Page 70 of Hunter
When I asked if she was in the house, he said that they were at her place. And that opened up this entire fucking conversation about why I never moved in there. I couldn’t. I don’t want to bring any of my shit to their doorstep. What kind of friend would I fucking be then?A shitty one.
And yet, here I am, holed up with her brother in his nice-ass room, acting like I’m at a five-star hotel for a vacation orsome shit. Because that’s what this man feels like to me. And if the fucking baggage that I have ruins this once-in-a-lifetime experience that I’m having, then I’ll fucking swallow the shit I have at the bottom of my stolen bag that's securely on my shoulder.
There was no fucking way I was leaving there without some of my shit. I have a small list of things that are non-negotiable and automatically go where I go. And today, they went inside my zippered Halloween bag that I stole last year from a grocery store.
We got into a fight when he tried to take it from me so that he could carry it on our walk. This motherfucker threw it over his shoulder and smiled, looking so stupid-hot that it literally made my blood boil in my veins.
I nearly passed out from hypertension watching him fucking exist in this fitted blue suit that he was wearing. He pulled me into his side, and I’m glad that he did because my knees were fucking weak. I have no idea why he has to dress up like this to go out, then play his game, but I’m bowing my head in appreciation,gracias mis diosas.
He walked me to work looking like that, and all I kept thinking was that blue was my man’s color. I know for sure that I wasn’t the only one. He was pulling looks from all over the street.
When we got to the shop, he dropped my bag behind the desk and made sure that I was comfortable like some sort of gentleman, before whispering some dirty-ass shit in my ear. Then he left me sitting there, fucking red as hell, and went to talk to tattoo guy like it was no big deal.Pinche, cabrón.
He brought out a bag from the office and handed it to me with this big-ass cheesy smile on his face while saying, “For you,” as if he was handing me a bouquet of roses.Y honestamente, era mucho mejor que las flores. And honestly, it was way betterthan flowers.Especially because the bag was filled with Cherry-Coke bottles, various bags of croutons, and a jar of smooth peanut butter.
Tattoo guy told me that Hunter had ordered snacks for me to have here at the shop, and I now high-key understand what people mean when they say that they love their person more now than they did an hour ago.Or, however the saying goes.
Because I swear to Aphrodite that I fucking do. This is one of the nicest things that someone has ever done for me.These are some of my favorite fucking things… ¿Cómo lo sabía, wey? How did he know that?
If that wasn’t surprising enough, this man did not fucking hesitate to kiss me goodbye in front of a group of HU people who were inside getting tattoos. Then again, outside when his ride came to get him. Because never-ending goodbye kisses are now a thing that we evidently do, kissing is evidently something I do.No mames wey. I can’t believe it.
I recognized the guys who were inside the SUV, and even spotted his brother. When I first met him, I thought they were fucking identical, but not anymore. I know my man now.
They were all dressed in suits and ties, acting like fucking idiots, yelling stupid shit out the windows, and having a fucking field day with this man acting like a damn fool out here in the middle of the street. It only encouraged this fuckingpendejo,and heliteralmentedipped me on the fucking sidewalk, kissing me like we were saying goodbye for good.As if.
I’ve never in my fucking life—here or back in the city—turned a brighter fucking shade of red.Is he fucking crazy? Like, hello?I’m the homeless girl who lives out of her fucking bag, and here he is dressed all nice and shit, promising to score me a goal while kissing me like he does in private, in front of the whole fucking world. He gave zero fucks who saw.
The clapping did me in, and I ran inside while he put them in their place. Alvi had slid a rock in front of the door to get some air in the shop, and this motherfucker laughed when I slinked inside and sat back down at the desk.
I opened up a soda and watched tattoo guy light up a cigarette, before he leaned against the SUV to talk to Hunter and his hockey team/roommate people. My man caught me and winked.Pinche, cabrón, wey.
I overheard them talking about his game and going over game facts. Game strategy?No lo sé, joder. I don’t fucking know.Then Hunter made a prediction that his team was gonna win 2-1. They dapped and he gave me a chin nod before getting in and driving away. And he was right, they did end up winning, and Alvi was fucking happy as hell about it.
I’ve been checking my phone every five seconds to see if he’s texted me, but he hasn’t yet, even though Princess Payton reported that his game was over… two hours ago. I kinda fucking hate that she was there and I wasn’t, but my anxiety can’t take it, and I’m not going into a place that my girl can’t go. No way am I walking around campus or anywhere for that matter without my pocket knife.
I've kept busy since I’ve been here. I’ve been able to get some of my shit done while checking in tattoo guys' clients and taking their money. If he wants to pay me to stay here while I use his internet and wait to bust Hunter’s balls, then I’ll sit my ass here all night.
The shop’s technically closed, but tattoo guy said that he would pay me for the after-hours. He said that he hosts a bi-weekly poker game with some people from the neighborhood and that he’s expecting to find out some shit about the new gang that’s evidently starting to be a fucking problem here.
Besides my lovely fucking run-in with a gangbanger who had it coming, I haven’t seen or heard anything, but then again, Ihaven’t hit up the corner store, the shelter, or the laundromat. That's where I get all the neighborhoodchisme gossipfrom.Pero,I haven’t been around, I’ve been too busy in my own fucking world with mycabrón.Y a mí me gusta así. And I like it like that.
FORTY-ONE
I’ve been surprisedat how much I like going to school here. The townhouse is close to everything, and if I decide to take classes full-time in person, HU is within walking distance. But I don’t want that. Especially not with Gabe here. I do everything online and only run over to campus for network meetings or when I’m working on stuff for school.
My grandmother chaired the alumni events for years and donated so much money that the library has our last name above the door. I’m a third-generation Pierce to go to HavenwoodUniversity, and being here is helping me get some of my pride back.
After the news broke about my dad, I felt like my name was dirty. I was the daughter of a bad man, and I was convinced that everyone thought that. I was aware of how everyone saw me now; they all thought I was just as bad as he was. So I stopped going out. I didn’t want to be seen anymore.
Honestly, I’m glad that he’s dead. What he did to those girls was awful. And they’re only the ones that I know about. I’m sure there’s more, there always is. It’s one of the reasons that I can’t wait to be Payton Garcia one day. Then I’ll be Gabe’s wife and no longer thought of as Mason Pierce’s daughter.
I could’ve dealt with the drug charges that he was originally arrested for with no problem. I don’t care about the coke or the other drugs that he used to do. I didn’t care then either.
I know all about Gabe getting the products that Val would sell to our classmates. The first time he called drugs that, I had no idea what he was talking about, and he had to explain it to me. And then he explained everything else. He’s always been honest about who he is and what he has to do. He’s never lied to me. Not once.
We had a plan to make it work after Kings, and he’s still promising me that it will. But things are different now. We lost so much time. His cousin stole it from us, and I think I hate her more right this second than I did when all of this was happening three years ago. Even now, lying naked next to him in our bed, I feel cheated.
She took him away from me for 441 days. That’s 10,584 hours and 635,040 minutes. And because of Valentine, I’ll never get that back. It makes me hate her so much that I can’t help but smile thinking about it; it’s like all my passive aggression has become present again. I’ve been taking it out on her hockey boyfriend whenever I can, making him the fucking star of socialmedia. He may be used to the spotlight, but I know that Val can’t stand it. I hope it makes her uncomfortable to open her phone and see his name everywhere.
