6. Hunter
CHAPTER SIX
Hunter
Rhett doesn’t like dogs.
Which is hilarious, considering there’s a freshly bathed Doberman puppy currently curled up on his couch, snoring like a tiny chainsaw. I’m stretched on the sectional with Storm, scratching behind the mutt’s ears, watching his back leg twitch with every satisfying drag of my fingers.
“You’re disgusting,” Rhett mutters from the kitchen, clattering a pan down on the stove like he’s personally offended by the animal’s existence. “Get your hand out of its armpit.”
“Dude,” I grin, “it’s called affection. Try it.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Not a fan of things that lick me for no reason.”
I laugh. “That’s the line for you? Licking?”
He wipes his hands on a towel, leans against the counter. “I don’t like anything that needs me to constantly reassure it I’m not abandoning it. I already live with you .”
Storm lets out a small yip in his sleep, paws twitching like he’s dreaming.
I lower my voice, scratching softer. “He’s dreaming about Ivy. Probably remembers the moment she picked him up off the street and changed his life forever. Like a true rom-com heroine.”
“I wouldn’t blame the damn mutt,” Rhett says, turning back to the sizzling pan in front of him. “She is kind of hard to not dream about.”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t answer.
Because we’re both thinking about her.
“She’s different,” I say, voice quieter now. Not really meaning to say it out loud, but it comes out anyway.
He flips something in the pan before replying. “I know.”
“You do?”
He nods. “It felt different. Last night. This morning.”
“Yeah.” I run a palm over my jaw. “Like… it wasn’t just sex.”
“It was, and it wasn’t,” he says, voice even. “She makes you want it to be more.”
I nod once, not saying more.
He turns back to the stove, stirring whatever he’s sautéing in the cast iron pan. The place smells amazing—spiced butter, garlic, fresh herbs. He’s chopping up something else now—zucchini or green onions, I can’t tell from here.
And then the doorbell rings. Storm perks up but doesn’t move.
Rhett looks over, eyes lifting. “You get it?”
“Yeah,” I say, shifting the dog gently onto the blanket beside me and heading toward the door.
I open it.
And there she is.
Ivy’s in a loose black dress with thin straps and a slit up one side, simple sneakers, and her hair pulled back in a knot. Her face is fresh—no makeup, or barely any—and there’s a big canvas tote slung over one shoulder.
A toothbrush sticks out the top. Inside, I catch the edge of a hoodie, a rolled-up pair of pajama shorts, and—of course—a bag of dog treats.
Her eyes flick to mine, and her whole face lights up. “Hey,” she says, already smiling.
“Hey.” I step aside to let her in.
The second she sees Storm, curled up beside the couch like a spoiled prince, she makes this soft squeal and drops her bag by the door.
“Hi, baby,” she coos, already kneeling beside him. “Look at you, all clean and cozy.”
Storm lifts his head and gives her one sleepy tail wag. She kisses his head and stands, brushing her hands on her dress as she heads toward the kitchen.
“Hey, Rhett.”
He turns slightly, one hand still gripping the handle of a knife. “Hey, you.”
“How’s the pup?”
“He’s good. Slept a bit, ate like a beast.”
She nods. “I’m just… I’m really glad we found him.”
Ivy settles onto the couch.
Rhett glances over. “You eaten?”
“Not yet.”
“I’m making pan-seared chicken with orzo and roasted vegetables,” he says, lifting the lid of the pot. “It’s almost done.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Damn. That sounds like actual food.”
“I kind of know how to cook,” he says, shrugging like it’s not a superpower.
I chime in. “Puppy’s had his bath. Nails trimmed. Ate a full bowl. If he was a human child, we’d be due for a nap and a bedtime story.”
“I can put him down,” she offers, standing again. “He trusts me.”
She lifts him like he’s fragile. Carries him to the corner near the kitchen where they laid his bed, and gently settles him in, stroking his head until he curls up again and lets out a soft whine.
Then she walks into the kitchen and washes her hands like she’s done it here a hundred times.
“You want help?” she asks Rhett, reaching for a cutting board.
“I’m good,” he replies without looking up.
I step in behind her, hands finding her waist. I pull her back into my chest and bend my head to press a kiss to the side of her neck.
She hums. “Hi again.”
“Missed you.”
She turns slightly, her hand brushing mine. “If it’s okay with you guys… I brought some stuff. To stay the night.”
“Okay?”
“I wasn’t sure how house-trained Storm is yet. Figured I could help if he wakes up scared or needs to go out.”
Rhett pauses mid-chop. His face does this subtle flicker thing—like he wasn’t expecting her to say that and doesn’t know whether to smile or freeze.
I try not to laugh. I know it hadn’t occurred to him how much taking care of a dog actually entails. Oh, he’s about to find out!
“I hope he’s house trained,” Rhett grumbles.
