Page 10 of Shootout Daddies
She nods, eyes still wide. Hunter reaches for her hand.
“Wait,” I say.
She turns back to me.
I step closer. Slow. Intentional. My hand slides around the curve of her hip, pulling her just enough that our bodies align. Her breath hitches. My mouth finds hers—soft and careful. Like I’m giving her space to say no.
But she doesn’t.
She melts against me, her mouth opening under mine, her body arching into my chest. Her perfume floods my lungs.Damn, she smells so fucking good. My hand slides down her hip. She makes a tiny noise, a whimper, and it nearly breaks me in half.
When I finally pull away, we’re both breathless.
“I’ll make us a snack,” I rasp. “You two go. I’ll catch up.”
Hunter’s already pulling her toward the stairs. I watch her legs as she climbs—the curve of her ass in that dress, the delicate sway of her hips.
Fuck me.
I force myself toward the kitchen. Wash my hands. Open the fridge. My brain’s still scrambled, but my hands move automatically.
Charcuterie. Good cheese. Thin crackers. Spicy peach preserves from that shop near Wynwood. Olives. Almonds. Prosciutto, folded just right.
I arrange everything on a wooden board, then reach for my drink—the last bottle of my favorite watermelon electrolyte drink.
Except… it’s not there.
I stare. Then curse under my breath.
“Hunter,” I mutter, yanking open the second fridge in the pantry. Nothing. That motherfucker keeps stealing my drinks and never replaces them.
We’ll share a lot of things. Women, beds, workouts. But this? This wasmine.
I grab a citrus flavor and carry everything on a tray up the stairs.
They should be back by now.
I hear their voices before I see them—Hunter laughing. I follow the sound to his bedroom: dark walls, industrial accents, giant bed with enough pillows to swallow a person whole.
The door’s open.
Ivy’s perched on the edge of his bed, one knee tucked beneath her. Hunter’s beside her, gesturing wildly as he explains something about Pokémon evolutions. There’s an open shoebox with trading cards fanned out like rare treasure.
I grunt. “He’s kind of a nerd.”
Hunter glares at me. Ivy giggles.
I set the tray on the dresser and nod toward her feet. “You didn’t even take off her shoes?”
Hunter shrugs. “I was distracted.”
I cross the room and drop to one knee in front of her. “May I?”
She lifts her foot slowly, arching it toward me.
I slide off the heel gently. Her toes are painted pale pink, nails neat and glossy. “You’ve got such pretty feet.”
Hunter whistles. “He’s right.”
