Page 138 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
He grins at me but doesn’t say anything, just extends his hand to my mother with that effortless charm that probably worked on teachers and coaches for his entire life.
“Mrs. Monroe. Nice to meet you.”
“Mr. Huxley.” She shakes his hand, sizing him up like she’s considering what he might be worth. “Congratulations on the win.”
As we’re talking, a young staffer hurries past and drops her clipboard, papers scattering across the floor. Before she can bend down to collect them, Hunter steps forward and gathers everything up, handing it back to her with a quiet,there you go.
No scowl. No muttered complaints about people being careless. He just does it, like helping is the most natural thing in the world.
Something warm unfurls in my chest. I don’t say anything, just give him a quiet, knowing smile when he looks my way. I feel like I’ve been waiting for exactly this moment. Waiting to see proof that the man I’ve been falling for is real, not just an act he puts on for me.
Instead, I smile too tightly and look at my mom. “Did you enjoy the game?”
“It was... energetic.” The tension from her comment stays with me long after they leave, following me home and settling in my chest like a stone. “It’s nice that you seem to have found some nice coworkers.”
After my mom and dad leave, I’m exhausted. I lead the press conference, snapping a little more easily than usual. It’s over before too long though, and I’m left cleaning up the water bottles left behind by the hockey players.
I’m in my head, wondering about my relationship.
It started as a fake arrangement. A clever PR play. But that’s not what it is anymore.
It’s not love. I’m never going to be ready to risk that kind of vulnerability again.
But it’s not nothing either.
It’s two damaged people clinging to each other. Mess, hunger, and fear are all tangled up together. It’s the way he looks at me like I’m something precious and the way I let myself believe it, just for a moment, before reality crashes back in.
It’s also the best sex of my life, which feels shallow to admit but is undeniably true. I’ve had five orgasms a day every day that I’ve seen him. No idea how things will be when he goes on the road again, but… a girl can hope that it won’t kill this thing growing between Hunter and me.
I thought I’d feel ashamed about that. Guilty for letting my professional arrangement become something so physical, so consuming. Instead, I feel raw. Wanted. Real.
And that’s what terrifies me.
Because what if this isn’t just lust? What if this isn’t just two people scratching an itch until they get bored and move on?
What if it’s him? What if Hunter Huxley, with his terrible reputation and his gentle hands and his way of seeing straight through all my carefully constructed walls, is the person who finally makes me understand what all the fuss is about?
My control slips at the thought. The walls I’ve built around my heart shake.
Later that night, when we’re curled up on his bed after another round of desperate, clinging-to-each-other sex, I confess things I never meant to say out loud.
“My mom doesn’t approve of you.”
Hunter goes still beside me. Then he says something kind. Simple. True. I don’t even remember the exact words, only how they land like a punch that somehow doesn’t hurt. Gentle and devastating at the same time.
“No offense, Juliet, but… who cares what she thinks? It didn’t seem like you two were getting along all that well when I met you.” He pulls back to look at me. “Do you approve?”
I bite my lip to hide a grin. “I think so. You’d better kiss me again so I can make sure.”
“My pleasure.” Hunter kisses me, soft and pliant. It makes me kiss him back, more aggressively, pursuing something that I can’t quite name.
Hunter makes me feel things I haven’t felt in years. Heat and defiance and thrill and hunger. But those aren’t safe feelings. They’re the kind that burned me before, that left me picking up pieces of myself I’m still trying to reassemble.
Much later, when Hunter is asleep and I’m lying awake staring at the ceiling, I get up to get some water. On my way back from the kitchen, I notice a piece of paper on his dresser that wasn’t there before.
I shouldn’t look. It’s probably nothing, maybe just a grocery list or some team notes.
But curiosity wins, and I pick it up.
