Page 51 of Bad Love

When I finally think he's done, he pronounces, "It's notenough."

I blink. "What do youmean?"

"Because whatever the market has, this needs to be better in every way. It has to fulfill every desire a womanhas."

"Hunter. We’re not developing a new product. We’re selling an existing one." Between his suddenly critical attitude after the “we’re all in this together” of last week, my ex’s antics, and Nadine’s criticism, my patience is thin enough to snap. "We’ll ship it to fifty women in our target demographic once you give the okay. They can test it and give us comments in their own words, which can help us tailor the messaging so we can sell more. A lotmore."

Hunter scowls, meeting mygaze.

The last threads of my professionalism snap like fragile threads of spunsilk.

“I didn't ask you to come to my house last week, Hunter. I didn’t ask you to bring me beer and look at sex toys in my kitchen. I certainly didn't ask youto…"

"To what?" Hunter's voice is lower when he leans in, chocolate eyesdeepening.

I fight the flush crawling up my neck. "To kissme."

"And you didn't tell me you had akid."

"I didn't owe you anexplanation."

"I figured it would've come up. We've talked. You told me about your parents. How you grewup."

I resent the accusation in his tone, but he's not wrong. Needing something to do, I shove out of my chair and grab the spray bottle before going to work on the plants with furious jerks of the plastictrigger.

The delicate leaves duck and flail under the streams of water. I don’trelent.

“Maybe I should’ve known,” Hunter drawls from behind me. “You’re such anurturer.”

His sarcasm has me spinning and taking two steps toward his large frame reclined in thechair.

I spray him in theface.

My mouth forms an O before I realize what I’ve done. The water dripping down Hunter’s cheeks, off his scruff on his chin, has meswallowing.

Shit. I just sprayed aclient.

He deserved it, a voiceinsists.

Still, what’s wrong withme?

He blinks, then wipes a sleeve of that expensive-looking sweater over hisface.

“I’m sorry,” Imutter.

“We’reeven.”

I nod, turning back to the wall and taking a slowbreath.

"When people find out I had a child at eighteen, they think I made a mistake." My spritzing rhythm slows its frenetic pace. "I didn't make a mistake, Hunter. I just don’t give my heart away easily. Or anything else for thatmatter."

“Easily orever?”

I finish watering and adjust the leaves on a few of the plants that bore the brunt of my frustration. “There’s a reason fantasizing about strangers is on my ‘don’t do’ list. Because fantasizing about someone you’re attracted to—especially if they’re attracted to you too—can only lead to casual, fantasy-inspiredsex.”

“That sounds terrible.” His flat tone tells me itdoesn’t.

“It is. Because normal people don’t need crazy sex. It’s how people become sex addicts, Hunter, and neglect their goals and values and make bad choices and end up ostracized. And when they’re on their deathbed, all they can think is, ‘God, I wish I’d spent less time banging and more time doing meaningful things for the people I careabout.’”

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