Maybe this contact, a package, would give me some relief from the unsettled feelings I’d had as of late, yet still keep some distance between Hunter and me. Anxious for relief, I ripped into the box like a kid on Christmas morning.
Inside was what looked like a black wrist brace of some sort. King Wrap Strap. Below the name was a description of the product. Comfortably stops wrist and thumb from off-hand shot veer. Underneath it was a note on a piece of Khaill-Jergin stationery, the firm where Hunter worked. The handwriting fit the man—very dark, as if he was heavy-handed with a pen, and tall, slanted downstrokes, masculine-looking. Was I insane to think his handwriting was sexy? The note itself was short and sweet, but boy did it hit the target.
Now you have a reason to think about me.
I smiled from ear to ear like an idiot. It was so sweet that he’d sent Izzy the shooting strap he’d told her about. In fact, overall, since the day I’d met him, Hunter had been nothing short of sweet. Sure, he was forward and crude, but even that had an odd sweetness to it.
It was nearly impossible to get any work done for the rest of the afternoon. I picked up and put down my phone—deliberating over calling him—ten different times.
I should call him to say thank you.
No, I should have Izzy call.
But it would be rude of me not to call. After all, he sent the package to me.
Although the contents was for Izzy.
I’m going to call.
Picks up phone. Puts it down thirty seconds later.
This is ridiculous. Where are my manners? I have to call.
Eventually, after debating with myself for upwards of a half hour, I settled on a simple text:
Natalia: Just received the package. Izzy is going to be so excited. That was very sweet of you to send. I might even get a smile from a fifteen year old this evening.
The dots started jumping around almost immediately. My heart rode along in anticipation.
Hunter: Excellent. And is her stepmother smiling these days?
I had no idea how to answer that. The truth was, I really missed being around him. As I sat at my desk, contemplating my response and chewing on my bottom lip, another text came in.
Hunter: Stop thinking of how to respond and go with honesty.
Natalia: Busy. I’ve been busy.
Hunter: That doesn’t answer my question, Natalia.
I don’t know why I decided to text what came next.
Natalia: I ended things with Marcus.
His response was immediate.
Hunter: Have dinner with me.
Natalia: Just dinner?
Hunter: Well, I’d rather eat you. But if that’s not an option, I’ll take sharing a meal.
The familiar flutter swarmed in my belly. He was so straightforward and unlike any man I’d ever dated.
Natalia: When?
Hunter: Tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven.
Natalia: Okay. But it’s not a date, right? We’re just two friends having dinner.
Hunter: Put whatever label on it that makes you happy, sweet pea. But wear something sexy.
***
“You smell so fucking good.” I nearly whimpered at the sound of his throaty voice in my ear. True to form, Hunter pulled me against him the minute I opened the front door. Wrapping me in a hug that bordered on crushing me, his hot breath tickled my neck as he spoke.
Jesus Christ. Have the four cigarettes in a row, Minnie, if it gives you this type of relief.
“Thank you,” I managed to squeak out and then cleared my throat. “Come in. You’re a few minutes early, and Izzy hasn’t gotten home yet. I don’t like her to come home to an empty house if I can help it. She isn’t usually this late. I’m sure she won’t be long.”
I closed the door behind him and walked to the kitchen, needing a little space. Looking over my shoulder, I turned back to ask if he’d like a glass of wine and found Hunter’s eyes glued to my ass.
I raised a brow in question when they eventually rose to mine. Of course, he didn’t bother to pretend it hadn’t happened. That wasn’t his style.
“You have a great ass,” he said instead.
“This isn’t starting out like two friends having dinner. You’ve been here thirty seconds, and you’ve already told me how good I smell while pressing our bodies together and commented on my ass.”
“Didn’t say this was a dinner as friends.” He shrugged. “You did. Besides, you’re wearing perfume and a dress that is sexy as hell. You’re ready for a date.”
I rolled my eyes and continued to put that distance between us. “Would you like a glass of wine or not?”
“Sure.”
He followed me into the kitchen. Standing across from the refrigerator, he leaned against the counter in a confident stance.
Lifting his chin toward the sink, he asked, “How’s the drain holding up? No leaks?”