He went from wrapped around my finger to changing our entire game. It was dangerous now.
I didn’t know what to say, when Hunter was behind me, crumbling under someone else, pushing him into another forced label. I didn’t want him to hear me say I’d meet him one last time when I was back home to break things off for good. He’d know I was serious if it was in person, and I was already mentally preparing blackmail to go up against his. Whatever I was planning on bringing to the table had to be good. I was going to have to get my hands dirty.
I listened to Mister go on and on about all the power he had in our arrangement, even though I knew it was a lie, when the doors opened to the narrow hallway and Hunter pushed by me. His cold shoulder nearly melted my tan and gave me frostbite in one shift shoulder check.
Little did he know, I was protecting him.
I took a risk holding my palm against my phone and shouted towards Hunter, “I’m gonna get a smoothie downstairs. I’ll be right back.”
I pressed the elevator button so fast I was hoping he would challenge my smoothie bullshit at 2 a.m. We both knew I wasn’t getting a smoothie. After the doors closed, I was able to speak more freely when I cut him off mid-sentence, and even worse, the unmistakable sound of his breath caught between a groan and more blackmail.
“I’ll meet up with you once I’m back home in Boston,” I tried to keep my voice calm and level as I spoke. I didn’t want to spook him, and I didn’t want to add to his arousal.
“Why are you in California, my naughty girl?” His voice was soaked in something menacing, and I had to remember if I told him or not. Otherwise, him knowing that was impossible. I hadn’t posted one photo to any of my socials. Liz didn’t even know I had been skipping classes, and fleeing with Hunter felt like a much needed break from everything.
“How do you know that?” My voice was harsh and disgusted, like I had just been slapped by him and it was my jerk reaction.
He chuckled before even responding, “You’re my business. I make sure I know everything I can.”
His smooth, almost perfected, voice was calming, even though every security alarm went off inside my body.
Abort. Abort. Abort.
The man I chased, taunted, and made want me certainly did—in a scary way now. Now he was chasing and taunting me into not running away from him.
I swallowed hard, trying to force down the fear I felt and owning how much I didn’t give people the power to control my emotions anymore.
“I have family dinner next week back home. I’ll text you when I’m out of it.”
I hung up, not letting him respond. Any more of those haunting responses, and I was going to need a priest to perform an exorcism.
I was about to press the button to bring me upstairs smoothie-less, when I made sure to stop at the bar. I didn't need Hunter questioning my loyalty even more than he was about to.
I pushed open the door after shoving my key card in, and a cold front wafted me in the face to match his cold shoulder. I dropped my key card on the desk with my unwanted smoothie, trying to avoid eye contact.
“I don't like being jealous, Addi. You just told me you loved me for Christ sakes.”
“Yeah, the same way you love Layla, while fucking me. He's a buffer from letting me love you too much.”
“When is the buffer useless then, Addi?”
He didn't know I had been avoiding him since right before my sister’s wedding and pumping the brakes because of how much I liked myself around Hunter, how much I liked him.
“When you get over Layla and realize there's a big difference between want and need.”
He sat up against the headboard, dragging the joint from his lips to talk instead of inhale. “What are you talking about?”
“Layla needed you to kiss her boo-boos and fill space Oliver left empty. I don't need a crutch, Hunter. I want you for you.”
“You don't want anything. Your mind is playing tricks on you. Sex doesn't help with the clarification.”
His words stung more than any wound I had ever endured. The venom in voice just poured itself all over my bleeding fucking heart in hopes it would turn as black as his.
No possibility of loving him anymore.
No risks or changes.
No need or want.
“You're an asshole. No wonder Layla didn't choose you.”
Two could play that game. He wanted to throw Mister in my face, making Layla fair fucking game.
The only place to escape to was the giant bathroom off the room. I drew a very hot bath and squeezed the closest thing I had to bubble bath, shampoo, into the water, watching it bubble up. Sinking into the steaming hot water, I forced my knees to fold up so that my face could submerge under the silence.
I always wished I was born in Florida, just to be closer to the water—a real ocean in a town full of people taking it for granted.
My family summered in Cape Cod, but over the years, it's turned into being less about the water and more about making sure YouTube or Instagram showed off all the uniqueness, like Mary Lou’s coffee shop. It drove people away from the beach until they showed up to take selfies.
I envied Hunter having a different childhood, in another state, giving us more to talk about than someone you grew up with your whole life.
The next morning, the goons picked us up in the exact same spot, and this time I was myself: no facade. I was still mad at Hunter for choosing to sulk in his unreturned love for Layla instead of seeing how I felt for what it was. I glued my eyes to the window, perfecting my silent treatment with ease.
“Podemos parar a tomar un café?”
I leaned forward between the two seats, hoping the Spanish I learned from my mom and sister was enough to get by around them. I was better at understanding than responding, but I knew what I needed to.
Goon one, in the passenger seat who hated Hunter more than I did right now, turned to me with a glimmer in his eye that wasn't there before.
Good job, bitch.
I always choose to do the one thing that makes me seem more attractive to men, accidentally. I wasn't even wearing my signature red lipstick when I said it.
He reached towards me with his heavily tattooed hand and silver rings to touch my knee as his response.
Does asking for coffee warrant this much attention?
I ignored him, still looking out the window. I had gotten good at ignoring men when I wanted to, even though that normally made them try harder. Short of wearing a burlap sack, men could find any way to sexualize you. Making the change from my dad’s pasty complexion, and all the other changes, were consciously for me, not for someone to sexualize me easier.
Hunter’s voice snapped, “Hands off.”
The guy already hated him when we pulled into Starbucks, and now he was sulking in the front seat, set off by the bomb sitting next to me.
I wanted to shout in his direction how much I didn't belong to him or anyone, but the whole car would hear instead of just the defendant on trial for questioning my love. Even in this moment, I still loved him. I hated him for one small part of him, but loved the rest of him, until they showed their teeth too.
Pulling up to a small private airport with a jet on the black top, I had to push down the insane Instagram worth moment to add to my feed. I knew the goons wouldn't allow that, and I used my one favor for coffee instead. They weren't a well of favors, not men with guns and smoothed out suits, who now knew Hunter was carrying too.