Page 21 of Hunter
“No, I'd rather fight with you, you spicy little shithead,” I tell her with a wink and watch the smoke pummel out of her ears as she turns bright red.She’s so fucking pretty when she’s thinking about killing me.
“You take a bat to the head or something, hockey boy?” She looks damn proud of herself for her clap back as she sticks her hand on her popped out hip. It has me wanting to enter a nuclear code, press every one of her buttons, and watch her blow up.
“Wrong sport, brainiac.”Boom.
“WOULD ANYONE EVEN MISS YOU, IF I STABBED YOU RIGHT NOW?”You don’t know it yet, but you would. I’m gonna dig myself so deep underneath your skin, you’re gonna end up missing me even when I’m with you. Just wait, Ed.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, HUNT,” Alvi yells from the other room, and she doesn’t even flinch. We’re locked in a staring contest, and I have no intention of losing.
“I WASN’T TALKING, SHE WAS, YOU OLD FUCK,” I yell back, my eyes lasering through that barbed wire she has around her soulful eyes. “I’M NOT GONNA TELL HER TO SHUT THE FUCK UP, SHE SCARES ME, MAN.”
He’s such an idiot. But he’s right, she is scary… she’s the scariest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Because for the very first time, she’s grinning at me.And I’m afraid she just spooked me for life.
TRECE
If he didn't wantto walk home in the middle of the night, he could have called an Uber or something. He looks like he could afford it. He should buy a mini flashlight, too; he’s obviously afraid of the dark.Y el boogeyman. And of the boogeyman.
I know he lives in one of those team houses, so there’s got to be a bed he could be in. And it’s a hundred percent better than the floor he’s lying on. I bet he has those rich people sheets that are all nice and soft on his bed, too.Idiota, giving up a night of sleep for this.
¿Por qué se quedó? Why did he stay here?It makes no fucking sense. Also… why does he have to look like this? This man is on his back with a sweatshirt under his head, looking fine as hell, sleeping like he doesn’t have a care in the world.Uf, odio su cara de estúpido. Ugh, I hate his stupid face.
He moves, and so does his shirt. I immediately start telling myself not to look.No mires, no mires, no mires. Don’t watch, don’t watch, don’t watch.I don't need another reason to be distracted by him.
Even if I never see his annoying ass again, I already fucking know… if his face looks as good as it does, there’s no way the rest of him isn’t just as fine.I’ll just take a tiny peek…
Oh, Diosas. Why goddesses, why?!I was right. This man has abs, an outie belly button -que me parece extrañamente atractivo, which I find strangely attractive - and a strip of hair that runs under the waistband of his black sweatpants. Veins,dimples,yabs. No wonder they all go fucking crazy for him.
And why is it a billion degrees in here all of a sudden?!I need him to move so I can run to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face to bring down the fever I’m clearly spiking.
I may need to dunk my head in the sink at this point. I nudge his body with the tip of my boot, and this man doesn't even flinch.What is he, solid muscle or something?I think to myself and roll my eyes because, of course, he is. I’ll just yell at him instead.
“Qué carajo, wey. ¡Muévete! (What the fuck, dude. Move!)”His dark brown eyes open and stay on me while he sits up. Hehas this focused look on his face, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him pay this much attention to anything.
He stands to his full height and has a crease between his eyebrows from squinting so hard. Something is going on in his head, and whatever it is, it’s making him look like he’s mad as hell.
I can see all his thoughts coming together while his eyes stare into me.What’s he thinking about that’s making him look all pissed off now?There’s literally smoke coming out of his ears like the steam vents above the subway in the city.Whatever it is, it must be fucking serious.
“The fuck? Whose shirt is that?”
“Uh, mine, you idiot, I’m wearing it.”¿Por qué me mira así? Why is he looking at me like that?
“I don’t like it.”I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion.
“And I don’t give a fuck what you like,pendejo.”Absolutamente nada fucks.
“What are you doing with a practice shirt?”¿Está ciego? Is he blind? Do his dumb eyes not work?
“Again,cabrón, I’m wearing it.”Men are fucking idiots, I swear.
“Which one of them gave it to you?”¿De qué carajo habla? What is he talking about?
“No one gave me shit, I found it.” Why is he going so hard right now? Over this old ass shirt? I don’t know why he gives a fuck.
I cross my arms over my chest and look away. Who gives a shit where I got it? It’s clean and it’s mine now. I’m not giving it back.
“Where?”¿Por qué importa? Why does this matter?
“In a lost and found bin on campus, okay?”You wanna slum it and go dumpster diving, pretty boy?I’m done with his fucking questions. “You done now? What the fuck is this? Someinterrogation over my fucking clothes? Shut the fuck up and move, I need to find the bathroom.”
