After a three-minute debate with myself about eating in my room or watching TV, the living room won out. I wasn’t hiding from him. We’d have to see each other eventually and hiding would mean I was embarrassed about what Cat had said. I preferred to pretend it hadn’t happened it all. Let him think it was all in his head. I wasn’t going to be the one to make this weird.
I took my plate out into the living room along with my drink and set both on the table beside the couch. The one with the lamp I’d been afraid I’d break by trying to turn it on when I’d first moved in.
I grabbed the remote from the neat row of remotes on the coffee table. Crossing my legs under me, I balanced my plate on my lap and scooped up a forkful of creamy, buttery pasta and shrimp and shoved it into my mouth.
My infinite scroll stopped on a Sandra Bullock rom-com. Only she could make being a ticket taker on the Chicago metro system look glamorous. I settled in with my food.
“Sabrina, what—”
I whipped my head around to Hunter, tugging the pasta off my fork so that it dropped onto my chin. Brushing my finger under my bottom lip, I wiped away the mess and grabbed my napkin.
“Yeah?” I covered my mouth with the back of my hand.
He stood in the doorway, frozen for a moment.
Did I need a reminder of how not graceful I was? “Did you need something?” I snapped, my embarrassment flustering me.
“Your food smelled good. I just wanted to know where you ordered it from.” He stepped into the room, looking ready for a night out.
A jealous streak shot through me. Not my business. We kissed once. Not exactly a declaration of love.
The tips of my ears were burning. Please call the fire department. “It’s not takeout. I made it myself.”
“It smells good.” He stood beside the arm of the couch, right in front of the table where my drink sat, and tilted his head, peering down at my plate.
“With garlic, butter, and parmesan cheese there’s not a lot that can go wrong.” I chuckled and stuffed another forkful of food into my mouth. It was so good, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d eat the whole damn thing tonight instead of saving half for tomorrow. Not exactly what my hips needed right now. “There’s more in the kitchen if you want some.” I gulped down my mouthful to cover my uneasiness. Why had I offered it to him? What if he hated it? What if I ate a pound of pasta on my own? Better Mr. Chiseled ate some rather than being alone and left to my own devices.
His eyes widened, and he shook his head. “I’m headed out.” His gaze stayed trained on my plate.
“I didn’t say sit down for a four-course meal. Have a bite and see if you like it.” I used my plate hand to motion to the kitchen.
He looked from the doorway back to me. “Maybe later.”
I speared a shrimp and dragged it through the sauce. “There’s no guarantee there will be any later.”
“What was that?”
“What? Nothing.” I snapped my mouth shut. “Here. Try it.” I held out my fork toward him. “If you like it, I’ll set some aside for you.”
His nostrils flared, and only then did I realize how intimate my offer felt. Food I’d made. From my plate. On my fork.
Instead of backing up and once again telling me he had to go, he crouched down. His knee brushed against my calf. His gaze was no longer trained on my fork. It was trained on me, zeroed in so sharply I was happy I was wearing a thicker bra so I didn’t give him a full-high-beams situation.
“Sure, I’ll try it.” He didn’t take the shrimp off my fork. He didn’t take the fork from my hand. He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and brought the fork toward his mouth.
Hold the freaking phone. When did we jump from ignoring me to straight seduction?
My stomach, which was now filled with pasta and seafood, was doing a minor acrobatics performance complete with backflips and a trapeze. My pulse jumped wildly beneath his grip.
He plucked the shrimp off the fork and chewed it slowly, keeping his eyes locked on to mine.
He groaned and his eyes drifted closed like he knew exactly what he was doing. His lips curved, shiny with butter. Bastard.
A furious level of flustered rocked me. Was it too late to swap positions with the shrimp?
His eyes shot open, and he released his hold on me like he’d been burned.
I nearly fell off the couch, shooting my arms out to stop myself from falling over. Only then did I realize I’d been leaning forward, about to take us both out in a pile on the floor.
He walked backward like I’d pounce on him if he turned his back “Night, Sabrina.”
I wasn’t the one doing sexy food tastings like I was trying out for soft-core porn.
My gaze narrowed, fixating on his retreating figure, and my jaw dropped.
Had I been played? Was this his plan to screw with me after I’d screwed with him by not confessing I wasn’t shooting porn in my bedroom? Or was it something else? Something I was afraid to think about because I didn’t know if I was capable of a fling right now.
Hunter didn’t exactly scream relationship guy, and being in a relationship wasn’t what I needed right now. I needed to focus on my designs, pitch them to potential buyers, and branch out on my own, where I wasn’t reliant on anyone but me. If there was one thing I’d learned, it was that no one was ever what they seemed and my trust in them would come to bite me in the ass.
So, no, Hunter Saxton wasn’t an option. The risk was too great. But damn if my inner vixen wasn’t throwing the bitch fit to end all bitch fits, professing that we could play it cool and have a little fun before we moved out in a couple months.
Only a little fun, although with Hunter I had a feeling it was big. Very big. Everything about him screamed Big Dick Energy. Whether I’d find out or not would depend on just how much of my sanity I was willing to risk. And right now, after a couple months flying solo with nothing more than my rabbit, it was probably more than I should…
15
Hunter
I closed the apartment door and walked to the elevator, slamming the heel of my hand against my forehead. What the hell was I thinking? This wasn’t how I got her out of my head.
The shrimp had been heavenly, but the way she’d looked at me was nothing but sin. The kind that made me want to taste her all over again.
Focus!
Tonight could make or break the concert. Maddy had finally responded to me. Announcing Without Grey when tickets went on sale in November would ensure a sold-out night. It would also skyrocket the coverage of the event. For good or bad. If they said yes, I’d have millions of eyes on my work.
I arrived at the studio and paced instead of sitting where the receptionist had motioned for me to wait. Before, it would’ve been because I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep and didn’t want to nod off in the chair; now it was because anticipation buzzed in my veins and I didn’t think I could sit even if I’d wanted to.
“You’re finally here.” Maddy’s tone was unmistakable. Slightly snarky but smooth all at once. The perfect combination of biting and persuasive required when managing one of the biggest bands in the world. At a few inches over five feet, her voice had been known to clear hallways and bring record execs to their knees at the negotiating table.