His question gives me pause. When I think of Hunter Maxwell, I think warm, loving thoughts. When I look at him, I see beauty, and not just the physical kind.
But if I take a step back and view him through a more detached lens, I wonder if the picture looks different.
Yes, he’s the vulnerable, hurt boy I met on a bridge by pure happenstance, the first boy to ever make my heart beat faster, to ever kiss me and fill me with infatuation.
He’s also the boy who broke my heart on purpose. Who swept in and wrecked the perfectly good relationship I was in. Who causes tremors in my rock-solid relationship with my mother, who tempts me to lie and keep secrets.
He’s jealous and vengeful, and kind of a bully when it suits him. He can be a touch manipulative if he thinks that’ll help him get his way, and he doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants, even when he doesn’t really deserve it. He took my virginity in an act of revenge, and the second time we were together like that… it was angry and spiteful, I didn’t even entirely want it to happen.
Looking at Hunter Maxwell on paper, I guess he does sort of have more villain qualities than hero qualities. It just… doesn’t feel like he does.
If he’s a villain, he’s the smoothest one I’ve ever encountered.
And since the thing he wants seems to be me, I’m not sure I’m cut out to be the hero who opposes him. I’m too emotionally wrapped up in him. He’s too hard for me to resist.
I tell myself I’ve managed to stand my ground, but looking at it objectively, I can see the ways Hunter has worked to erode that ground right from beneath my feet.
I’ve never been as tempted to betray myself as I am when he’s around.
Whatever else he just said, one thing is absolutely correct.
The more time I spend with him, the harder it is to keep resisting.
I know I wanted this weekend as much as he did, but this weekend was reckless. Not just because we’ve been careless with birth control. I’m being reckless by giving him so much access to my heart.
If I keep to this course, he’s going to win.
I can have Hunter or I can have my self-respect, but I can’t keep both.
When I was stronger, I told him that was one fight he would never win, and I meant it.
I have to mean it. I have to.
I refuse to give in when he put us here on purpose. He didn’t make a mistake with Valerie; he made a choice.
A choice to betray us.
A choice to hurt me.
A choice to lose me.
So now I’m lost, and I have to stay that way.
I can’t fall into his kisses or those big brown eyes, no matter how tempted I am.
I can’t say no, either. Not this weekend. It was one of his rules.
Hunter’s smart. He knows the hero can’t win if she’s been completely disarmed.
That’s all right. I can play by his rules and still emerge unscathed.
I may be his, but only for the weekend.
Come Monday, the only person I’ll belong to is me.
Chapter Fifty One
Riley
As it turns out, Monday is farther away than it seems to be.
Holed up with Hunter at his house, it almost feels like being in another world. But we’re not in another world, and the ugly parts of our reality won’t stop poking holes in our happy little bubble.
On Sunday, he gets another text message that pisses him off.
He doesn’t bother trying to hide this one from me, but when he shows it to me, I find myself wishing I hadn’t seen it.
Apparently, there’s a picture going around.
A poorly Photoshopped picture, but the poor Photoshopping doesn’t matter. It was never meant to be convincing, only to illustrate an ugly rumor in the crudest way possible, a way guaranteed to be passed around the whole school. Passed around until it became anonymous, impossible to remember who started it.
I know who started it, though.
We all know who started it.
The picture appears to be a screenshot from a porno. A brunette girl lying on her back with her legs spread, one guy fucking her, one guy about to shove his cock into her mouth, and a third guy getting jerked off on the couch behind her.
Well, me.
It’s my face Photoshopped onto the girl, of course.
Hunter’s face is pasted over top of the guy fucking me, Sherlock has been Photoshopped in as the guy whose dick is about to go in my mouth, and Anderson’s face is pasted over that of the guy being jerked off.
The caption reads, “Riley working her way through the football team.”
I sit on the couch a bit woodenly as Hunter calls the friend who sent it to him. “Who the fuck sent this to you?” he demands as he storms out of the room to take the call, but I don’t know why he even needs to ask.
We all know Valerie is behind it.
Hunter stays in the other room for a long time dealing with it.
I go upstairs to his bedroom to start packing up my things.
I’m not leaving early because of it, it’s just the last day of the weekend, anyway, so it seems like a good time to pack.
When the doorbell rings, I frown.
Would Hunter have invited someone over when I’m here? I don’t know how his conversations are going with whoever he’s interrogating about the picture, but I can’t imagine he would.
I leave Hunter’s room and go find the nearest window with a view of the driveway to take a look.
My heart just about stops when I see Valerie Johnson’s car.
What the fuck?
Packing forgotten, I hurry down the stairs.
I don’t make it all the way down them. There’s a landing near the bottom that also makes a pretty good hiding spot for eavesdropping. I stop there and press my back against the wall.
Hunter has already answered the door. Whatever conversation they’re having clearly hasn’t just started.
“What was I supposed to do?” Valerie demands. “You blocked my fucking number, Hunter.”
“I blocked your fucking number because I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit,” he tells her.
“It’s not bullshit,” she insists. “I swear to God, Hunter, I’m not the one who made that picture.”
“Maybe you’re not the one who made it, but you are the one behind it. Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Valerie? You’re jealous of Riley and you can’t stop tearing her down, but you know what? It ends now. I gave you a warning. I played fucking nice, didn’t I? That’s over now. You’re done. You don’t exist anymore. You’re a fucking leper. If anyone has anything to do with you, they’re done, too. I’ll make that clear to everyone; we’ll see how many fucking friends you have left when I’m through with you.”
“Hunter, think about it,” she says, and I can hear the fear in her voice. “Think it through. Look at the picture again. Why would I make you the one fucking Riley? You think that’s a visual I want in my head? And not only that, the guy fucking her? Not the hottest guy. Whoever made that thing put Sherlock’s face on the hottest body. If I made it, I would have made you the hottest. You may not think doing something this fucked up is beyond me, but you have to know that.”
“Are you fucking with me right now?” he asks, sounding a bit dumfounded.
“I’m serious,” she says petulantly. “I know it sounds stupid, but it’s the truth. When I think about doing that, that’s where my head goes. Sherlock doesn’t even like me, why the hell would I make him the hottest of the three guys? I’d have made him the jerk off guy. She dated Anderson, there’s a better chance his dick has been in her nasty mouth than Sherlock’s.”