So, did Brody talk to you about doing his community service at The Haven?” Casey asks Alyssa. “Hunter had mentioned it to him.”

Alyssa’s mouth sets in a firm line. “I stopped by here late last week to grab a sandwich for dinner and asked him about it. He was noncommittal.”

Something about Alyssa’s tone doesn’t sound quite right, and she looks angry. This is something to behold, because it takes a lot to get Alyssa angry. She has the patience of a saint and the disposition of a sweet, fuzzy Golden Retriever.

Casey notices it too and prods her. “You’re holding something back. What happened?”

Alyssa shrugs, bringing a smile to her face to hide her discomfort. “It was nothing.”

“Alyssa,” Casey warns, implying she better cough up the truth or Casey was apt to beat it out of her. Well, maybe hold her down and tickle her, but you didn’t want to get on Casey’s bad side.

“It’s fine. He was just a little… um… rude when I approached him about it.”

Brody rude? That surprises me. While he’s quiet and withdrawn, and not full of the warm and fuzzies, he’s never been rude. Not even prison could do that to him, I’m sure.

“How was he rude?” Casey asks, not disbelieving but interested in hearing more about her brother… the man she was trying to get to know again.

“Maybe it was just my imagination, or maybe I’m too sensitive. But he sort of barked at me that he wasn’t interested.”

“Oh, hell no,” Casey exclaims. “He’s not getting away with that shit, especially when you were just trying to help him. I’ll talk to him—”

Alyssa sticks her arm out and touches Casey’s arm. “No, don’t. If anyone has a right to be that way, it’s Brody. Just leave him be. I’m sure he was having a bad day or something.”

“Who’s having a bad day?” Hunter asks as he sits down.

And just like that, my head starts swimming… because Hunter is sitting at our table. His gaze slides over me briefly before landing on Alyssa, but in just that microsecond, a world of meaning was conveyed. I saw it, but I hope no one else did.

He said, I want to kiss you right now, Gabs, and then I want to take you home and f*ck you into tomorrow.

This makes me yearn deeply because even though Hunter wants me to still stay over at night with him, I’m thinking I should go home to my apartment to give him and John some time to catch up with each other.