Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Hunter
“ W hat can I do for you two?” the server asks as she comes around our table.
“Can I get another Pbr and the menu?” I ask, hoping this place has something to eat. I skipped dinner for the drive out here and I could eat a horse.
“Want to grab food somewhere else?” Cassidy pipes up. She has a look in her eyes, I can’t quite read it.
Her friend did do a pretty good job at personifying her in our messages, but I’m happier with the real Cassidy in person. I think her friend Lynn was trying to keep things minimal, so they didn’t get messy. She would answer my questions quickly but with a little of that… “Sassidy” flare. Tonight, hearing Cassidy be more part of a conversation herself is better than what I had imagined on my own.
I can tell right away she admires her dad, and I like a girl who can value family. She hasn’t mentioned her mom though. Maybe we just haven’t touched base on moms. She said it was just her and her dad, so did her mom pass too? I want to know, but I don’t want to push .
“You know a good spot?”
“Yeah, we can just close our tab here.” She turns to the server, “Can we close Walker?”
“Sure thing.” The little thing sprints off to grab Cassidy’s card and our check.
“Mind if I pay for dinner?” I say in an attempt to redeem myself.
“Your beer was like eight bucks. I plan on eating more than eight dollars’ worth of food. Is there anything you’re in the mood for, like a certain type of cuisine?”
Cuisine?! Oh jeez, this girl probably likes fancy food. I am not a fancy food guy, nor am I dressed for it.
“Something simple?” I try to say without coming off rude, or cheap.
“Well duh, but like burgers, hot dogs, tacos, pizza?” She beams. Cassidy does not look like the kind of girl who indulges in fast food too often. She’s curvy but has a small waist that screams chicken and salads to me.
“Burgers,” I state because I want to compare them to my homemade ones. She grins and rubs her palms together.
“I know a great spot!”
The server comes back, and we close out. Cassidy doesn’t need to run to the bathroom or fix herself up. She just hops off the stool and starts making her way to the door. She confidently looks over her shoulder to make sure I’m following.
I like that look. I pocket the thought. She has a gleam in her eye, and the light keeps catching the glitter in her hair.
Once we make it to the sidewalk, she waits for me to come up to her side.
“I think Lynn picked this bar because I come to it the most. Come on, we’re heading this way.” She starts walking ahead but holds her right hand out, fingers extended to me.
Am I supposed to grab it? City girls are so different from girls in my town. I take a chance and slide my hand into hers. She doesn’t jump or seem startled; she just wraps her fingers in mine and pulls me along with her. Her hand is small, but not fragile. I feel like it’s almost childlike, and yet it’s strong and stable. Her skin is soft and silky. I like it. I like it against mine.
I look at her face and she’s keeping her eyes forward as she weaves us through the crowd. We walk for a block and a half before she halts in front of a food truck. The line is long, but she doesn’t seem annoyed by that fact.
“Are you a serial killer?” she asks out of the blue. She’s not quiet about it either, and the couple in front of us turn to look at me.
I debate about dropping her hand now that she’s not leading the way, but she starts rubbing her thumb along my finger. It seems sweet and familiar.
“Uhm, no. I don’t think serial killers advertise that they chop people up for a hobby though.”
“Right, right. How long was your drive here?” She presses on, looking up at my face. The streetlights illuminate her facial features, and I wonder to myself if this girl has ever experienced bad lighting.
“About an hour and a half, maybe a little more.”
“Not terrible, but not the best,” she states.
“Do you own a car?” I feel like movies always portray city people taking taxis or buses.
“Yeah, why?” She tilts her head and holds it there, scrunching her brows a little.
Damn, she’s cute.
“I just didn’t know if you needed one in the city.” Her face softens at my response.
“I like having my own wheels, you never know when you want to get away.” Whimsy passes across her eyes, and I lock the information away.
We wait in line for a short amount of time considering how long it seemed. At the window, Cassidy orders for us both but pauses and looks at me, “Food allergies?” I shake my head and she presses on. She finishes ordering and goes to release my hand to, I imagine, pull out her wallet. I just tighten my grip and use my right hand to pull mine out. It’s just a money clip so the card slips out with the push of my thumb.
