“You’re amazing, little man. I promise you.”
His eyebrows furrow and he angrily swipes at the tears that have fallen to his cheeks. “People lie, Sera. And people go away. And they never come back, like Harry’s parents. They left Harry all alone.”
“You’re not alone, kid. You have your Dad and you have me.”
“What if you go away?”
Oh, that hurts. Poor kid, four years old and asking these kind of questions already.
“Then you come find me, that’s all. I’ll always be your friend, Matty.”
“Don’t you want to be my Mommy?” The words are ripped from him, heartbroken, like he’s sure I’m going to say no, but he can’t help but ask anyway. He looks like puppy that has been kicked too many times, hoping against hope that the next time you move your hand, you’re going to pet him instead.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I can anyway ‘cause my throat is tight, and my vision has gone all blurry. I hold him closer to me, pet his hair and rub his back until he’s exhausted and falls asleep. I doze off and on until I realize I’m not in my bed, and I’m boiling. Disoriented at first, I start when a gentle hand shakes me awake.
“Sera?” Hunter calls, shaking me a bit more.
“Yeah. I’m alive, just gimme a sec.” I mumble, pushing my hair out of my face. I sigh when I realize my arm is underneath Matty and everywhere from forearm down has gone numb. I twitch my fingers and wince when the sting of blood comes back to them as I slowly move off the bed, making sure Matty’s still asleep.
Hunter waits for me by the door, hand on the light-switch, ready to turn it off. Sleepy as I am, I can’t read his face, and muffle a yawn with my hand. I lurch out into the hall, almost knocking into him.
I settle on his couch, pulling my knees up and resting my chin on them. I palm my scalp, rubbing along it as my hair falls down past my shoulders. It’s a Saturday night and I conked out at nine o’clock. Old much?
“Want some water or something?” Hunter asks, and despite the light coming from the fridge, he’s part of the shadows, a voice floating from the darkness.
I shake my head, then realize he can’t see me. “No. I’m good. Come and sit.”
Hunter moves into the living room, tagging the remote in the darkness and turning on the TV. He sits next to me, close enough that our thighs are flush to one another, and I can feel his heat between our two pairs of sweats.
I’m awake, I’m awake.
Two weeks after our little fight (I’m not sure you can call it a fight), and we haven’t done anything but kiss. I like the kissing, but the inferno inside me wants more. Even now, calm as I was before having fallen asleep with his crying child, I want Hunter more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.
I feel the pressure of a schedule – not the bases ‘cause I never figured what was what except home plate. Hunter hasn’t pressured me, not even with his body. But he has to know that the shirtless him every single night is wearing on me. He hasn’t said anything about how I love to look at him, wishing my eyes were my hands and I had the ovaries to walk over and do what I want to do.
His arm a warm weight over my shoulders, I snuggle closer, putting my cold toes under his thigh, feeling the cool metal of his nipple piercing under my cheek. God, he’s volcanic, and I’m so combustible when I’m near him.
I want to make out like a teenager. I never had that experience, so now it’s on my to do list. I’m twenty-five years old. I don’t need to ask permission. Frak, I can do whatever I want!
The blue glow of the TV shows us a scene from the movie Dead Poets Society (a movie I haven’t actually seen). One arm is slung over his hard abs, my hand touching his naked ribs. And Holy Rib Muscles, Batman, he is cut. I let my fingers dip into the hollows between the bone and hit the ridges of muscle between them. I do it slowly, like I’m sneaking away with it when I’m really not.
“What are you doing?”
I stop like I’ve been scalded and drag my hand back to where it belongs in my very own personal space.
“Sorry not sorry,” I mutter, locking my hands together. Bad hands, bad hands.
Hunter’s phone buzzes loudly across the surface of his coffee table, and he jackknifes forward to snatch it before it makes anymore noise. I think that vibration may have registered on the Richter scale. While Hunter does the finger-swiping thing across the screen, I listen for Matty’s even breathing, and yep, he’s still asleep. Score.
Alone time with Hunter.
“Fuck,” Hunt growls by my ear, removing his arm from me, using two hands to text back. “Aly’s here. I don’t know how she got in the building, she either conned her way or some asshole let her in. Shit.” He rubs his head, then rubs his mouth, trying to figure out what to do. He pulls in air through his nose and holds it, his whole body going still.