1. HUNTER
1
T he heat radiating off my body only feeds the unease sitting in my stomach after seeing my mother with that pile of money on the table in front of her. My pile of money. The one that was supposed to be my ticket out of this one-horse town. My chest clenches as if it’s caught between two closing walls.
But I need it. I need to wallow in the discomfort, before I’ll even remotely be able to let it go.
I take a small path toward the streaming creek as my heart keeps pounding hard in my chest, my feet never slowing down until I register the small pebbles of the creek bank underneath my shoes. My head is dying for a breeze, to get a breath of fresh air, but with summer being barely over, it’s still seventy-five degrees out.
Still feeling the need to use my already aching muscles in anger, I pick up some rocks from the ground, throwing them into the creek with a roar, one by one.
Normally, the burbling of the flowing water calms me down, but right now, it’s only a deafening tone. The soundtrack to the desperation that pierces through my heart. I keep going, trying to find a bigger rock every time I’ve thrown one in, until finally, the fatigue hits me. Placing my palms behind my head, I shut my eyes while sucking air into my heaving lungs, listening to the natural sounds around me.
One more fucking year .
“You need some help with those bigger boulders?”
My heart just about jumps from my ribcage, and my head snaps toward the unexpected voice.
“Jesus Christ, you always sneak up on people like that?” My brows knit together in a tiny scowl.
I look at the girl sitting cross-legged against a tree, with a book on her lap. Her wavy dark blonde hair is slightly highlighted by the sun, making her blue-green eyes striking against her ivory skin.
Her.
“I’ve been sitting here for an hour,” she deadpans.
“Right,” I say while I run a hand through my sweaty hair, feeling awkward as fuck when I realize she has been witnessing my entire big boy tantrum. “Well, carry on.”
I put my focus on the creek, doing my best to pretend she’s not here, but I can’t resist glancing at her again, wondering if she’s still looking at me. When I rear my neck, disappointment trails my spine when her head is back in her book, and she doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck that I’m still standing here.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I turn my frame her way again. My eyes can’t help but give her a once-over. Her white sneakers stand out against her tanned legs, which are covered with nothing more than some jeans shorts. Her oversized navy-blue V-neck t-shirt is tucked in at her jeans, giving no indication of her curves, but something tells me they are there.
She holds up her book with a coy smile, answering my stupid question.
“All by yourself in the middle of nowhere?” I curiously take a few steps closer.
“Not really the middle of nowhere, since you came here too.” She looks at me with a sassy grin that secretly makes me chuckle inside .
“Aren’t you scared some guys might pass by? You know, guys that don’t mind taking advantage of pretty little girls?”
She cocks an eyebrow at me in a defiant way, clearly not affected by my question.
“Are you planning on taking advantage of me, tattoo boy?” She glances at the tattoos on my lower arm, and I kinda like the fact that she’s checking me out, just like I did with her.
“Please. I can fuck any girl I like just by snapping my fingers.” I snap my fingers to prove a point, knowing I’m talking like a douche, but unable to keep my mouth shut. I expect her to shut me down and end this conversation before it fully starts, because my ego blurts out unnecessary bullshit, but she gives me a dim look.
“Not every girl.” She shrugs, unimpressed, before dipping her head to keep reading.
Nope, not every girl.
She doesn’t realize she piques my interest even more by appearing unaffected by my presence. I’m used to girls flirting with me. And while lately most girls bore the hell out of me with their lame attempts, I catch myself wishing she will give it a shot.
“Is that a challenge?”
She lifts her head again, looking me straight in the eye with her captivating gaze.
“Does it seem like I’m interested in you?”
“No.” But I wish it was.
“Then it’s not a challenge. And I’m not that little, by the way.”
“But you are pretty,” I retort as I drop my ass on the ground next to her. The cold grass soothes my heated palms as I run my fingers through it, my eyes trained on her with a side glance.
“You flirting with me now?” She closes her book, holding it in a tight grip .
Her eyes pierce through my soul while I stare into the rolling water. Fuck. I quickly glance toward her and smile, then turn my head back in front of me.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
My eyes keep peering into the creek as a flutter enters my stomach, sensing that she is still looking at me. I simultaneously enjoy how it puts me on edge—how her gaze brings my senses alive with a single look.
“You wanna tell me why you’re throwing around rocks like you’re about to turn green any second?”
When I look at her this time, my gaze stops at her plump pink lips, wondering what they would feel like against mine. Would they be soft and warm, like a comforting summer night? Or scorching and sizzling, like a drop of water on a hot plate?
She slightly purses them while she raises her eyebrows, waiting for my answer. I avert my eyes and focus on the meadow against my fingertips as I take a deep breath to clear my head.
