Page 40 of The Revenge Agenda

“You …” His eyes sweep over me before coming to rest on mine. “You’d sleep with me?”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately? You can’t be that surprised.”

“No, it’s … it’s not …”

“You mean the awkwardness? I thought we were past that. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I don’t think I’d go that far.”

“But—”

He sets his big hand on the knee I’m hugging, and I go almost cross-eyed looking at it. Having those hands on me? Yes, please. And I should probably stop thinking about that, given I thought it would be a smart move to wear sweats today.

“Any other ideas?” Hunter asks. “Ones that don’t involve pimping ourselves out.”

Xander snarls. “My idea would have worked.”

“Of course it would have,” Madden says. Thankfully, he followed the rules about wearing clothes when guests come over, even if he’s only in loose shorts that, from a certain angle, I’d probably be able to glimpse brain. “But if The Hunter doesn’t want to fuck our boy, that’s his call. If you ask me, he’s missing out, but?—”

I don’t catch the end of what Madden said, just fixate on the part about Hunter not wanting to fuck me. Am I not hot enough? Doesn’t he think I can suck a cock like no one’s business? Ian cheated with me for a reason, dammit.

“Excuse me,” I snap. “I am a fucking scream in bed.”

The room goes oddly quiet as Madden cuts off.

Hunter’s lips twitch. “What?”

“I’m just saying, there’s no one you could fake fuck better than me.”

“Fake fuck?”

“Well, actually fuck, but for fake reasons.”

He stares at me for a moment, something he does a lot. Apparently, Hunter takes time to think instead of blurting out whatever’s on his brain. “I’m not going to fuck someone for revenge.”

Xander sniggers. “Didn’t say you wouldn’t fuck Rush though, did you?”

“Can we move on?” Hunter asks through a sigh.

“Hold on a moment,” Émile says. At least with his accent, he sounds fancier than the rest of us, so hopefully, Hunter will listen to his advice. “Poorly executed, but I think Xander’s right. Ian sounds like a narcissist. Rush was his plaything, and in his mind, he was getting one up on Hunter by keeping Rush as a pet. Honestly, he probably felt inadequate compared to Hunter, as most of us would do next to a six-foot-two king, so in his mind, this was proving to himself that he was desirable. Rush is his. Tied into his virility as a man. Knowing that you took his plaything would be a devastating blow. And, let’s face it, fun for the both of you.”

“I just said—” Hunter starts, but Émile cuts him off.

“I’m not saying to have sex. I don’t think you need to go that far. But what about kissing? Or even pretend kissing. You only need one photo to send him. It can be closed-mouthed and everything.”

Hunter turns to me, grim look on his face. “I thought you said they’d have good ideas.”

“No, I’m sure I said they’d have random ideas. And so far, this is exceeding all my expectations.”

“And mine. Does anyone have anything that doesn’t involve Rush and me sharing bodily fluids?”

The silence is deafening.

“Maybe we should egg his house.” What else do we have at this point?

Hunter groans, burying his hands in his hair again and messing it up even more. I like it. The contrast between buttoned-up work Hunter and this T-shirt-and-jeans-wearing Hunter. It’s mildly disappointing that he didn’t want to have sex because I wouldn’t have been opposed to exploring those tree-trunk thighs with my tongue.

But it’s just as well. We still have to work together.

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