Page 122 of Through the Flames
She bounced on her toes, radiating this contagious energy that had always left me feeling both exhausted and inspired. “Iwillbe good at it. I finally feel useful. Like I’m doing something thatmatters, you know? Something that belongs just to me.”
I nodded, my heart squeezing a little. She’d been adrift for months, unsure of anything — except maybe texting me at 2 a.m. about everything and nothing. Now, finally, she had her thing. Seeing her light up like this made all of those frantic messages worthwhile.
Just then, Hunter’s gaze landed on me. It was flat, intense, and calculating, like he was scanning my every reaction. He didn’t move, speak, or even flinch when Hailey gestured wildly and nearly hit his shoulder. I felt my cheeks heat up.
We were halfway to the elevators when it happened. A sports reporter intern was beelining straight for Hunter, mic in hand, eyes big and starry. She was cute with shiny waves, glossy lips, and doing the hair-twirl giggle like it was a sport of its own.
“Hunter Rhodes?” she chirped, bright enough to power the lobby. “Mind answering a couple questions for my coverage?”
A muscle in Hunter’s jaw jumped. “Sure,” he said, low and reluctant, coming to a halt only because I slowed him down. He looked like he’d rather eat glass, but the poor girl was just trying to do her job.
I told myself I wasn’t the jealous type. Told myself this was fine, normal, part of the deal.
But then she laughed — at what, I had no idea, because I knew my man, and he isn’t the funny kind — and laid a hand on his arm. That’s when it hit, like a sharp, barbed-wire twist low in my stomach.
Hunter grimaced, shook her hand off, turned around, and walked away mid-sentence. He just pivoted, strode up to me, and cupped my jaw in front of everyone, their mother, and ESPN.
Then he kissed me, but it wasn’t a peck or a polite, yet appropriateHey babe.
No, he hit me with a full-mouth, melt-your-spine, flashbulbs-popping kiss that had my toes curling inside my sneakers.
When he pulled back, cameras were still clicking, and his mouth brushed mine when he said, low and dark, “You good now?”
My brain was soup. “That was … aggressive.”
And then he grabbed my hand like we hadn’t just become a trending topic on TikTok.
As we headed for the elevators, the noise of the crowd faded behind us. The hallway smelled like polished floors and anticipation, and the adrenaline from the kiss still thrummed in my chest.
By the time the doors slid shut, I was clinging to the small, private bubble we’d carved out.
Sinking onto the soft, plush bed in our room, I was still trying to reboot my nervous system when Hunter tossed something at me.
A Combine guest badge. Front-row access. With my name printed right there like I belonged.
“Don’t fall in love with me in compression shorts,” he said, deadpan, though the subtle curl of his lips gave him away.
I arched a brow. “Oh, that ship sailed miles ago, Robot Boy.”
He stilled for half a beat, eyes locking on mine like I’d just said something significant. Then a real smile, slow and lethal, spread across his face.
I swallowed hard because in this second, I knew: tomorrow, the world was going to see Hunter for what he wanted them to see.
A machine. A future franchise player. A name.
But I was the only one who knew how human he felt under my hands.
Thirty Five
Hunter
The lights were brutal — bright enough to bleach the color out of everything, and cameras flashed like a thunderstorm rolling through.
Whistles cut through the roar of voices, sharp enough to make your ears ring. The whole place vibrated with ambition, hundreds of guys chasing the same dream, most of them about to wake up disappointed.
I wouldn’t be one of them.
I wasn’t here to hope, I was here todominate.