“I had a fight with my mom,” I say, drawing letters on the ground with my index finger to keep my hands busy.
“Must’ve been a pretty heavy one.”
“I’ve had worse.” I shrug, trying to brush it away.
“She the one who did this?” Before I know it, her soft hands are grazing the scratched skin on the side of my neck. A shiver unwillingly runs through my body at the brief physical touch, and my lower abdomen stirs alive, wanting more.
“Yeah, she grabbed my throat,” I answer, hoping to distract the growing bulge in my shorts. “She was drunk.”
“She do that a lot?”
I turn my head toward her, narrowing my eyes on her vibrant face.
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I pry.” She casually shrugs, but I detect her cheeks forming a subtle, yet different kind of hue as her features turn bashful. “ I’m shameless about it. Sorry. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I won’t be offended. But I’ll still pry.”
Her honest answer feels like the breath of fresh air I was longing for, and it immediately puts a smile on my face.
“How come you ask about the scratches on my neck, but not my black eye?”
The skin below my eye is bruised in a purple and blue palette, a physical mark on my face that is now all for nothing, considering my mother found my stash of money.
She playfully rolls her eyes in a mocking way, then she opens her mouth.
“I know who you are, Hunter . You’re the boy they keep whispering about. Saying you’re an illegal cage fighter. I’m guessing they hardly step foot into the cage with freshly manicured nails leaving scratches like that .” I laugh at her answer, liking the fact that she knows who I am.
“Could’ve been a girl?”
“True.” She nods. “But they look fresh and, somehow, you don’t have a ‘ just fucked ’ look.”
“A ‘ just fucked ’ look? What does that look like?” I ask, weighing my chances of her showing me in the near future.
“Like you’ve just fucked,” she says, bored, looking at me like I’m dense.
“You wanna see my ‘ just fucked ’ look?” I wink, licking my lips seductively.
“Get over yourself.” She glares with a scowl that doesn’t match her eyes, and I take the moment to soak in her beautiful face. She’s an enigma of contradiction, and fuck me if she doesn’t manage to dig a hole into my heart like it’s nothing. Her azure blue-green eyes are clouded with sass, yet her stance is made of good girl energy.
“What’s your name?”
“Charlotte. ”
Finally, I know her name.
“Pretty. Do people call you Charlie?”
“Only my best friend, but I prefer Charlotte. She is just a lazy little brat who thinks Charlotte is too long.”
“Well...” I taunt, while she tilts her head in a daring way. “It is a bit long?”
“Just because you’re a cage fighter doesn’t mean I’m afraid to slap you.” The look on her face is filled with power, and for a second, I actually believe her, thinking this girl would not be afraid to kick my ass. Though, I’m not sure I would mind her doing it, anyway.
“I’m Hunter”—I reach out my hand to her—“but you already knew that.”
She grabs my hand and meets my eyes, and I swear to God, it feels like an electrifying pulse runs through my arm before we both let go and fend off our gazes.
“Did you run here, Hunter?”
“Yeah.”
“Where do you live?”
“You wanna know where I live now?” I only met her five minutes ago, but I can’t help but flirt with the girl, especially because she holds her own without effort. She is not intimidated, and even less impressed. Hell, if anything, she’s fucking beating me in my own game without her even knowing it and not putting in an effort doing so.
“I wanna know how far you ran.” She keeps a straight face, effortlessly ignoring my beaming smile that is slowly pushing my sour mood to the back of my brain.
“You just want to come over, don’t you?”
“Stop putting words in my mouth.”
“There’s something else I would like to put in your mouth,” I mumble, waiting until she smacks me over the head. She doesn’t seem like the type of girl who would take bullshit like that from any guy, but it left my mouth before I could push the words back.
Pushing your luck here, Hunt.
When nothing happens, I carefully twist my face toward her and notice her scowling at me once again. It’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating, but regardless, it’s a welcoming change from the girls who pretend to love anything that leaves my lips.
The scowl softens into a fleeting smile, a subtle curve that hints at a hidden world of emotions beneath the tough exterior. In that moment, I see past the bravado, catching a glimpse of the real her—the one she guards fiercely yet reveals in unguarded moments.
“Does this shit actually work with girls?”
“Most of the time.” I shrug with a big smile.
“Your standards must not be very high.”
“I might have to raise them after today.”
“You’re so full of shit.” She chuckles.
It’s a sight that melts my heart, and it instantly has me addicted, wanting to put more smiles on her face.
“But I’m entertaining, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, you are,” she admits.
The corner of her mouth raises in a grin as she gets up, brushing off any dirt that might have stuck on her shorts.