Ivy grins and reaches for a glass from the shelf like she already knows where everything is. “It’s okay. I brought backup in case he isn’t. Stray dogs usually need a lot of care and attention before they’re used to a new home.”
It shouldn’t feel this natural having her in our space, but it does.
“You sure do know a lot about strays,” I say.
“I do,” she says, sipping her water. “The one I had growing up was needy as hell.”
“What kind?” I ask.
“Black lab mix. Her name was Gigi. She slept in my bed until I left for college. Cried at the door every time I went to school.”
Rhett smirks faintly. “Sounds probable.”
I tug her closer and press a kiss to her temple. “You’re really pretty, you know that?”
She blushes. “Stop.”
“I mean it.”
She leans her head against my shoulder. “How’s the car?”
“Good now,” I say. “Fixed the transmission. We should take it out for a spin later. After dinner.”
She lifts her face to mine, smiling. “I like that idea.”
I kiss her, slow and warm. Then I lift her just slightly, one hand sliding up her thigh and under her dress.
She gasps against my mouth.
Rhett clears his throat from the stove. “Don’t distract me. I’m literally searing chicken in hot oil.”
She laughs. “Fine. I’ll behave.”
I smirk. “That’s too bad.”
She grins and turns back to Rhett. “So, how long till dinner?”
“Fifteen minutes. Tops.”
I run my palm down her back. “That’s enough time to fuck her on the couch. You can have her after dinner.”
She turns to me, eyes bright with heat. “I like that idea a lot.”
Storm lets out a snore from his bed.
This night’s gonna be perfect.
I wake up drenched in sweat, heart thudding like it’s trying to tear out of my chest.
For a second, I don’t know where I am.
The ceiling above me looks unfamiliar in the dark, smooth and high with a faint amber glow creeping through the window slats. The sheets are soft and cool, a hand loosely curled over my ribcage.
There’s warm skin pressed to my left side. A soft, rhythmic breath tickling my shoulder.
But my body’s still braced for impact. For fists. For blood. For the scream that didn’t come but used to. My fingers curl into the blanket. My jaw’s locked tight.
I hear it again.
Not the sound from my dream—the locker slamming shut, the yelling, the goddamn buzzing lights—but something else. A rustle. A key turning.
Then the sound of the door opening.
A voice.
“Relax. Just me,” Rhett whispers. “Took Storm out to pee.”
I exhale, tension unspooling just a little. I glance at the alarm clock. “What time is it?”
“Just after four,” he says, walking around the edge of the bed. I hear the quiet shuffle of his shirt coming off, then the sigh of him settling the dog into the corner again, onto the bed we set up earlier.
Between us, Ivy stirs, her voice muffled by the pillow. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I tell her, my voice soft. I reach out and brush her hair off her cheek. “Go back to sleep.”
She nods groggily and sinks back into the mattress, the curve of her bare back arching toward me like she knows exactly how to wreck me even half-asleep.
Rhett’s shadow moves closer. The bed dips on the other side as he climbs in, careful not to jostle her.
He meets my eyes over Ivy’s shoulder. His brow lifts slightly. That look of his—dry, knowing, unspoken. He’s the only one who knows about the dreams.
I shake my head once, tight. I’m okay.
He doesn’t push. Just stretches out beside her, sighing as his hand finds her hip beneath the sheet.
Ivy stretches languidly between us, her foot brushing mine under the covers. “Last night was wild,” she murmurs.
I smile, easing back onto the pillow. “Yeah. It was.”
It was better than that.
It was hours of her beneath us. Her voice hoarse from moaning, body slick and eager. Her laughter echoing in the hallway as Rhett lifted her up, her fingers tangled in my hair. Her lips on both of us. Her hand closing around me. Her mouth wet and hungry.
It was the kind of night you replay when you’re supposed to be doing anything else. When you’re on the ice, or in a meeting, or trying to sleep.
“I like that you’re staying over,” Rhett says behind her, his voice still raspy from sleep.
He sounds like he means it.
“Sleep,” he adds. “We’ve got practice in the morning.”
“Oh, right.” She groans, burying her face in my chest. “I’m taking Storm to Brooke’s. I’ll keep him there during the day and bring him back tonight. If that’s okay.”
“That’s more than okay,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head.
Rhett hums in agreement.
There’s a stretch of quiet. Ivy’s breathing slows but doesn’t fully settle. She’s not drifting. I know the difference.
“I can’t sleep,” she says after a minute.
That little grin in her voice is the only warning we get.
I don’t move. But I feel Rhett shift. I feel the electricity crackle between the three of us again—hot and waiting.
I look down at her.
She’s got that look again. Playful. Curious. A little wicked.
“Well, then,” I say, sliding my hand down beneath the sheet. “I guess we’ll have to fix that.”
She giggles softly. And when Rhett groans behind her, curling his fingers around her thigh, I know we’re not sleeping for a while.
And honestly?
I could get used to this.