Chapter 8 Iris
CHAPTER EIGHT
IRIS
I have never wanted anything more in my life. I also have never wanted to crawl inside a pillow fort and hide more. I chug a glass of water, hoping the cool liquid will douse the bonfire currently turning my insides to pure, gooey marshmallow. No luck.
Buster rolls onto his back, exposing his fuzzy belly, tail thumping a slow, steady rhythm that perfectly matches my pulse. “You think I’m insane,” I whisper at him.
He yawns, showing off his pink tongue, and sneezes once.
“Thanks for the support.”
Okay. Shower. That’s what normal people do before a first date, right? Even if the “date” is a walk around the park with the guy who just turned my entire world upside down.
I peel out of my T-shirt and sweatpants, hop into the bathroom, and crank the water so hot it almost scalds me.
The heat helps, but not enough. My hands shake the whole time I shampoo, condition, and exfoliate every inch of skin that might possibly be visible.
By the time I step out, my body is buzzing with nervous energy, and my hair is an unsalvageable, dripping disaster.
I stare at my reflection, forcing myself not to panic. My hair is making a credible attempt at “drowned poodle,” and I don’t have much time to fix it. I end up wrangling my hair into a messy bun and then stand there, hands braced on the counter, trying to talk myself down off the ledge.
It’s just a walk in the park. With the man who makes my heart flutter and my girly bits tingle. No big deal.
Buster, ever the supportive roommate, is sitting at the threshold of the bathroom, head cocked to the side like he’s judging me for my life choices. Which, fair.
I glance down at him. “If you could, like, tone down the side-eye, that’d be great.”
Buster just lets his tongue loll out and gives a little snuffle, which I’m pretty sure means, “You’re hopeless, but I love you anyway.” He’s not wrong.
Okay. Outfits. I have exactly three dresses that might be acceptable for a late morning walk in the park. One is white and covered in tiny lemons, one is blue with a little cinched waist, and one is a red floral number that my mother swears brings out my eyes.
I go with the blue. It’s as close to “cute but casual” as I’m gonna get. I shimmy into it and hunt around for my comfortable walking sandals. Then I swipe on a little mascara and dab on a little lip balm.
Once I’m ready, I pace the living room with Buster trailing after me with every lap, whining under his breath. Each time I check the clock, only a minute has passed. How do people survive this? Am I the only person on Earth who gets this worked up over a simple walk? Probably.
I pep-talk myself in the mirror. “He likes you. He said it. You can do this. You are a strong, independent—” There’s a knock on the door.
My brain freezes. Buster loses his mind, barking and spinning in circles like he’s just won the lottery. My hands are shaking as I fumble with the lock, heart hammering so hard, I’m worried I’ll pass out.
I open the door, and… wow.
Hunter is standing there, all six-foot-something of him, wearing jeans that fit obscenely well and a plain gray T-shirt that looks tailor-made for his body.
His dark hair is still damp from the shower, little silver streaks gleaming at his temples.
There’s a tiny scar just above his eyebrow, a detail I never noticed before, and it somehow makes him even hotter.
He’s holding a bag of treats in one hand and Buster’s new leash in the other.
Our eyes meet, and the air in the hallway thickens as Hunter’s gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate. I freaking feel it in every molecule of my body.
For a beat, neither of us says a word.
He looks at me, really looks, and the heat in his eyes almost knocks me over. There’s so much want there that I have to hold on to the door for support. I can’t even remember my own name.
Then Hunter moves. His hands come up, so big and gentle I almost laugh at how careful he’s being, and cup my face. The warmth of his palms is a shock against my cheeks.
I forget how to breathe.
He leans in, so slow it feels like a dare. His forehead brushes mine, and I can feel his breath, warm and minty, ghosting over my lips.
“I’ve been dying to do this.” His voice sends shivers down my spine.
I shake my head, dizzy, waiting until he kisses me. The world implodes as his lips cover mine. There’s nothing soft about it. My hands shoot up, gripping his shoulders, and I feel the flex of muscle under my fingers.
His mouth moves over mine, hungry and wild, and I match him beat for beat.
My lips part for his tongue, and the heat is instantaneous.
My moan fills the room around us, and Hunter groans back, the sound vibrating straight through my chest, down to places I didn’t know could ache like this.
He tilts my chin, deepening the kiss, and I let him. No, I mentally beg him.
For a second, there’s nothing but urgent, frantic, desperate need. My pulse hammers out of control.
When he finally breaks away, I gasp for breath. My head is spinning, legs like Jell-O, lips tingling from the force of his mouth on mine.
Hunter’s eyes are darker now, pupils blown. He keeps one hand cupped around my cheek, thumb stroking along my jaw. His other hand slides to the small of my back, grounding me so I don’t float away entirely.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, not even trying to hide how wrecked I am.
Hunter huffs a rough laugh, voice even lower than before. “You can say that again,” he says, like a confession.
I lick my lips, tasting the sweet-hot burn he left behind. Man. We need to slow things down a little bit. “We should probably head out for our walk.”
He’s about to say something else, but Buster seizes the opportunity to nose between our legs and sit at Hunter’s feet. Hunter glances down and then back at me, then leans down to attach the new leash with a laugh.
“C’mon,” he says, his gruff voice softening, “let’s walk your anxious pup before he decides to use the hall for his bathroom.”
Hunter reaches for my hand, laces our fingers together, and gives a gentle tug. I follow, dizzy and grinning. Buster leaps ahead, ready for our adventure.
