After a few minutes, I left the bathroom and made my way back to our seats. I sat down in the spacious seat next to his, and he immediately said, “Don't bother, Addi. I don't need to know the dirty details. I'm going to sleep.”
My plan to make him feel better backfired in an epic way. I could see the stress settle between his cracks even as he tried sleeping. I wasn't sure what had him on edge about going to California for a work thing. He was successful at what he did. I didn't have all the details, but I knew how much cash he carried around. I had seen him throw more into a safe in his apartment. He was self-made and should be proud of it, yet he never was.
I didn't push him for more, like I normally would have. I left him in his comfort zone, alone, like he wanted. His silence was my punishment—one I deserved for letting him think anyone was more important.
He just didn't know that yet.
He didn't bother waking up from his light sleep, until I rubbed my elbow into his bicep carefully, while pouring the rest of the complimentary champagne down my throat, before I stepped off the plane, becoming under 21 again.
I didn't look eighteen, but when it came to forking over an ID was normally when the bartender would snatch the drink back.
Stepping off the plane into the tunnel, I could already feel the dry heat wrapping me up in comfort, instead of the low 50’s of back home. I looked around, wondering if anyone I walked by was one of the young talents who moved out there. How many people eventually felt crushed under the one in a million chance they’d score a career-changing gig? California seemed the opposite of hopeless. Regardless, I felt every hope piled on top of each other, fueling me to come back, and I wasn't even gone yet.
I got glued to the floor to ceiling window putting the city lights on display, when Hunter called out my name and tore my focus in half.
As we were waiting on the curb for a Lyft, I realized his on-edge attitude was probably from leaving Camille behind—his Mustang that I was sure he'd save over an actual person.
They had the chemistry.
“So… why are we here again?” I asked to fill the dead space between us. Between his car and Mister texting me at the most inconvenient time, I figured he'd want to vent, instead of pretending I forgot. I wasn't that kind of blonde; mine was fake.
“My boss summoned me. Can't say no. You can go shopping or something when I meet with him tomorrow.”
My eyes snapped in his direction, “Why wouldn't I come with you?”
His exacerbated, drawn out, version of my name wasn't a response I was willing to accept. He wasn't going to foil my plans of pretending to be The Lonely Hearts Killers, Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love, Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston… while in California.
I was goal oriented if nothing else.
Hunter was all dangerous, and I was all the crazy enough to become the next kind of infamous duo people wouldn't understand.
“I'm going with you. Every... entrepreneur needs a hot girl by their side when doing business.”
Every time my voice broke before his real job title, his eyes would shoot draggers my way in the hope I'd swap out his actual job title for something less obvious. I landed on entrepreneur instead.
He brought a sense of awareness back to me that I abandoned. The only thing I was aware of was how much a few changes altered how people viewed you, how much people were willing to do for you, and how instrumental your looks really were in this world.
We associated looks with success, and who didn't want to be part of that?
It was still fun pretending I was going to make his business obvious and watching his features tense up.
His head fell my in direction, and I could see how tired he looked. He had a way of making me actually feel guilty without trying, without any action or words attached meriting guilt. I wasn't someone who felt bad often. I severed ways with toxic emotions after I became the version of myself I didn't hate. I spent too much of my life hating myself for not being my sister.
“Drop it, Addi. This isn't Boston. You're lucky I let you come at all.”
His voice sounded strained after he snapped at me, like this trip was going to reveal everything dark inside of Hunter if I wasn't careful. The Lyft arrived, and we got in. Hunter gave the driver the address of our hotel, as I sunk back into my seat. I focused my eyes on the city streets passing us instead.
I always knew there was more to Hunter than meets the eye. He had dug through my fragile layers like tissue paper, knowing all my dirty secrets in no time. He knew about Mister, about my parents, and even the corrupt master list I lived my life by.
As much as Hunter and I pushed each other and made scenes uncomfortable for citizens who didn't know us, I knew when not to push him. Pushing him now would be easy and too real. I preferred our fighting to be lighthearted and ending in an orgasm.
The hotel was modern, head to toe, with uninviting furniture in the lobby and girls dressed in club attire. The culture shock was real, after staring longer at the girl in front of me, wearing a cropped top and high-waisted dress pants, casually taking Hunter’s name.
“I have you down for two queen beds, two rooms?”
The sparkle in her damn chocolate eyes set off behavior I wasn't used to, being born out of jealousy. I didn't do jealous, needy, or sloppy. My master list was crafted to avoid the pitfalls of feelings or disliking myself once one task was completed.
I let the temple of my head crash into his shoulder cascading my long, platinum hair all over his arm. I didn't care; I was busy making a point.
Her gaze immediately stopped sizing up Hunter, while I cock blocked him the same way Mister did to me, except this revenge was a sweet relief—not cold or stale, but worth every showboating second.
“Oh, no, sweetie… one room, one king. We’re together.” I made sure my voice was sweet, even though my eyes were filled with a stern warning.
I couldn't explain how protective we felt over each other. Well, I could explain his in one word: Layla. Mine was much harder to define. Layla crafted the protective parts of him, and they only lived for her.
The room was spacious with a large bed in the center. While I was busy gawking at every element I could only describe as “classy,” Hunter was stripping. I was caught between Wilshire Avenue and Hunter’s abs as my view.
California was my dream, and I had no worries. I'd accomplished being here, but Hunter? He was the hope of something so great your mind didn't let you fantasize about it, because if it didn't come true, you'd be unsalvageable.
His tight stomach taunted me, tattoo free and still sleek enough to not come off like he tries too hard.
My whole body looked like I worked out four times a week, got my fillers maintained, and was spray tanned before anyone noticed a fade.
I sat on my knees on the bed in front of him admiring him undoing his pants and stepping out of them so gracefully you could assume he'd done it a lot.
Spoiler alert? He had.
“Can I help you?”
His curt tone only made my heart being turned upside down deep inside me even worse. Without a word, I pulled my light sweater over my head, leaving me with my off-white, push-up bra, decorated with leopard print, on display. I went to unclip my bra, when Hunter suddenly walked away.
High and dry. His specialty.
This was unusual for us. When the mood hit, we normally resumed our cat-and-mouse games. Who would hold out the longest before caving…?