Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
I can’t help myself; I press, “But you were still inspired?”
“Yeah. He let us spray the hose at orange traffic cones.” He shrugs, totally unbothered, like this is the most normal origin story ever. “I was hooked.”
The mental image slays me. Tiny, grumpy Hunter aiming a hose at plastic cones, probably glaring at kindergarten girls for giggling too loud.
“What about you?” Hunter glances down at me. “How did you land your job at The Hartmann Group?”
Oh. This story is really boring. I roll my eyes, making a face. “Prepare to be wildly unimpressed, but… I graduated from college two years ago with a business degree, mostly because it was practical, and my scholarship covered most of it. The Hartmann Group posted an opening for an admin. I figured it’d give me an inside look at how business actually works, before I commit to anything long-term. That’s the whole story. No burning passion. No origin story involving fire hoses.”
Hunter glances down at me, lips curled at the edge. “You act like that’s nothing. Most people don’t know what the hell they want. You actually figured out how to get paid for learning.”
He has a point, but it still feels like the laziest superhero backstory ever. “Yeah, well. My superpower is showing up early and color-coding my inbox. Not exactly badge-and-hose material.”
Hunter gives me this intense sideways look, like he’s trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube using only his jaw muscles and stubbornness. “Doesn’t matter. You show up. You get shit done. That’s all that’s important.”
My cheeks flush, and my heart beats in a funny rhythm from the compliment.
Hunter’s thumb keeps tracing circles on my hand, and it’s doing such unspeakable things to my nervous system that I’m shocked I don’t just short-circuit and collapse on the sidewalk. We walk deeper into the park, the path shaded by huge old oaks and dotted with kids, joggers, and, oh look, another two dozen dogs. Buster is beside himself, nose to the ground, tail whipping like a metronome on Red Bull.
I glance up at Hunter, and he’s just watching me. Not the path. Not the dog. Oh man. I’m in so much trouble here.
“Before this goes any further,” Hunter glances down at me and tilts his head, “I need you to know my deepest, darkest secret.”
Uh-oh. I don’t think my heart will survive if it’s really bad. “Okay.” I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the worst.
“I like reality shows. The trashier the better,” he admits, catching me off guard so hard I almost drop Buster’s leash.
I blink several times. “Wait, seriously? Like… which ones?”
He glances at me and winks. “Love Island, Love is Blind, Survivor…”
I nearly double over. “I have a hard time picturing you watching those shows.”
He shrugs, eyes twinkling in the sunlight. “The assholes at the station got me addicted to them.”
I bite my bottom lip and stare up into his eyes. “You just got ten times hotter. For the record.”
“Good to know.” The look he gives me almost causes me to self-combust on the spot. There’s a tiny, dangerous smile at the corner of his mouth.
He leans in, brushing my hair back from my face with his free hand. His fingers linger at the nape of my neck, and I swear I feel every single nerve ending in my entire body fire at once. “You keep looking up at me like that,” he rumbles, “and I’m going to forget we’re in public.”
Oh. Oh, wow.
I can barely breathe. My whole body goes tight, heat pulsing low in my belly. “Maybe I want you to forget. Maybe I’m ready for us to take this to the next step.” And the step after that. At this point, I’m already head over heels for Hunter.
“Hold that thought until we get back home.” He doesn’t have to worry. That thought is ping-ponging around in my mind on a constant loop at this point.
CHAPTER NINE
HUNTER
We make it up the stairs in near silence. Every step, every brush of her arm against mine, every faint hint of her perfume is an electric shock I can’t ignore. My hand is still holding hers, and I swear if I let go for even a second, she’ll evaporate into thin air. All I can think about is getting her alone, getting her pressed up against my wall, and letting every single one of my fantasies off the chain.
My hands are shaking. Not so anyone would notice, but I can feel it—this tremor in my chest, in my blood, in the need that’s been clawing at me since the first time I laid eyes on her.
When we hit the landing, she fumbles for her keys out of habit, then glances over at me, her smile curving slow and sly. “Your place or mine?”
“Mine.” The word comes out rough, almost a growl. I don’t mean to sound so possessive, but there’s no point pretending anymore.