Page 95 of Sing Sweet Nightingale

“So is coffee and a hot shower.”

Hunter perks up and grins at me. “I like showers. We get naked in a shower.”

He moves so fast I can barely squeal as he jumps out of bed and throws me over his shoulder, carrying me to the shower. Where he thoroughly distracts me.

~

Walking down the sidewalk of town today feels different than other days. Just like how waking up naked in bed with Hunter felt different. It’s a good different.

Hunter holds my hand, our fingers entwined as we stroll lazily down the street toward theUgly Mugfrom where we parked. The last time I walked hand in hand with a boy and wasn’t photographed by paparazzi, I think I was in the third grade and had declared Dillon McDermit was my forever boyfriend, and one day we were gonna get married and have ten children. That only lasted till second recess when he decided Jane would be a better wife, and I decided I didn’t want to marry someone so fickle.

Before reaching theUgly Mug,Hunter stops us in the middle of the sidewalk and turns me to face him, gripping at my lower back to hold me close. His other hand trails a path around my throat to grip the back of my neck, holding me possessively.

Leaning down, he places a scathing kiss on my lips, making my toes curl and my belly flutter. Public displays of affection have never been my thing, but I think they are now.

“What was that for?” I ask breathlessly when Hunter breaks the kiss.

“Because I can, and I want to,” he answers right before he locks his lips to mine again, and I melt against him.

Click.

The sound filters in through the lust-filled haze Hunter has placed me in, but I don’t register it until I hear it again.

Click. Click.

Shutter clicks from a high-speed digital camera. I’d know that sound anywhere; it haunts my nightmares.

Instantly, the warm and fuzzy feelings evaporate and are replaced with an ice-cold chill.

Please don’t let it be cameras. Please let me be crazy and hearing things that aren’t really there.

When I stop reciprocating Hunter’s kiss, he frowns down at me, and immediately, concern washes over his handsome features.

“What’s wrong, Lottie?”

Turning my head in the direction I thought I heard the clicking. I pray it’s a local taking photos or Michael testing out a new lens. Hell, I’d even accept Ginger taking our photo to mock us with later.

No such luck.

There, standing on the corner right by the entrance to theUgly Mug, stands the unmistakable figure of a classic paparazzi. More than one, there’s at least three of them. Large digital cameras with wide lenses pressed up to their faces shift to a new position every other second to try to get the best angle. The shutter speed picks up when I turn to face them.

There’s something different about these paparazzi than others I’ve seen before. Their skin is a sickly gray, but I can’t seem to process anything else. I can’t see any of their faces, as you normally can’t with paps; all I can think is,they found me.

“No,” the word is a whispered whimper on my lips, and I don’t even think to explain to Hunter what’s happening. I just run.

Turn and run back in the direction we came from. Run towards Hunter’s truck, away from the cameras, the gossip columns, the limelight, and my mother, who will undoubtedly find me within days or even hours after they post those photos.

I need to pack. I need to leave.

But I don’t want to leave. I like it here. I like the people. Ginger, Dottie, Becca, Tobias . . . Hunter.

I can’t think about any of that. If I don’t leave, they’ll be exposed. Others will come; they always do. They’ll turn this town into a circus or, worse, a science experiment.

My legs pump beneath me, strong and sturdy, carrying me far away and fast. Even with my long legs and speed, Hunter catches up to me quickly, hauling me to a stop just as I reach the passenger door of his pickup truck.

“What the hell, Lottie? I love a good chase, but what is going on?”

The tears are already streaming down my cheeks, and when Hunter sees them, he freezes but doesn’t release his hold on me.

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