The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

41. The Hunter Play

41

THE HUNTER PLAY

Nate

In football, you learn the value of a game plan.

I’ve spent the last few days developing a Hunter game plan. Tonight, I’ll implement it. London is eight hours ahead of San Francisco, so I figure I can catch him on the phone around ten or eleven my time, once I’m home from the event at the stadium.

I can’t wait to tell him what I’ve figured out.

Meanwhile, I have the VIP kickoff party to attend and friends to catch up with.

Tanner and I wander down the food concourse, checking out some of the new booths. We pass a sushi vendor and a vegan bowl stand, then stop at the chichi new pretzel vendor.

A big chalkboard sign in front of the booth touts Artisanal Pretzels, and my stomach growls at the scent of warm, salty dough.

“Damn, check it out.” I nudge my baseball buddy. Tanner plays in New York, but since the season’s over and he likes to spend time in the Bay Area, he’s signed up for the charity auction tomorrow night. I’m glad he’s ready to date again, and I’m selfishly glad he’s here too. Without company, I might have gone batty dwelling on my plans to call Hunter.

“Can we please start eating now?” Tanner gazes longingly at the stone-ground mustard and local honey dipping sauces on the menu. Then he stares closer at the sign. “ Wait. Check this out. Doesn’t the font make Artisanal look like two words?”

I peer at it and then laugh. “Artis-anal. That’s why fonts matter.”

Tanner smacks my shoulder. “But I bet you love Arti’s Anal Pretzels anyway.”

“You too, dickhead,” I say, then I catch sight of a couple heading our way. It’s Maddox and his guy Zane. My heart squeezes with a pang of longing. That . I want that. The ease they have with each other. The together-ness. But maybe soon that’ll be Hunter and me.

The ballplayer and the agent stop when they reach us, saying hello.

“What the hell, Zane? You entering the auction?” Tanner asks, by way of greeting.

Maddox scoffs, answering for his man. “No.”

That’s it. Just a simple declarative no. It’s clear and it’s possessive.

“Or maybe I just want to cheer you guys on. Or heckle you,” Zane says to Tanner.

“Of course. I should have known.”

“But seriously. We’re just here tonight, then we’re taking off for Barcelona tomorrow,” Zane explains, then runs his hand down Maddox’s arm. “A little vaca. This guy convinced me to go there.”

“It wasn’t hard to convince you,” Maddox says drily.

“Truth. We love to travel,” Zane says, then stage whispers to Tanner, “Good luck tomorrow. I sincerely hope you don’t have the lowest bid, but…”

“Fuck off, Zane,” Tanner says, then the two of them take off, laughing.

As we make our way farther down the concourse, Tanner glances at me as if judging my mood. “What’s the story with you and your dude? It’s all history now?”

I’m about to share my game plan with Tanner when I spot a familiar head of blond hair up ahead.

But that can’t be Hunter.

I’d know if Hunter was coming to San Francisco. He’d tell me, right? Of course he’d fucking tell me.

He’s here with a camera crew, so it’s for work. This puts a wrench in my plans, but the real issue is why the hell didn’t he call me?

“That’s a very good question, Tanner,” I say, robotically as I try to puzzle out the mystery of his appearance.

But I intend to figure it out this second.

“Be right back,” I tell my friend, then I beeline for my husband.

Hunter stands to the right of a lanky camera guy, interviewing Xavier.

“This is your second year entering the auction,” Hunter says to the X-Man.

I slow down when I’m a few steps away. I can’t hover like a creeper, demanding answers, but for a few seconds, I watch Hunter work like everything is normal, like there’s no need to see me or talk to me, and my annoyance shifts into worry bordering on dread.

The next hour is a whirlwind. I have to make small talk with VIPs, and I try to make eye contact with Hunter, but it’s like he’s deliberately avoiding my gaze. I have to chase him from interview to interview to try to grab a minute, but he’s fast, whipping out the mic, breaking out questions, and fending me off like a defensive lineman.

This is becoming ridiculous. My agitation and fears spiral. I need to know why he didn’t text me, didn’t call me, didn’t say a fucking word.

As the clock winds down, I spot him chatting with Tanner by the pretzel stand. There’s my chance.

I march over to him, hellbent on an answer. When he finishes with Tanner, I seize my chance. “Hunter, do you have a second?”

Maybe it’s more of a demand than a request, but he smiles amiably.

