Page 123 of Pinkie Promise

Fallon

I’ve had three official weeks of being loved by Hunter Wilde.

On the school side of things, I have completed my thesis with time to spare meaning that, once I finally click thatsubmitbutton, I’ll only have two more essays to finish before legitimately being done with my senior year. That gives me a good few months to take more shifts at the diner so that, if I don’t get the grant that I’ve been hyperventilating about all year, at least I’ll have saved some cash that can go towards it.

Hunter’s words come back to my mind, making me smile secretly to myself as I slide back behind the counter at the diner.

When I told Hunter that I’m basically only two essays away from being done and dusted with all of my classes he gave me that heavy look that he sometimes has and he said,“Proud of you, baby. Now you got lots of time to finish up your manuscript.”

I press the back of my hand to my flaming cheek, my insides sparkling at how much hope Hunter has for me. How much trust he has in my abilities, how much belief he has in my shattering through the glass ceiling.

I know how rare it is for a writer to get published so I’ve never allowed myself to dream beyond writing for fun. I’m not a nepo-baby with a ghost-writer or a movie star with an instant one-million readership following. I don’t even mind the nepo-babiesand the movie stars – I mean, having a book with their name on it is cool as hell, so good for them – but I know that it makes it harder for the little people to have their voices heard.

And after telling Hunter about my upbringing of getting good grades and keeping quiet, I’m pretty sure that he’s even more adamant than I am for me to have my voice heard.

So maybe, after I finish my final senior year essays, Iwillwork on finishing my labour-of-love manuscript...

Just for fun,I think to myself, although there’s a golden warmth spreading in my chest telling me that maybe – just maybe – my life has more potential than I ever previously dared to dream about.

I feel the vibration of my phone in my pocket and that golden feeling glitters even brighter, because I know without checking that the text is going to be from Hunter.

I turn my back to the patrons and quickly slip my cell out of the side-pocket of my fifties-style diner dress.

HUNTER:What time do you finish work tonight?

HUNTER:Picking you up and keeping you with me at the hockey house.

HUNTER:Need my mascot in my bed before the big game.

I sink my teeth into my lower lip, feeling so happy my whole heart could burst.

Because, aside from my academic assignments almost being wrapped up, Hunter’s past three weeks have been the most epic that I’ve ever seen.

The Rangers have had hockey game after hockey game and they’ve won every single one, meaning that, in one day’s time, they’re officially fighting for the title of NCAA Frozen Four Champions, right here in Carter Ridge. And, on top of that, Hunter is only two goals away from being the Carter Ridge Rangers’ top goal scorer ofall time, so as long as he scores onemore goal, he’s going to receive the joined title of ‘Most Goals Scored’ in the team’s history.

After their win at their penultimate championship game, Hunter showered at his place and then showed up at the condo, with wet hair, grey sweats, and a brown paper bag of movie theatre candy that ended up long forgotten on the kitchen island.

The second that he saw me wearing nothing but his Carter Ridge Rangers jersey, he slung me over his shoulder and walked us straight towards my bedroom.

As soon as we got inside he had me up against the door, his big palms cupping my cheeks, as he gave me the kind of self-satisfied kisses that made me know that he was smiling.

That gave me a pretty good indication of how his latest game had gone.

“How did it go?” I had asked anyway, dizzy and breathless but determined to make sure that the Rangers had come out on top. Mainly because I want as much success for Hunter in his college hockey career as possible but also, secretly, because there’s something that I’ve been working on, and the Rangers making that final game is completely at the heart of it.

He pulled back, one arm braced on the door above my head, and gave me a lazy smirk that had butterflies fluttering wildly in my belly.

When Hunter is cocky I get so flustered I can barely breathe.

“Annihilation, baby,” he grinned, rubbing his thumb firmly up my jaw. “Final’s in the bag, and you’re gonna be in those stands to watch us win it.”

I must have turned beet red, my own secret wanting to burst out of me, because he just chuckled quietly before ducking down to kiss me again. Soft, gentle kisses that had me pawing up his vest, moaning at the feel of his swollen post-game pecs.

After he stayed over, we spent the next day snuggled up in my bed, but in the evening he left so that he could go home and prep for a weekend at the garage with his dad.

I’m more than a little curious about Hunter’s family, due to the fact that they’ve raised a freaking angel, but I’m not about to push him for me to meet them. When he wants that to happen, he’ll do it in his own time.

Another text bubble appears on the screen and I wait patiently for his next message to pop up.

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