Please. Cool your jets, Alysha.
Her hips pop out with every step she takes, exaggerating their sway as she walks up to Hunter, and jumps him, long legs wrapping around his waist, spidery arms going around his shoulders, face going into the crook of his neck.
Pain slices through my chest and stomach, his words from minutes ago ricocheting around my skull to be chased over and over again by the words lies, lies, lies. Hunter doesn’t go back on a foot, doesn’t move his arms as she launches herself at him.
“I missed you, baby,” she says, loud enough for me to hear. I hate her, I hate her. “How come you won’t answer my calls, huh? Weren’t we good together, Hunter? Didn’t you like what we did?” Her voice has dropped down an octave, turning on a seductive charm I can’t hope to duplicate. She’s so much better at this than I am; I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to go back with her.
“Aly, maybe there’s a reason I’m not answering your calls or texts, it’s been four months. Maybe that reason is I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” Hunt says, untangling her arms from around his neck with an annoyed force.
Her legs drop from his waist, feet clacking against the floor as her stilettos and meagre weight settle on them. Her hands clench into the fabric of his white tee at the base of his throat, dragging him closer to her.
That’s my spot, bitch.
“I know you didn’t just say that to me, Hunter. Shall I call your mother to get this all settled out?”
Hunt snorts, but the sound is ugly. “Yeah, call my mom, Aly, at night. Go complain to her that I’m not following your plans. We’re not getting married, and we’re sure as fuck never sharing the same bed again.”
Married?! Married?! Who the fuck is getting married???!!!
I watch her fish her phone out of her pocket – how skinny is this chick? I watch her pause with it in her hand, wrist cocked out to the side like she’s actually going to start dialling the Duchess’ number. I would kill to hear that conversation.
What on Earth would make anyone call at this hour?!
Miss Duchess, your son isn’t listening to me. Please tell him he has to do as you say. And make sure we have suitable childcare for the boy, I don’t want to see him once we’re married.
Yeah? Well, frak that.
Aly tilts her head to the side, simultaneously being placating and inquisitive.
“How are you going to survive without your mom’s money? How are you going to take care of Jules’ kid, huh? Oh, poor Hunter, don’t try to get a brain now, and start thinking for yourself.”
Fuck no, she did not just call him an idiot. I will cut her. And who the hell is Jules?
Kat keeps going. “You marry me, we have enough money to keep us going for the next fifty years. Aren’t you tired of fighting, of struggling every single day? Aren’t you tired of it all?”
I watch Hunt hang his head, like it’s loose on his neck, chin dipping down to his chest, arms just dead weight hanging off his shoulder sockets at his sides. He is tired, I know that. I know he’s exhausted.
But I can help him, I can help take care of Matty. I want to scream that he doesn’t need Aly, really, he doesn’t need her. I can do it, I can help him; I know I can.
“That’s right, baby. You know you want me over her anyway. My way is the easy way, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” She coaxes him to half-hug her, even though his arms are still those lead weights at his sides. I take comfort in that.
Jesus, she knows exactly what to tell him. He has no chance. We have no chance.
She continues whispering in his ear, words I can’t hear.
“I’m tired,” is all he answers to whatever she’s saying to him. I watch the side of his face that isn’t pressed to hers become broken and desolate again. He looks like the world has stolen so much from him, and instead of giving it the finger and fighting back – he wants to give up.
I start to tear up just looking at him, the way all of him seems less, just less than what he could be, when he’s with me and we’re laughing and kissing. Maybe this is the real him, the part he doesn’t want me to see and I’ve fallen in love with the fake Hunter who makes me smile and laugh.
I don’t deserve to say I love you, because I haven’t fallen for all of him yet. And I want to have the opportunity to love the rest of him, too. If this biatch will just go home and let us be. My knees crack when I try to get into a more comfortable crouching position, and I end up holding my breath, wondering if they heard me.
“You love what we do together, Hunter. We’re good together, you know it, baby. We explode together, and I love your mouth. Here, call that girl you have upstairs, tell her to go home, and we’ll go upstairs to your bed,” she coaxes, putting her phone into his hand.