Page 54 of Hunter

How easy would it be if I was actually attracted to him and not to someone as unattainable as Xavier?

He would probably spend his night with my neighbor tonight while she modeled whatever skimpy little thing she had bought at Victoria’s Secret.

I shook away the thought.

I did not want my mood to be sour, and it seemed to be heading in that direction.

I took a sip of my drink, pacing myself, considering how badly I handled my alcohol.

I had only turned twenty-two several weeks before.

It was about the time when I told my parents about my decision after graduation, and they were punishing me, so none of them had acknowledged nor showed up for that.

More ways to hurt me, I supposed.

I should be used to it by now, yet each time, it slashed right into my skin and left a permanent scar.

I shook my head.

So much for trying not to sour my mood.

At least they had both sent gifts.

A bouquet of black Baccara roses.

They were my favorite flower, and Mom had sent me a journal.

Both presents were unsigned, but it wasn’t like it was hard to figure out who sent them, considering my parents were the only ones who knew and—supposedly—celebrated my birthdays.

I wasn’t sure how she thought the journal would make things better for me, but I had been writing in it a few times a week.

I didn’tdislikeit.

I took another sip and looked around the bar.

My bartender was off in the corner, his voice muffled as he talked on the phone with someone. I couldn’t be sure what was said, considering the music that filtered through the place, but I thought I heard him say,Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll keep an eye on her for you.

I didn’t know who the girl he was keeping an eye on for his friend was, but I thought that was sweet.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had someone who would keep an eye on me to ensure I was safe.

And my parents didn’t count.

Besides, it was mostly Mom, who still hadn’t eased up on her hovering after almost a decade of worrying. Dad, well, he turned into an even bigger workaholic than he had been since the release of Roman Stone.

I closed my eyes, trying not to think about that night or his voice.

It had been two years, and I supposed my brain was protecting me in some way because I found the memory of it to be somewhat distorted.

I had forgotten what the voices had sounded like, though I remembered the words.

Sometimes, I dreamt of the words being spoken, but without a sound.

If I was asked to come back into court and testify for the prosecuting attorney…

I didn’t think I could do it.

I wanted to leave this memory behind, and on the off chance that Roman Stone was innocent, I didn’t want to be the key witness to send him back to jail.

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