Page 32 of Fumble

“Don’t move.”

“What’s wrong? What are you doing?” Grabbing the covers, he gently wipes my lips.

“I got blood on you.”

“It’s fine.” I attempt to pull him in for another kiss, but he pushes himself off the bed, his brow furrowed as he reaches for a tissue.

“This is lesson one.”

“What?” His demeanor changes on a dime.

“I just fucked up big style. If you want to go out and have meaningless sex, we just broke the cardinal rule.”

“Your lip is bleeding. It’s not a big deal.”

“You have no idea what my sexual history is, Faith. You don’t have a clue whether or not I’m healthy. I’ve had a lot of meaningless sex, and I NEVER go bareback. I know I’m not going to pass anything onto you because I get tested regularly, but did it even occur to you to ask any of these questions before things go further between us?”

I shrink into myself, horrified that I didn’t think to ask.

“I know about safe sex, but I trust you.” He paces the room like a caged animal, running his fingers through his hair, worry etched in every line of his face. When he finally meets my gaze, a single, tortured word escapes him.

“Don’t.”

“Hunter…” He backs away as if I’m a contagion to be avoided.

“You didn’t ask, you know? You assumed something happened between Brittany and me. So, play that scenario out. You know she’s a notorious slut. You think I slept with her, and yet none of this gives you pause.”

“Well… did you? Did you fuck her?” I spit the words from my mouth like venom.

“No!” Relief floods my system.

“Then, what’s the problem?”

“I need to think.” The sound of the doorknob twisting in his hand causes a physical pain in my chest.

“Don’t go. I want to talk about this.”

“I can’t right now, Faith. I’ll have room service bring you dinner. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

“Please...” He turns to me with one last tortured look before walking out the door. “Put some ice on your lip, please.” And just like that, the bubble is burst, and Hunter is gone.

Alone in my room, I think about what he said, running it over and over in my mind. Until now, I’ve seen his sexual prowess as a bonus in my game. Now, all of a sudden, it hurts to think of how many women he’s shared himself with. How many one-night-stands have been given a glimpse of the amazing man I’ve been holed up with this weekend—the caring, gentle, considerate man who lives behind the celebrity façade.

I lie awake all night, contemplating our last interaction. I thought we were getting somewhere. In all honesty, it felt like we were connecting on a deeper level. It’s not what I had planned, but would it be so terrible? Because I hit my head, Hunter stayed in my room to make sure I was okay on Saturday night. It took some time to convince him to lay on the bed with me instead of spending the night on the sofa. After only one night, I miss him. Last night I felt lonely for the first time. I’ve never had any great desire to share my bed with another person—I’m a bed-hogger by nature, but being in here alone, knowing that Hunter was so close by and yet I couldn’t go to him or ask him to come and keep me company was a slow kind of torture.

* * *

The restof the staff is arriving back this morning, so I need to look over the itinerary for the coming days and make sure I get a list of anything Hunter might want to change or add. After the way he left yesterday, I’m not sure what to expect. First, I need to go and check in to my own room. If I’m still here when everyone else arrives, Malcolm will have me on the first plane out of town.

My cooter is still bruised, so I opt for a flowy skirt rather than tight dress pants today. Men say there’s no pain like being kicked in the groin, but I’ve got to tell you, this was pretty damn sore, and it doesn’t subside in a few minutes. This is black and blue bruising. No wonder Hunter ran a mile. It’s not the best look for a horny virgin! Not that he was looking. He was too busy checking the stitches on my head.

It takes me thirty minutes to arrange my hair so that no one will notice. I grab my bags and attempt to sneak out through the living area of the suite, and I almost make it. Almost.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is like a spark, igniting the fire inside me.

“I’m going to go to my room before the rest of your staff arrives.” I can’t even look at him, an ache growing in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll be back for the itinerary.”

“Stop.” I stare at the door, unwilling to see the anguish I can hear in his voice. “What, you can’t even look at me now?”

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