Chapter 29
Hunter
I can’t keep my hands off Juliet. Last weekend, after karaoke. This morning when I was already late for my early morning practice. Anytime that I can make her moan, I’m game.
After all, she’s Juliet Monroe, the most perfect girl ever to graduate from U of W. If you’d told me back then that I’d ever get her in bed, let alone that she’d like being dominated as much as I like it, I’d have told you to go fuck yourself.
We have sex in the shower, water running cold while I press her against the tile and she wraps her legs around my waist like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
Against the kitchen counter last night when she was trying to make dinner, and I came up behind her, pushing her skirt up and forgetting all about food.
In my car after team drinks, parked in the shadows of the arena garage because we couldn’t wait the fifteen minutes it would take to get home.
At the arena itself, tucked away in a storage room where we barely locked the door before I had her pressed against the wall, both of us trying to stay quiet while the rest of the team was just down the hall.
Every time it happens, it gets rougher, messier, more desperate. Like we’re both chasing something we can’t quite catch.
I’m addicted. Obsessed. Every kiss tastes like hunger, like I’m starving for something I didn’t know I needed until I had it.
The last time is in the foyer of our apartment. We barely make it inside before I lose what’s left of my control. Juliet drops her bag, keys scattering across the hardwood, and I grab her by the hips, spinning her around to face me.
“Hunter,” she breathes, but whatever she was going to say gets lost when my mouth finds hers.
We don’t even get out of our clothes all the way. Her skirt shoved up, my jeans pushed down just enough, frantic, against the front door like we’re teenagers who can’t wait another second.
She wrecks me. Destroys every defense I’ve ever built, every wall I’ve put up to keep people from getting too close. And I keep coming back for more.
I tell myself not to touch her when we’re not actively fucking.
Not to look at her the way I do when she’s reading on the couch, unconsciously tucking her hair behind her ear.
Not to memorize the sound of her laugh or the shape of her mouth when she’s trying not to smile at something stupid I’ve said.
Because when this ends, and it will end, she’ll go on like none of it mattered. She’ll pack up her life and move on to the next job, the next opportunity, the next carefully considered step in her career.
And I’ll still be standing here, fists clenched, pretending I didn’t want more.
When we’re finally still, curled together on my bed with the sheets tangled around us, Juliet says something I don’t expect.
“Patrick’s words are stuck in my brain today.” Her voice is quiet, careful. “No man will ever want to come second to my ambition. That’s a quote.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Not because they’re true, but because I can hear in her voice that she believes they might be.
I go still beneath her, every muscle in my body tensing. My jaw locks so tight I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack.
“That guy’s a fucking idiot,” I say, flat and certain. “You already know that. Why are you taking his word on this one subject?”
Juliet flinches like she expected me to agree. It was almost as if she was waiting for me to confirm what that piece of shit drilled into her head. I’m unmoored by it.
I watch her for a long beat, taking in the way she’s pulled back slightly, the careful blankness that’s settled over her features. The same mask she wears when she’s managing difficult reporters.
“Have you ever thought about replacing him?” I ask, quieter this time.
“What do you mean?” She gives me a puzzled look.
“You know the Houston Stars team management, right?”
“Yeah, I guess. I’ve never worked for them. But I was Patrick’s girlfriend for five years. I’ve met the owner and their head coach a bunch of times.”
I lick my upper lip. “Patrick has a big mouth. But he’s also a pretty shitty player. And that’s considering Houston recruited him, and it’s a terrible team.”
Juliet smothers a laugh. “Tell me how you really feel about him, Hux.”
Her nickname warms the hard knot in my chest, tempting it to ease.
“It’s true.” I snicker. “I’m saying that I bet there’s a rookie out there who’d kill for a shot to take his place. Someone quiet but talented, who needs somebody to hype him up. Someone who’d let you be the one to give it to him.”
She blinks, her expression shifting. “I... what?”
“If you chose one or two graduating seniors from college who aren’t already first or second draft picks, and you hyped them up to teams that you thought they would fit with, you’d make a killing off the deal.