As we walk down the hallway, I glance over at Hunter, the big, grumpy, beautiful man who has completely ruined me for anyone else. His thumb traces lazy circles on my hand, and I swear, for the first time ever, his scowl softens.
Buster loses his mind the second his paws hit the sidewalk. He tries to leap straight into the nearest patch of grass. Hunter grunts but doesn’t let go of my hand. He just tightens his grip as we follow the excited little puppy down the quiet sidewalk.
“Chill, buddy,” he mutters as Buster surges ahead, nose to the ground, ears flapping in the wind. Hunter matches my pace, slow and deliberate, his body radiating warmth.
Every nerve ending in my body is on high alert, and just walking next to Hunter is enough to fry my brain.
His fingers are locked with mine, palm callused and warm, and it’s all I can do not to trip over my own feet from how dizzy he makes me.
The way he glances at me from the corner of his eye?
I actually have to suck in a sharp little breath just to keep my knees from buckling.
We hit the end of the block and the entrance to Worthington Hills Park, and I’m pretty sure Buster’s about to take flight from his excitement. He hits the grass running, nose to the ground, little beagle ears flapping as he sniffs every blade of grass.
Hunter squeezes my hand, thumb brushing over my knuckles in slow, lazy circles. Every time our arms brush, electric shocks vibrate through my skin. I can barely remember my own name as my stomach does a somersault.
I break the silence first. “Did you always want to be a firefighter?” I ask, needing to discuss something ordinary.
His jaw tics. “Ever since first grade, when Mr. Tullen came to career day in his full gear.” He shrugs, smirking down at me. “I knew I’d look good in the uniform.”
I can’t believe it. He’s actually joking.
My jaw drops. I gawk at him, and then just start laughing. It slips out before I can stop it—the kind of laugh that’s half wild giggle, half delighted snort.
Holy shit. This man really is trying to kill me.
“Mr. Tullen must’ve been pretty impressive in his gear,” I tease, bumping my hip into his as we walk.
Hunter gives me side-eye. “He was fifty, balding, and needed to lose a pound or fifty. So, no.”
I can’t help myself; I press, “But you were still inspired?”
“Yeah. He let us spray the hose at orange traffic cones.” He shrugs, totally unbothered, like this is the most normal origin story ever. “I was hooked.”
The mental image slays me. Tiny, grumpy Hunter aiming a hose at plastic cones, probably glaring at kindergarten girls for giggling too loud.
“What about you?” Hunter glances down at me. “How did you land your job at The Hartmann Group?”
Oh. This story is really boring. I roll my eyes, making a face.
“Prepare to be wildly unimpressed, but… I graduated from college two years ago with a business degree, mostly because it was practical, and my scholarship covered most of it. The Hartmann Group posted an opening for an admin. I figured it’d give me an inside look at how business actually works, before I commit to anything long-term.
That’s the whole story. No burning passion. No origin story involving fire hoses.”
Hunter glances down at me, lips curled at the edge. “You act like that’s nothing. Most people don’t know what the hell they want. You actually figured out how to get paid for learning.”
He has a point, but it still feels like the laziest superhero backstory ever. “Yeah, well. My superpower is showing up early and color-coding my inbox. Not exactly badge-and-hose material.”
Hunter gives me this intense sideways look, like he’s trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube using only his jaw muscles and stubbornness. “Doesn’t matter. You show up. You get shit done. That’s all that’s important.”
My cheeks flush, and my heart beats in a funny rhythm from the compliment.
Hunter’s thumb keeps tracing circles on my hand, and it’s doing such unspeakable things to my nervous system that I’m shocked I don’t just short-circuit and collapse on the sidewalk.
We walk deeper into the park, the path shaded by huge old oaks and dotted with kids, joggers, and, oh look, another two dozen dogs.
Buster is beside himself, nose to the ground, tail whipping like a metronome on Red Bull.
I glance up at Hunter, and he’s just watching me. Not the path. Not the dog. Oh man. I’m in so much trouble here.
“Before this goes any further,” Hunter glances down at me and tilts his head, “I need you to know my deepest, darkest secret.”
Uh-oh. I don’t think my heart will survive if it’s really bad. “Okay.” I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the worst.
“I like reality shows. The trashier the better,” he admits, catching me off guard so hard I almost drop Buster’s leash.
I blink several times. “Wait, seriously? Like… which ones?”
He glances at me and winks. “Love Island, Love is Blind, Survivor…”
I nearly double over. “I have a hard time picturing you watching those shows.”
He shrugs, eyes twinkling in the sunlight. “The assholes at the station got me addicted to them.”
I bite my bottom lip and stare up into his eyes. “You just got ten times hotter. For the record.”
“Good to know.” The look he gives me almost causes me to self-combust on the spot. There’s a tiny, dangerous smile at the corner of his mouth.
He leans in, brushing my hair back from my face with his free hand. His fingers linger at the nape of my neck, and I swear I feel every single nerve ending in my entire body fire at once. “You keep looking up at me like that,” he rumbles, “and I’m going to forget we’re in public.”
Oh. Oh, wow.
I can barely breathe. My whole body goes tight, heat pulsing low in my belly. “Maybe I want you to forget. Maybe I’m ready for us to take this to the next step.” And the step after that. At this point, I’m already head over heels for Hunter.
“Hold that thought until we get back home.” He doesn’t have to worry. That thought is ping-ponging around in my mind on a constant loop at this point.