Chapter 10 #3
“I can act confident. There’s a difference,” she confessed.
“Yeah,” I said. “There is.”
She played with the edge of one card. “I think people see my dad, my mom, my last name, med school, all of it, and assume I have this built-in certainty. But half the time, I’m terrified I’m not enough.”
I hated that she felt that way. A part of me felt that way too. I was the son of a hockey great. I didn’t know if I’d live up to my last name. Add to it I was screwed over by Amy and publicly humiliated.
“You are,” I said. “And I know what that can feel like. Son of Oli Russell. Cheated on at his own wedding.”
Her eyes softened. “It’s hard. My mom is this well-known doctor, and Dad, well, you know Dad’s record. I just feel so ordinary.”
“There isn’t anything ordinary about you. You’re special, Catherine.”
Her smile was small. She looked at me for a second too long. “Thanks.”
I grinned. Playing cards was turning out to be a lot more dangerous than I expected. We kept playing. The questions got easier and harder at the same time. Favorite childhood memory. Worst habit. What scared me most.
I said, “Letting the wrong person close to Isla.” Then, after a second, I added, “Letting the right person close and still losing them.”
She didn’t say anything for a while after that. It wasn’t like me to be an open book, but something about Catherine had me slowly unraveling.
Then my phone rang. I looked at the screen. It was my older sister, Quinn. I hit ignore.
Catherine lifted a brow. “Not answering?”
“My sister.”
“Shouldn’t you answer?” she asked.
“She’ll call back if it’s important,” I assured her.
The phone rang again ten seconds later.
Catherine smiled. “Seems important.”
I sighed. “Or she’s being annoying.”
“Answer,” she urged.
I picked up. “What?”
“Wow,” Quinn said. “Rude.”
“I’m busy.”
“Busy?” Her voice sharpened. “Are you and Isla okay?”
“She’s at camp,” I reminded her.
“Right. Sorry. Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“The kids are fine. Thanks for asking,” she giggled.
“Are you and the kids okay?” I asked.
“See? Better.” There was background noise, probably my nieces fighting over something deeply stupid. “We’re fine. I was calling to check on you because Mom said you were acting weird.”
I closed my eyes. “Mom needs hobbies.”
“Mom has hobbies. You’re one of them.”
Catherine pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. I pointed at her in warning.
Quinn went quiet. “What was that?” she asked.
“What was what?” I asked, trying to hide the alarm in my voice.
“That silence. You’re with someone.”
“No.”
Catherine’s eyes widened. I winced.
Quinn gasped. “You lie badly. You’re with a woman.”
“I didn’t lie. You never asked,” I clarified.
“So you are with a woman?” my sister repeated.
I rubbed my forehead. “Yes.”
Catherine mouthed, OMG.
I shrugged. What was I supposed to do? Lie to my sister? I didn’t lie to Quinn. She raised my kid half the time during the early years. She could smell lies through a phone.
Quinn got very quiet again. “Hunter.”
“No.”
“I didn’t ask anything,” she giggled.
“You were about to,” I said because I knew my sister.
“Who is she?” she asked.
“You don’t get to know that information,” I countered.
“What’s her name?” Quinn continued.
“Quinn,” I warned.
“Is this a date?” she asked, all giddy.
“Maybe.”
Catherine’s mouth curved like she wanted to laugh.
“It’s dinner,” I said.
“So a date,” Quinn went on.
“Does the woman know it’s a maybe date?” Quinn continued. For the love of everything holy. My sister didn’t quit.
Catherine covered her mouth.
“I’m hanging up.”
“You never hang up on me. You always have time to talk to me,” she whined. She wasn’t wrong.
“When you’re not interrogating me.”
“I always interrogate you.”
“Goodbye.”
“Hunter, wait—”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” I hung up and tossed the phone onto the couch before it could betray me again.
Catherine was laughing so hard her shoulders moved up and down.
“Your sister is funny,” Catherine noted.
“She’s a terrorist.”
“She loves you.”
