Page 35 of Fumble

Chapter Ten

FAITH

I’mstartled awake by the sound of my phone, but the ringing stops, and Hunter’s voice hangs in the air, burdened by regret.

“Coach, she’s resting right now.” I can’t hear what my dad’s saying, but I’m sure it’s not going to lighten Hunter’s mood in the slightest.

“Yes, sir. I had a specialist check her out. He was confident that she’ll be fine. I’ve canceled her schedule for the next few days, and I’ll make sure she rests.” His head drops, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

“Of course. I know she’s your little girl. I promise you I won’t take any chances. I’ll get the doctor back here at the first sign of trouble.” God, he looks like he’s about to vomit, his skin paler than I’ve ever seen it.

“You really don’t have to thank me. Please, it’s the least I can do. I’ll have her call you when she’s up. Goodbye.” He tosses the phone on the sofa beside him.

“Hunter?” Now he’s the one who’s startled.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were awake. Your dad wants you to call him.”

“How did he find out?” I sit upright, the covers pooling at my waist.

“I called him on my way to the lobby.”

“God. Why would you do that? You didn’t tell him everything, did you?” I’ve earned myself a death-stare for asking the dumbest question in the history of speech.

“Yes, Faith. I told him you fell and cracked your head off my bathtub while we were playing a cat-and-mouse sex game. He wished us well and told us to be more careful next time.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you’d become the king of the great nation of Sarcismo while I was sleeping.”

“I told him what I told the staff. I lied. I faced everyone and said that you were feeling airsickness after a bumpy flight, and you fainted. Lies are my thing now. I lie to Malcolm, to the staff, your dad, myself, and you.” That last part slams into my chest, knocking the wind out me.

“What lies have you told me?”

“I seem to have convinced you I’m a good guy, someone you can trust.” He looks tired. Exhausted under the weight of our wager of what he believes it says about his character. “I’m not a good guy, Faith. I’ve fucked my way through more women than I dare to count. Can’t even remember most of their names if I’m honest. And now this… us. A stand-up guy doesn’t play games with a woman’s virginity. It’s a one-time card. And let’s not get started on the million reasons this situation is way more complicated because of who you are.”

It takes me a few minutes to process. He’s obviously been thinking about this a lot since he walked out yesterday.

“So, let me get this straight. A drop of blood from your lip touched my skin, and now you’re the whore of Babylon and shouldn’t be allowed to grace an innocent vestal virgin such as myself with your presence?” A grin pulls at the corners of his lips, but he’s quick to shut it down.

“This isn’t funny, Faith. I’m being serious.”

“So am I! What if I reject your theory?”

“I’m saying no, Faith.” I can see he’s struggling. His mouth says one thing, but his body is saying something entirely different. He stands to leave, again. How many times is he going to leave me in a hotel room before he realizes that this is my game? Why is it such a big deal that I want to control how I lose my virginity?

“Is this your trump card, Hunter? I get close to breaking your shell, and you leave. Fine… go.”

“I’m just going to get your bags. I thought you might want some fresh clothes. If you haven’t noticed, you’re wearing my shirt and very little else, I suspect.”

“Oh, piss off!” I grab the first thing I can find and throw it at the door. Lucky for him, I’m not exactly a star quarterback. I throw like a girl and manage to knock over a lamp, missing him completely.

* * *

Left alonewith my thoughts for an hour before Hunter returns with my bags, I’m going out of my mind. When he returns, he has the good sense to look sheepish, eyeing me carefully.

“Can we talk?”

“I thought that’s what we were doing earlier. Are you going to stick around this time? You can’t just up and leave every time the conversation gets uncomfortable.” I have him over a barrel on this one. He slumps onto the couch, maintaining what he perceives as much-needed space between us.

“This isn’t me. I don’t shy away from dealing with the hard things.”

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