“I need to head home.”
“Where do you live?”
“Just to make it clear”—she lifts up a reprimanding finger—“I’m not inviting you over.”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes at her as I push off the ground on my side, helping me to stand.
“Right down the old road. It’s the first house when you walk onto the street.”
“The one with the huge garden?”
“Yeah. ”
“I’ll walk you,” I state as I put my feet in action, not waiting for her response.
“Scared I might get attacked, tattoo boy?”
I casually shrug my shoulders.
“I don’t want to risk it.” The truth is, she will probably be fine without me, what with it being broad daylight and all, but I don’t want this conversation to end. I don’t want to go back to my lonely life, so I’m going to stretch this out as long as I can.
“So, your mom drinks too much?” she asks, as we walk down the road, side by side. I know she’s prying again, but I don’t mind it. And that alone is fucking with my head.
“She’s an alcoholic. You can say it. I’m used to it.” A comforting feeling washes my soul as if we’ve been doing this our entire life. I don’t usually talk about my mother. In general, but certainly not about her addiction. Yet, she manages to get me to blurt out exactly that after five minutes.
“Sorry you have to deal with that. Got any siblings?”
Most of my friends know the situation that is daily life for me, even though I never talk about it, but never have they asked about any of it with the interest she’s giving me.
“My father and my brother died in a car accident four years ago. That’s when it got worse.”
She gasps, and for a moment there, it sounds like a moan, a sweet, torturous sound, doing crazy shit to my body.
“Fuck, that’s what you get for prying,” she states awkwardly.
“It’s okay.” I suck in a deep breath before I exhale loudly, hoping to get rid of the weird feeling in my stomach I can’t seem to shake.
“You must really miss them.”
“Every day,” I admit without hesitation.
“Is that why you fight? Because you’re angry at the world? ”
Lashes bouncing up and down, her question feels like a hit to the chest. I look at her, tucking my hands into my sweats to make sure I don’t wrap my arm around her.
“What makes you think I’m angry?” I ask, ignoring the tingling in my fingers. That small affectionate stroke of my neck gave me a sense of her skin on mine, and it made my body long for more. To keep her tight against my chest, to breathe in her scent and hold her like a sad child grasps onto his teddy bear.
“Are you not?”
Fighting is an easy way to get money and a good way to get out some pent-up energy with something I enjoy. Does that mean I’m angry at the world?
“I don’t know. Maybe I am.”
“What about you?” I ask, changing the subject. “Any dirty secrets I should know about?”
“Not really. I live with my mom. It’s been me and her since I was born. Not sure where my dad is, but I’ve never felt like I’m missing out. I’m pretty boring, actually.”
“You’re anything but boring, Charlotte.” Without thinking, I remove my hand from my pocket and run it through the soft strands of her hair. They feel as tempting as her lips look. Soft, silky, and meant to be touched. And surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away.
“You found me reading against the tree along the creek. Pretty sure that’s the definition of boring when you’re in high school.”
“Yeah, okay, you’re boring,” I admit with a huge grin.
“Gee, thanks,” she says, pulling a face.
“No problem.” I gently push my shoulder against hers, putting another smile on her face. We walk a few more yards in silence until we reach her driveway and we both look up at the cozy white home. There’s a bed of pink roses in front of the porch and a swinging bench looking out over the yard. I bet that’s where she reads. It doesn’t look all that different from my own, but assuming hers isn’t overcome with yelling, struggle, and abuse, it looks like a fucking dream to me.
“Thanks for walking me.” She stops in front of her house, then gazes up at me.
“Anytime. I’ll see you in school.”
“Sure.”
A grin stretches my cheeks as I try to think of a way to extend my time with her. But she takes the lead by waving me off and moving toward her front steps, so I mimic her as I slowly raise my hand, then trail off.
“Hey, Hunter?” I turn around in anticipation, meeting her kind face. “If you ever want to talk, you know, about anything other than your ‘just fucked’ face, you know where to find me.”
Her eyes radiate a kindness that engraves itself in my heart, while I silently pray this isn’t the last one she looks at me like that. A fuzzy feeling warms my chest while pebbles shower the skin on my arms. I’m constantly surrounded by people who want a lot of things from me. Attention, my body, for me to win my next fight. But no one has ever offered to simply talk to me.
“What about my ‘ before-fucked ’ face?” I joke with a nudge of my chin, then laugh when she shakes her head, trying to bite back the grin I catch lingering on her lips.
“I’m here for any non-fucking related subject.”
“I’ll see you around, Charlotte,” I reply, content knowing I wouldn’t let that opportunity go to waste.