Page 98 of Seeing Grayscale

What’s wrong?

Hunter: Nothing is wrong, sweetheart. Just keep them locked. I’ll be home in a few hours.

Home.

I want a home for both of us.

One where he isn’t so afraid and one where we can really explore this.

God, it sounds so fucking nice.

With a smile on my face, I lock the front door and the one that leads to the garage. When I reach the slider leading to the backyard, I pause, spotting something in the air. A frown forms as I recognize it as one of those personal drones. Must be a neighbor with a kid testing out a birthday gift. I wave at it, lock the slider, and go back to work.

The sound of the garage opening causes my head to whip toward the kitchen. A loud slam of a car door follows. I set aside the extremely hot laptop, rising to stand. Hunter’s voiceboomsfrom behind the door leading to the garage while keys slot into the lock.

“—don’t care,” he growls, shouldering through the door. He’s got at least five plastic bags hanging from one arm, a briefcase in the other, and his phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. I wait for him to acknowledge me, but he doesn’t. “Alex, for fuck’s sake, please just do it. He can’t know about us.”

My gut reaction is immediate anger. Who is Alex? What does Hunter mean by this mysterious ‘he’ can’t know aboutthem? Is Alex another fucking security guard? Another one of the motherfuckers that have had Hunter?

I ball my fists, stomp into the kitchen, and the nasally voice on the other line pricks my ears.

“I will. I’ll do it. Okay. Thank you,” he says, dropping the bags unceremoniously. Ending the call, Hunter senses my presence and yelps in surprise. “Shit.” His hand flies to his chest.

“Who is Alex?” I demand.

“My assistant.”

The anger morphs into fiery rage. “Really?” I yell. “The assistant, too?”

His brows furrow, then his eyes spark with recognition. “I’m not fucking my assistant, Gray.” He walks over to me, grabs my hips, and tugs me into him. “Not now, not ever.”

I narrow my eyes, scanning him for any lie. I sigh and fall into his hug when I don't see anything. He kisses the top of my head, body stiff despite the easy embrace. “What were you talking about then?” I ask against his chest, taking a not-so-subtle sniff of his cologne.

“Just a problem I need to resolve,” he mutters before pulling back just enough to tip my chin with his index finger. He kisses me like this is something we’ve always done.

It’s so stupid how eager I get with his lips on me, but I can’t help it. I throw my arms around his neck, tugging him closer, deeper. “I missed you,” I rush, dragging my tongue over his top lip.

He groans, squeezing my waist before sliding his hand lower to palm my ass. But he doesn’t say it back. It’s becoming easier to read Hunter, so I can tell he’s stressed.

Breaking the kiss to nuzzle my cheek, he says, “Today was…awful.”

“What do you need?” I ask. My eagerness to tell him about all the work I’ve done gets pushed to the side. “Tell me,” I say softly.

“Just you…and a shower.”

I steal another kiss, one he returns, and then I shove him towards the stairs. “I’ll be here.”

He nods, leaving the thump of his ascending feet echoing off the walls. With my hands on my hips, I walk over to the bags, and my heart flutters like a thousand hummingbirds taking flight.

In two bags are spray paint cans. In the others are some stationery, markers, and colored pencils. I bend down to snatchup a can, quickly familiarizing myself with the shape and texture before reading the label. It’s the good shit, too.

Clutching it to my chest, I finger through the rest of the items, spotting specific notepads for sketching and others for writing. He got what I asked for and more. If I weren’t already halfway in love with the guy, I certainly am now.

Monday comes too fast.

The weekend was a blur of making out, dry humping—me more so than Hunter—and cuddling in his bed. We went grocery shopping on Sunday, and it hit me. He’s not making me leave. Why else would he tell me to fill the cart with my preferences? It was hard not to throw myself at him. A tiny voice kept whispering that I could’ve done it anyway. No one even looked at us twice.

I waited until we returned to his house, which he eagerly reciprocated.

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