Page 70 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
I shriek and throw a decorative pillow at Ivy’s head. “Oh my God! Stop!”
The room explodes with laughter. Despite myself, I can’t help but laugh too, even though I’m dying inside because now I’m definitely thinking about Hunter’s mouth and what it might feel like.
Heavenly, I bet. But… I’m absolutely not going there.
“Your face right now,” Jessa gasps between giggles.
“I hate all of you,” I announce, but I’m still laughing.
“Not me!” Jessa stage whispers. “I didn’t do anything!”
“You love us,” Wren says confidently.
And the scary thing is, I think I actually do.
After they leave, I clean up the takeout containers and wine glasses, still smiling from the evening. It feels good to have friends who see me as more than just a professional contact or someone to network with. People who tease me about boys and bring me wine when I need it.
I’m walking past the dining area when I catch sight of Hunter at the table, sketchbook open in front of him. His pencil moves fast and surely across the page.
For a moment, I’m transfixed. I didn’t know he could draw.
The second he senses my presence, he looks up, and our eyes meet. He immediately slams the sketchbook shut like I caught him doing something illicit.
I freeze, stunned. I want to ask him what he was drawing, want to tell him he doesn’t have to hide it from me. But before I can say anything, he mutters, “Goodnight,” and disappears into his room.
A few minutes later, music blasts from behind his closed door.
I stand there in the hallway, my heartbeat loud in my ears. What did he say to me?
I have to play loud music, Juliet. Otherwise, you could hear me jerking off.
Electricity crackles through my body. Yes, I know exactly what Hunter’s doing in there. Just like I know what I’m about to do in my room. The awareness sits between us like a live wire, sparking like an exposed wire we’re both trying to ignore.
I tiptoe to my bedroom, close the door quietly, and lean against it for a moment, flushed and restless. I shouldn’t be thinking about this. About him. About the way he looked at me in the bedroom earlier, like I was something precious instead of a mess crying on his floor.
But I am thinking about it. I’m thinking aboutall of it.
I’m picturinghim.
I reach into my nightstand drawer and pull out my vibrator. In less than three minutes, I’m naked, spread wide on my bed, and whispering his name only once before biting my lip to stay quiet. My vibrator buzzes against my clit. I roll my head to the side and slide a pillow over my face. The way he knelt beside me in the bedroom is what I’m imagining, with the gentleness in his voice when he told me I wouldn’t be too much for a real man. I can feel his heat, those rough hands, that mouth that probably knows exactly how to make me forget my name.
When I come, the waves of pleasure roll through my body, seemingly endless. I haven’t orgasmed like that in I don’t know how long.
I tell myself it’s just a release. Just a passing craving that means nothing. But when it’s over, my heart is still racing and my skin still burns with the memory of gray-blue eyes and careful fingers.
Living with Hunter Huxley for another four months is going to drive me completely insane.
Especially if he keeps being kind to me when I’m falling apart. I can’t handle it if he keeps looking at me like I’m worth protecting instead of just tolerating. Kindness from Hunter is infinitely more dangerous than his usual antagonism.
At least when he’s being an ass, I can maintain my defenses. But this version of him, the one who draws in secret and comforts me when I cry? This version could break me in ways that have nothing to do with business and everything to do with the heart I’ve been trying so hard to protect.
I pull the covers up over my head and try not to think about tomorrow, about pretending this is all fake when it’s feeling more real than anything else in my carefully constructed life.
Four more months. I just have to survive four more months without doing something irreversibly stupid.
Like falling for my fake fiancé.
Too late, whispers a voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like Ivy. But I ignore it and close my eyes, hoping tomorrow will bring back the Hunter who annoys me instead of the one who makes me want things I can’t afford to want.
