Page 62 of Breaking the Rules
Chapter Eleven
Emma
For the first time in a long time, the shower feels the way it should.
Clean and fresh and hot as hell.
I close my eyes. Imagine Hunter here with me.
His hands in my hair.
His lips on my neck.
His body pressed against mine.
I don't touch myself.
But, for the first time in a long time, I want to.
I want to lose myself in fantasies.
To come thinking of him.
Groaning his name.
It's so not happening.
But that doesn't make it any less appealing.
After, I dress, head to the kitchen, decide what to make for dinner.
There isn't much—I need to pick up groceries tomorrow—but there's enough for chicken piccata.
I turn on the stove, heat a pan, melt butter, pick up the chef's knife.
Stop at the sound of Hunter's voice.
"Hey." He moves down the stairs. Across the living room.
"Hey." I try to make my voice even. Like I haven't been thinking about him naked.
Like I'm used to thinking about guys naked without fraying at the edges.
Seeing Vinnie…
I can't think about that or I'll fall into that memory.
And that isn't happening.
"I just started." I turn the heat down so the butter won't burn. The last thing I need is the irritating beep of the smoke detector. "It will be a little while. Chicken breasts take forever."
"You want help?" His voice is steady. Honest.
I remember a lot about Hunter. He was always honest. And he was always starting shit.
This calm, duty bound, responsible guy—that's not the Hunter I used to know.
But then it's been awhile.