Cassidy pulls at my hand and a smile tugs at my lips. I look over at her and she has that brow raised again.
“Thank you, Hunter,” she says sweetly.
In what seems like minutes, our food is placed on the pick-up window in a large bag with two large Styrofoam cups next to it. It is at this point I realize I have to let go of Cassidy’s hand. I look down at it for a moment before releasing it and handing her one of the cups. I take the other and the bag.
I scan the few tables and chairs on the sidewalk for a second but notice Cassidy walking away from me. She heads down the sidewalk, but in a few strides, I catch up to her.
“Know a better spot to eat this grub?” I can see even in the low light of the night, she blushes.
“I do.”
We walk for not even a full two minutes before she stops. There are no benches, tables, or chairs around us, just buildings. Cassidy pulls out her wallet and holds it up to the door of the building right in front of us. The door beeps twice and she pulls on the handle. I stick my foot in the door and jerk my chin forward, motioning for her to go through first.
She walks straight to the elevators; they aren’t the typical metal doors I imagine in buildings. They have these wood panels that interlock in a very particular pattern. Fancy. When she summons it, the blocks slide away, opening up. We walk in and she hits the four without thinking.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“My place,” she says, so matter of fact. She doesn’t waver in tone for a moment. I am so out of my element. Usually, I’m more forward and bring the girl home; maybe not every time, but definitely not the other way around.
“It’s a real nice buildin’.” I can feel my hands sweat a little.
“Thanks, I really like it.” She’s mulling something over in that beautiful head of hers. “I just thought it would be nice to lounge and eat, and if you need to grab a nap on my couch before your drive back, you could.”
“Thanks, Cassidy, that’s considerate.” Her neck turns a pinch pink at my compliment.
“No problem. You paid for my food, after all.” Stubborn.
“You paid for my drink.” The elevator dings and the doors slide open. A few steps down the hall, then she’s letting us in.
Her entire apartment is the size of my family’s casual sitting room.
Doesn’t she feel crowded in this small space? I can’t imagine living in a box surrounded by other people living in boxes.
Her walls are a soft, creamy white, but the walls barely show behind her copious amounts of bookshelves, none of which match. Each is filled with books. There’s no TV in sight. Her couch is an emerald-green color with a white knit throw tossed across it. It’s fancier than anything I would get, but it looks soft and comfortable. Kitty-corner to it is a large, old, leather armchair, deep and square.
Her kitchen consists of maybe six cabinets with a small counter and her stove. Her fridge looks older than Mrs. Hewitt. It’s vintage and makes a humming noise. Probably on its last leg. No microwave, either. No dining room table. No formal spot to sit and eat since the apartment itself has been eaten alive by books.
She has a stack of books topped with a lamp next to the couch, then the same on the other side but with a plant. The plant is alive, so in my book, that’s a bonus point. Although, it’s an ivy and they are pretty easy to maintain. There’s a coffee table in front of the couch and armchair, but there are books with marks in each of them piled on it. She goes to the table, sets down her cup, and starts moving things around, I’m assuming to make room for us.
With her arms filled with books, she walks past me, her cheeks flaming red.
“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll just set these down in my room.” She heads down the short hallway and disappears into a dark room.
I place the food on the table and drop onto her couch. Damn. It’s soft and just as comfortable as it looked. She has good taste. The whole place smells like her—a clean, fresh, and sweet scent. Although I know I couldn’t live in the city, I wouldn’t mind having a more feminine touch to my house. One that wasn’t my mother’s.
Cassidy emerges from the dark hallway, and she’s out of her denim pants in exchange for some soft shorts. Her legs are long and shapely. They aren’t toothpicks, but they aren’t too big either. Her thighs touch from her apex to just above her knees, and I can see the muscle definition in her quad. My eyes make their way back up to her face, and unlike with Franny, I was most certainly checking Cassidy out. She smiles as she walks in and then sits in the armchair near me, folding those long legs under her… but I know where I’d prefer them.
Damn you, Harrison.