“She loves being in my business,” I corrected.
“Same thing.”
I glared. She smiled sweetly. Then she yawned. Not a fake one. A real, full-body yawn she tried to hide behind her hand.
“You’re tired,” I said.
“I’m fine.”
I gave her a look.
She sighed. “Okay, I’m tired.”
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She picked it up and read the screen.
“My mom,” she said. “They’re at a restaurant and asking if I want takeout.”
My chest tightened. Reality, right on schedule.
“You should head back before they get home,” I said.
She looked at me. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Probably.”
She stood, and I stood too. Neither of us moved for a second.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said.
“Any time.”
“And the cards.”
She was standing close enough that I could smell her again.
Vanilla. Clean skin. Something that made my brain go blank.
I wanted to kiss her badly. Because now I had fed her, talked to her, listened to her laugh in my living room, watched her soften when she talked about Isla and her family and how scared she was of not being enough.
I knew more about her than I had this morning, and somehow that made wanting her feel less like a bad impulse and more like a disaster with roots.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth. She wanted it too.
“We shouldn’t,” I said.
“I know.”
“It might get it out of our systems,” I winced.
She snorted. “That is the dumbest thing you’ve said all night. One kiss is going to make us want a whole lot more.”
Things got so tense I just wanted to take her in my arms and kiss the air out of her lungs. The room went quiet. She looked up at me, eyes soft and nervous and brave all at once. Then she whispered, “Fuck it.” And kissed me.
For one second, I didn’t move. Not because I didn’t want to.
Because I wanted to so badly, I had to make sure I wasn’t imagining it.
Then her hand curled into my shirt, and my control snapped clean in half.
I cupped the back of her head and kissed her back.
She made a soft sound against my mouth, and I was done.
Her lips were warm and sweet, and she tasted like sparkling water and lemon and Catherine.
I backed her up one step, then another, until her back hit the wall beside the hallway.
I kept one hand in her hair and the other braced against the wall because if I put both hands on her body, this was over. She kissed like she had been holding herself back for too long.
Like she was tired of talking, tired of reasons, tired of pretending. Her hands slid up my chest, over my shoulders, into my hair, and I groaned because apparently, I had no dignity left.
“Hunter,” she whispered against my mouth.
That almost ended me.
I kissed her again, slower for half a second, then deeper with her pressed against my wall in that soft yellow sweatshirt, her mouth opening under mine like she wanted everything I was trying not to give her.
My hand found her waist. Her skin was soft and warm through the fabric, and my thumb slid under the edge of the sweatshirt before I could stop myself.
She shivered. I pulled back like I’d been burned.
“Shit.” My breathing was wrecked. “I’m sorry.”
She blinked up at me, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. Then she laughed.
“You’re apologizing? I kissed you.”
“I kissed you back,” I reminded. “Catherine.”
“What?” she asked with bee-stung lips I wanted to taste all over again.
“I need you to leave before I forget why this is a bad idea,” I said, and I licked my lips so I would feel the taste of her there.
Her smile softened, and that somehow made me want her more.
“Yeah,” she said.
I stepped back, even though every part of me hated it.
She smoothed her sweatshirt, which did absolutely nothing because her lips were still swollen and her hair was a mess and I knew damn well I looked worse.
We walked to the door in silence. I opened it for her because I was a gentleman.
A gentleman with a hard-on and barely functioning morals, but still.
She stepped into the hall and turned back.
“Dinner was nice. Thank you,” she said.
“Go before I pull you into my bedroom.”
She laughed softly and walked to the elevator.
I stood in my doorway like an idiot while she pressed the button. When the doors opened, she stepped inside and looked back at me.
“Good night, Hunter.”
My name in her voice after that kiss was cruel.
“Good night, Catherine.”
The doors closed. I stayed there for a long second, staring at nothing.
Then I shut my door, leaned back against it, and let my head hit the wood. Now every reason she was a bad idea had a serious fucking problem. Because I knew what she tasted like.