Page 22 of Pinkie Promise

So instead of doing more coursework that I’m already caught up on or guilt-tripping myself into attending cheer sessions that I’m technically still banned from participating in, I treated myself to a rare moment of one-on-one time with the little document on my laptop titled “Dream Manuscript”. Only this time I took it one step further.

I shared the first chapter with Aisling.

I know the impossibility of ever doing anything with the words that I’ve written but, after three years of trauma bonding, it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders now that I’ve shared something so close to my heart with the only girl on campus that I genuinely consider to be a real friend. One of the reasons why I want to stay on at Carter U after senior year is because I love the gratification of receiving academic validation, but in reality there’s also the fact that I have no idea what I’ll do when I graduate. Being an author isn’t even on the table because I know how slim the chances of getting a publishing deal are – that’s why I’ve spent years writing for fun, but sharing my dream with Ash today has made me feel kind of amazing.

I take a screenshot of our messages and then stash my phone at the bottom of my gym bag, a warm kindling of hope flickering in my belly.

And then another thought pops into my head and I roll my eyes, almost laughing as I reach back into my bag to turn the sound off on my cell.

Aisling aside, there is one other person who has been single-handedly blowing up my phone.

HUNTER:Fallon? Hey, it’s Hunter.

HUNTER:I’m so so sorry about the other night.

HUNTER:I wanna talk to you. Please can we talk?

I stupidly opened Hunter’s first few messages with my read receipts turned on and, as soon as he realised, he sent me a little smiley face because I’d been caught red-handed.

Now I’m getting daily updates. As in, when I go to turn the sound off on my phone right now, I literally haveanotherupdate.

HUNTER:Currently at Carter U gym. D’you train on campus?

I stare at the new message before glancing up at the Carter U gym right in front of me.

Darn it.

I ignore the text and shoulder-bump my way through the first set of sleek glass doors, heading towards the locker rooms situated across from the main training area. I probably won’t see him in here anyway. Carter U’s gym is truly gigantic and I would put good money on Hunter being in the WWE section at the back, an area that I have never and will never step foot inside.

When my phone vibrates in my hand again I can’t help but peek down at the screen.

Photo attachment.

I frown, suspicious, before unlocking my phone.

Then I come to a complete stop, choking on a halted inhale.

It’s a picture of Hunter sat back on the weight bench, his solid thighs planted on either side of the long black seat. His hair is a goddamn mess – dark, tousled, and dripping with sweat – and his cheekbones are flushed beneath the deep tan of his skin. Swollen biceps, giant chest. His masculine face is hard and emotionless but when I zoom into the area between his huge thighs–

I whack my forehead against something hot and hard, and big hands grip my waist as I immediately stumble backwards.

“Something caught your eye?” a deep voice asks from above my head.

I squeeze my eyes shut.You have got to be kidding me.

“Oh myGod.” I disentangle our bodies and scowl up at Hunter, shoving my bag back up to my shoulder and folding my arms across my chest. It would be easier to be grumpy with him about aiding my speedy firing from Rodeo Bar if he wasn’t looking at me right now with such a dark smouldering expression. When his eyes flash down to the phone screen in my hands I quickly press the top button to hide the incriminating evidence.

“So you dotrain on campus,” he says, his voice raspy with post-gym exertion. Then a sexy dimple cuts playfully into his cheek. “I’ve been hoping that I’d bump into you.”

I give him a look. “You bump into me everywhere. That’s the problem.”

He’s too preoccupied with staring at me to register the words that I’m saying to him. His eyes trail down my body and he rubs a hand over his jaw.

“You always wear this sort of stuff when you train?” he asks, chin tipping at my outfit. I’m wearing a matching set, sports leggings and a long-sleeved top, both in a soft and subdued shade of lilac. My hair is scraped up in a ponytail and my curls are bouncing all the way to my lower back.

“Yeah,” I say, my eyebrow rising even higher.Has he never seen a girl in sportswear before?

He grunts low and tight before he asks roughly, “What days do you train? In fact–”

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