“Of course, but first, can I get a quick interview with you about the auction and you being in it?”

Why the hell is he talking like I’m participating in the auction? Is that why he is acting so weird?

Tanner looks, wide-eyed, from me to Hunter, then he mouths good luck and walks away.

“Sure.” If an interview is the only way I get to talk to him, then bring it on. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can clear the air.

“Great,” Hunter says. “Just stand there, to the left of the camera…”

Dude, I know. I’ve done interviews before.

Hunter adopts a composed smile that I recognize instantly. I know his real smiles. I know his professional ones. And I know the ones he wields when he’s struggling, but won’t let on.

Like this one.

He seems too cool—like we’re not even exes. Like we’re barely acquaintances. He wears the distant, all-business mask as armor.

He clears his throat and asks his first question. “Are you looking forward to finding a date at the auction? This must be a great way for you to return to the dating pool.”

Yes…that’s fucking it!

I had a stinking suspicion that was what was getting to him. The absurdity combined with my fading anxiety turns into laughter, and I crack up, mostly in relief.

Hunter stares at me like I’ve gone mad. When I catch my breath, I answer him. “I’m not in the auction. I’m emceeing it,” I say, still laughing.

His expression is blank at first, then a chagrined smile spreads slowly, like a sunrise, over his gorgeous face.

“That makes more sense,” he says, then nibbles on the corner of his lips, something he does when he’s nervous.

“You really thought I was up for auction?” I ask, incredulous he thought I was putting myself out there in a man parade. “Is that why you didn’t text to say you were coming?”

Hunter turns to the lanky cameraman. “You can stop rolling, Jett. I think we have enough. Feel free to circulate.”

“I think I’ll bounce for the night,” the guy says. “It was real. See you tomorrow.”

Jett offers a fist bump and then leaves. It’s just Hunter and me, now, and I study his brown eyes for the clues to his thoughts. “Did you honestly think I was going on dates?”

He draws a deep breath and admits it with an “I did.” Then, he gives an embarrassed smile. “The way the players are listed on the website, it seemed like you were in the auction, not emceeing the event.”

“I’m off the market,” I say with a smirk, then shake my head. “Besides, there’s no way?—”

But then Vance arrives beside me, interrupting us with that don’t fuck up smile. “Look at you two. My two favorite husbands,” he says proudly. “Let’s go get some pics for the final hurrah. After this, it’s time to lay the groundwork for the ‘the distance was too great’ card.”

If he only knew how tough the distance truly is.

But I’m not in the mood to tell him my heart now, or to parade around selling a story. “Actually, Vance, I’m going to pass. We’ll catch up tomorrow.”

Vance blanches. “Wha…?”

“I’ve got plans,” I say, staying firm.

“But I have an idea I wanted to share too.”

I smile. I hope he can read into my grin, but just in case, I say, “It’ll wait for tomorrow. See you.”

Because I’m not waiting for anyone anymore.

I grab Hunter’s arm and steal him away. “Come with me.” I tug him past the artisanal pretzels and around to the side of the booth where no one can see us or hear my heart pounding wickedly. So hard it hurts.

“That was hot,” Hunter says in that sensual rasp I adore.

I don’t acknowledge his compliment. That will wait too. “Can you get out of here tonight? Now? With me?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes. When I found out a few hours ago that I was coming here, the first thing I wanted to do was text you. But when I saw you listed I thought Oh god, he won’t want to hear from me .”

I close the distance between us and cup his cheeks. “All I want is to hear from you.”

Then, I seal my lips to his. We kiss deeply, desperately. He grabs the back of my neck and holds me tighter.

Everything feels right again, real again. True once more.

I don’t feel lost. I feel found. When I break the kiss, I inhale him before I murmur, “How long are you in town?”

“Two nights,” he says.

“Cancel your hotel. Stay with me.”

He pulls back, his smile one of exhilaration. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“I’m there,” he says.

Then I run my fingers through his hair and give him a quirk of my lips. “Like I’d enter a fucking auction.”

His arms loop around me. “Like I’d not tell you I was coming to town.”

“Like I wouldn’t want to see you the whole damn time if you were,” I retort.

I don’t even know what to do with all these feelings inside of me, and I have no idea what’s next, other than this—I’m leaving right now. With him. “Let’s go.”

Hunter takes my hand, then says, “Have I told you I’ve been dying to see your bedroom since the day I met you?”