Charlie
“Yeah. I am.”
His hand is warm on my lower back, and it is doing things to my thought process. Because every atom in my body has relocated to that contact. Fuck. I’m horny. Thank everything that is good we are out on a public street, because I might try to climb him otherwise.
After drawing him with him less than a foot away from me, I am noticing every little detail. It’s giving me so many ideas for later. My paints can really bring him to life.
I honestly should be freaked out. He’s a stalker. He’s my stalker. He admitted it. But…I’m a little broken, because I haven’t run in the other direction.
My stomach growls loud enough that Hunter hears it. He smirks down at me.
“Better get you some food before you waste away. What are you hungry for?”
You, definitely you.
The thought hits so fast and so filthy I have to look away. I know what sleeping with damaged boys does to me. I’m not doing it again. No matter how hot said damaged guy is.
I glance around the area and spot the little food cart up ahead—the one with the plastic awning that does cheap but amazing falafel and shawarma. The guy who works it always calls me “beautiful” when I order. It’s not five-star and definitely not expensive. Which means it’s perfect.
I nod toward it. “That one. Best falafel in the area, and it won’t bankrupt you.”
He glances at the cart, then back at me with a raised eyebrow. “You’re letting me off easy, huh?”
I shrug, trying to keep my tone light even though my pulse is doing stupid things. “Yeah. Figured I’d be nice this time. Don’t get used to it.”
He locks onto the words. His eyes darken, a slow predatory focus that makes my stomach flip for reasons I’m not naming right now.
“This time?” His voice drops full of teasing. “So there’s gonna be a next time? You already planning on letting me feed you again, Charlie?”
I really like the way he says my name. It sends a shiver straight down my spine. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too wide.
“Maybe,” I say, bumping into his side deliberately as we step up to the cart. “If you behave.”
Hunter’s hand slides a little lower on my back, thumb brushing just above the waistband of my jeans. The touch is light, but it burns.
“I’m not great at behaving,” he murmurs close to my ear, voice rough. “Especially when you keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, even though I know exactly what he means.
“Like you’re trying to decide whether you want to draw me or climb me.”
Heat floods my face. I laugh, but it comes out shaky. “You’re trouble.”
“Yeah?” He leans in just enough that his breath ghosts over my skin. “You like trouble, Charlie?”
I swallow hard. My body is screaming yes while my brain is waving every red flag it owns.
The cart guy interrupts us with a cheerful “Beautiful! The usual for you today?” and I’m grateful for the distraction. I order quickly, cheeks still burning. Hunter pays before I can argue, then hands me my wrap with a look that says he knows exactly how flustered I am.
We find a spot on the low stone wall edging the park and sit close enough that our thighs press together. I unwrap the foil and take a big bite. The spices hit perfectly, but a little tahini sauce escapes the corner of my mouth.
Before I can wipe it away, Hunter’s hand moves.
His thumb brushes the edge of my lip, catching the sauce. My breath catches completely.
Then—without breaking eye contact—he brings his thumb to his own mouth and sucks it clean.
Holy fuck.
The sight of it—his lips closing around his thumb, the brief flash of his tongue—hits me like a live wire.
Suddenly I’m hyper-aware of how hot he actually is.
The stubble on his jaw. The broad, solid build.
The dark intensity in his eyes as he watches my reaction as though he wants to devour me right here on this wall.
I swallow hard, the falafel suddenly tasting like nothing.
Hunter’s mouth curves into that half-smirk, thumb still lingering at his bottom lip for a second like he knows exactly what he just did to me.
“Messy eater,” he murmurs, voice low enough that it feels private even with the city noise all around us. “Good to know.”
Heat floods my face so fast I have to look away, staring down at the wrap in my hands like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. My ears are burning. I can feel him watching me, that dark, steady gaze practically burning a hole through the side of my head.
After a beat, Hunter’s voice comes again, low and a little rough. “So… ‘Beautiful,’ huh?”
I glance back at him, still flushed. He’s got this tiny, jealous edge to his expression that he’s trying (and failing) to hide.
I can’t help it—I laugh, the sound bubbling out of me before I can stop it. “Oh my God. Are you jealous of the falafel guy?”
Hunter shrugs one shoulder, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Does the guy call you ‘Beautiful’ every time you show up? He sounds pretty familiar with you.”
“He calls everyone beautiful,” I tease, bumping my shoulder against his. “Old ladies, tired businessmen, the pigeons. It’s his thing. You gonna fight a sixty-year-old cart guy for complimenting me?”
Hunter leans in a little closer, voice dropping into that dangerous register again. “Depends. You like it when he says it?”
I bite my lip to keep from grinning too wide, the flush still hot on my cheeks. “Jealousy looks good on you, actually. Kind of hot.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s doing this. The tension between us simmers hotter now, thick and sweet and a little ridiculous.
“Shut up and eat your food,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. His thigh stays pressed against mine, and when I take another bite, he watches my mouth again as though he’s waiting for another excuse to use his thumb.
I swallow, still smiling, heart beating way too fast for a simple lunch in the park.
This is such a terrible idea.
And I’m not sure I care anymore.
We eat in comfortable silence for a minute, the city noise wrapping around us—kids shouting, distant traffic, everyday city noise.
Every time I glance at him, he’s already looking at me.
Not staring exactly, just… watching. Like he’s memorizing the way I eat or the way the sun hits my face.
It should feel creepy. Instead, it makes me feel seen in a way I haven’t in years.
When I finish the last bite and wipe my hands on the napkin, Hunter crumples his wrapper and tosses it into a nearby trash can with casual accuracy.
“So,” he says, voice low and casual, like he’s not fishing, “you got other plans for the day?”
I lean back on my hands, stretching my legs out in front of me.
The cropped shirt rides up again and I don’t bother fixing it, because I like his eyes on my skin.
“Yeah, actually. I was thinking about heading to the zoo. Snow leopards are my favorite. They’re so fucking majestic and grumpy. Reminds me of someone I know.”
Hunter’s mouth curves into that half-smirk again. “Snow leopards, huh? Those are my favorite, too.”
I raise an eyebrow, fighting a grin. “Really?”
He’s so full of shit. I know what he’s doing. And I like it.
“Really.” He shrugs one broad shoulder, eyes still on me. “I was actually heading that way myself. Figured I’d kill some time there.”
I laugh, the sound bright and easy, happier than I’ve felt in a very long time. The kind of happy that makes my chest feel loose and warm.
“Well then,” I say, straightening back up on the wall, “I guess we should walk together. That way you don’t have to stalk me the whole way there.”
Hunter’s eyes flash with something dark and amused. He leans in just enough that his voice drops into that low, rough register that does terrible things to my insides.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “Keep teasing me like that and I might start thinking you like being stalked.”
Heat curls low in my stomach. I hold his gaze, letting the flirtation hang between us like smoke.
“Maybe I do,” I say softly, surprising myself with how honest it comes out. “A little.”
Hunter’s jaw tightens for half a second, as though he’s trying to hold something back. Then he stands, offering me his hand even though I don’t need it.
“Come on then, pretty boy,” he says, voice warm. “Let’s go see your grumpy snow leopards.”
I take his hand. His palm is rough and warm, fingers wrapping around mine a little tighter than necessary as he pulls me up. We start walking side by side toward the zoo, the sun beating down on us as if it approves of whatever the hell this is becoming.
I glance up at him as we walk, catching that dark, steady look he keeps giving me, and I smile to myself.
Yeah. He’s definitely dangerous.
But right now? I don’t care.