Page 23 of Hunter

She sighs. “So that’s it?”

I sit back down in my chair feeling disappointed by this entire exchange. “I have work to do.”

Without looking up at her, I find the phone number of the Fortress of the Bear and dial it. When I look up again, she’s gone.

***

Isabella and I sit at separate tables at the Welcome Dinner—she sits with her cousin and three other teams—while I’m seated with coworkers on production.

But I’m still mulling over our short and unpleasant confrontation.

I was certain that even though she’d broken things off, she must acknowledge in her heart, as I did, that we’d stumbled across something special in each other. I’d never felt such an instantaneous connection or known such a rush of excitement and possibility. I don’t know why she dumped me, but it hurt badly because I’d started hoping for something real, something amazing, something that would last forever. And I thought my hopes were justified.

But now I have to reconsider my feelings and wishes, and perhaps most of all, my assumptions. Was it possible she didn’t feel as I did? That in her eyes—as she clearly stated earlier today—we’d shared nothing more than semi-decent sex and a few hot texts? If so, what an idiot I’d been pining after her, then indulging in a storm of scorn. Was it possible that I’d been raging in a vacuum all this time?

It was embarrassing. Pitiful.

I lean my elbow on the table and listen to Nat Keegan listing his career accomplishments and assuring the first cast ofThe Astonishing Race: Alaskathat we are all on the precipice of something great, and joining a venerable television family. And it all sounds like bullshit to my ears.

Sliding my glance around the room, I find one of the Barbies appraising me with a slight smile from three tables away. When I notice her, she raises her eyebrows and widens her grin. Remembering that contestant/crew fraternization is discouraged, I shift my gaze away from her and find myself being ogled by one of the set designers. Clara or Cara? I can’tremember her name, but she sat beside me at our afternoon meeting, and her elbow brushed mine more than once. She’s cute enough, but she’s from Los Angeles, only up here to work on the show before heading home. She winks at me, and I roll my eyes in Nat’s direction before grinning back at her. She giggles silently. Potential fling material? Maybe.

I skim my eyes to the left, continuing my slow journey across the room, when they slam, without intention, into Isabella’s. From her expression, I can tell she’s been watching me, and for whatever unknown reason, appears annoyed by the glances I just shared with Barbie and Clara/Cara. As if she has any right to judge who I look at and where and why and when.

“What’s the deal with you two?” whispers Kit, who’s caught our exchange.

“Water under the bridge,” I say.

“Muddy fucking water, Hunter.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“You were together?”

“Briefly.”

“When? How long ago?”

“Last summer.”

“What happened?” she murmurs.

“We had an awesome weekend…hooked up, rocked each other’s worlds, etcetera. I live in Skagway. She went back to Seattle. Anyway, we called and texted non-stop for a few weeks, and then, out of nowhere, she broke it off.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean? What did she say?”

“Not much. She said it was just a fling and that she didn’tdolong-distance and that we should break it off before someone gets hurt.”

“Well, there you go.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shhhh!”

One of the admins at our table looks over at us, giving us a “shut the fuck up” look. Kit raises her middle finger and snarls, “Eat me.” The PA looks shocked, then offended. I try not to chuckle as Kit, totally unbothered by the exchange, turns back to me.

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