Plus, one of those rookies could replace your shitbag ex in the Stars lineup. See what I’m saying?”
“Maybe?” Her nose wrinkles. “That sounds like being an agent. I’m a PR girl.”
“It’s less about being an agent and more about making the right introductions, helping rookie players get in rooms that they wouldn’t normally be invited into.” I say it like it’s obvious, because it seems like it is. “I’m just saying if I had the time and connections, that’s what I would do.”
“And what about my PR dreams?”
“You’re great at PR. This would just be a little bonus.
You don’t even see how good you’ve got it, Juliet.
Most people spend their whole lives looking for something they care about enough to fight for.
You’ve got that, and you’re good at it.” I pause, hesitating.
“Anyone who can’t see that doesn’t deserve you. ”
I watch her process this, see the exact moment something cracks open in her chest. Because I’m not trying to tame her ambition or convince her to want smaller things. I’m encouraging her to want more. I’m talking about her ambition like it’s part of what makes her worth knowing.
She looks at me like she can’t believe I mean it.
But I do. Every word.
“You think I should go after Patrick’s spot?” she asks. There’s something sharp and interested in her voice now.
“I think you should go after whoever you want. Build your own empire. Show the whole fucking league what they have been missing out on. PR and talent, all in one package.”
Her mouth parts like she’s going to say something, then closes again. Instead of speaking, she slides closer to me, close enough that I can feel her heartbeat against my ribs.
I reach for her without thinking, my hand finding her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone.
When I kiss her this time, it’s different. Slower. I feel like I’m trying to say something with my mouth that I don’t have words for.
It won’t be the last time. We both know that now. This thing between us has moved past the point of pretending it’s just convenient chemistry, just two people scratching an itch.
But I’ll never get enough of her. Never tire of the way she looks at me afterward, like I’ve given her something precious. I’ll stop wanting to be the reason she smiles.
It’s not just that I want her. I want her to look at me like I’m worth something. Maybe I want her to see past my flaws and see my strengths instead. I want her to see that maybe there’s something underneath all the anger and the reputation that’s worth keeping around.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, her voice soft with exhaustion.
I flick a few strands of her wavy hair out of her eyes. Her hair is dark as a raven’s wing and soft as silk to the touch.
“Nothing important,” I lie.
Because how do I tell her she’s rewired my entire brain? I used to think I was only good for hockey and breaking things. Now I catch myself wondering what it would be like to wake up next to her every morning for the rest of my life?
How do I tell her that when she talks about her career ambitions, I don’t feel threatened or competitive? I feel proud. I want to clear the path for her, want to be the one standing behind her when she takes over the fucking world.
How do I tell her that Patrick was wrong about everything, but especially about the man who could handle being with her?
Because the right man wouldn’t want to come first. He’d want to be her partner. Her backup. The person she comes home to after conquering whatever she set out to conquer that day.
He’d want to be worthy of someone that fucking magnificent.
I’m not there yet. Maybe I’ll never be. But lying here with her curled against my chest, feeling the weight of her trust in the way she lets herself be vulnerable with me, I think I might want to try.
“Hunter?” she murmurs against my throat.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For what you said about Patrick. About my ambition.”
I tighten my arms around her. “I meant every word.”
“I know,” she says, and there’s something soft and surprised in her voice. “That’s what makes it matter.”
She falls asleep first, her breathing evening out against my neck. I lie here awake, staring at the ceiling and trying to process the magnitude of what’s happening to me.
Five months. That was supposed to be it. Five months of fake engagement, mutually beneficial arrangement, clean break at the end. We’re at the halfway point and my entire brain is screaming at me to make it more permanent somehow.
There’s nothing fake about the way my chest tightens when she smiles, or the way I plan my days around the moments when I’ll see her again.
There’s nothing fake about wanting to tear apart anyone who’s ever made her feel like she was too much, too ambitious, too everything.
There’s nothing fake about the way I’m falling for her so hard it feels like hitting the ice at full speed.
The smart thing would be to pump the brakes. To remember that this ends whether or not I want it to. To protect what’s left of my sanity before she walks away and takes half my heart with her.