3. Sutton #2
His only response is a grunt and nod. I plop onto the front stairs and hastily slip my shoes and socks on, smiling as he gets out to open the ATV door for me. Chivalry isn’t dead when it comes to him. I’m still trying to buckle my seat belt as he’s pulling down the driveway.
Hunter’s house sits on five acres outside of town. None of the roads are paved, so we’ve kicked up a pretty good dust trail as he turns off the main road onto a forest road we know well.
Maybe it was my subconscious or maybe it was fate, but the property I found for him is only a short drive to our spot.
Growing up, it’s where he, Luke, and I would fish or hang out, but, as it often happens, some of us outgrow these places and some hang on to them forever. Hunter and I have grown into this one.
“Here.” He shoves a tumbler of coffee into my hands.
Looking at him from the corner of my eye, I stifle a giggle because he’s sitting ramrod straight with both hands on the steering wheel. I don’t think I’ve seen him this stiff even when he’s on shift.
“Everything okay?” I sip my perfectly sweetened coffee.
“Yup. Why?”
“You look like a man who’s about to go on trial. Why are you so tense?”
His chest heaves on a massive inhale. “Don’t think you’ll like my answer.”
“Hunter,” I demand, never taking my eyes from his profile.
His semi-long locks are tucked under a worn-out navy ball cap. He’s left his sunglasses at home, so there’s nothing for him to hide behind. His warm, chocolate-brown eyes find mine, and I widen mine in a silent command to talk.
He rubs one hand down his face and mumbles, “I like you in my clothes.”
Heat floods my body. I’m used to his teasing and flirting, but he’s never been this direct with his thoughts. I normally deflect with a joke. But this time, I don’t.
“Yeah, well . . .” I hesitate only a breath. “I like wearing your clothes.”
I quickly turn away from him, but based on his grunt in reply, I know I’ve shocked him just as much with my own directness.
The forest road narrows as we near the woods at the back of his property. I relax into my seat, feet on the dash, and enjoy the solitude of our drive, allowing the last twenty-four hours to replay in my mind.
“You know that design job I bid for a few months ago?” I say ten minutes later. “The one for the police station?”
“Sure I do.” He rests his left hand on the steering wheel and holds his coffee mug with his right. “You hear something?”
Tanned and muscled forearms peek out from where he’s got his sleeves rolled up. I wipe the corner of my mouth, knowing I’m most likely drooling. There is just something about this man and his forearms and his ability to drive one-handed.
“Focus, Sutton.” He laughs that deep laugh I love so much. The one that breaks the ever-present tension between us.
“It’s your own fault,” I say under my breath. “Your forearms should be illegal.”
His grip tightens on the steering wheel, but he doesn’t quip back.
“Does the fact that you and Don were having a grand ol’ time last night have anything to do with said design job?”
I pull out my phone and reread the email I wish I could forget.
“Dammit,” Hunter says. “I’m sorry, babe. I know how much you wanted that opportunity.” He doesn’t say more than that and focuses on maneuvering off the path and onto a smaller road that leads to our lake.
The bumpy path mirrors how I feel inside, like my whole world is upside down and sideways.
I’m so used to having an iron grip on my life.
I’m not used to being told I can’t do something.
Even growing up, I was so dead set on matching Luke and Hunter in everything, failure has been almost foreign in my life.
Sutton: 16 years old. Hunter: 19 years old.
“Sutton,” Hunter says softly, “you can’t play baseball.”
We’re standing on the lawn in my backyard. Luke and Hunter have been practicing for a little while now, and I’ve decided to join them.
Hunter tosses a baseball into the air and catches it in his glove. He throws it to Luke, who catches it easily.
“How do you know that?” I ask.
Luke rolls his eyes. “Because you’ve never done anything remotely athletic in your whole life.”
I’d like to smack my brother’s stupid face right now. These two think they’re so cool having been on the varsity baseball team since they were sophomores.
“Maybe not,” I say, “but it doesn’t mean I can’t do it.” I roll my shoulders. “Can’t be all that hard if you two play.”
“Oh-ho, Sutton’s got jokes!” Hunter tosses me his extra glove.
“Time to put up or shut up,” Luke says. Then he saves himself and backs away from the two of us.
I slide my hand into the soft, worn leather glove.
My heart definitely doesn’t stutter when I see Hunter’s name written on the edge.
At least that’s what I tell myself. I open my hand a few times to test it out.
I’ve watched these two play baseball for years, so I figure I’ll get the hang of it quick.
Hunter walks forward and hands me the ball.
His eyes don’t leave mine as he backs away.
When he’s about fifteen feet from me, he motions with his chin for me to throw the ball. I roll my eyes, pull my arm back, and release the ball. It sails through the air, landing in his glove with a loud smack.
Hunter’s and Luke’s mouths gape open.
“Told you.” I sway my shoulders back and forth.
“Beginners luck,” Luke says. “True test is if you can catch.”
“Ready?” Hunter doesn’t hold back as he sends the ball flying back to me. I don’t take my eyes off it and briefly contemplate how much it’ll hurt to catch a baseball with my face, but at the last second, I open my glove, and it lands in the web.