Page 83 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“If you ever doubt yourself again, if you ever think you’re broken or not enough, you come to me. Let me show you just how un-broken you are. Over and over again, until you believe it.”
My breath catches. “Hunter...”
But he’s already pulling away, standing up abruptly. “I should go to my room.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yeah, I do.”
He leaves me gaping at his retreating back. A few seconds later, I hear his bedroom door slam. Then the music blasts.
I sit there for a moment, touching my lips, still feeling the heat of his kiss. Is he… touching himself? Is it because of our kiss?
I sneak up to his door and listen. I can hear his moans over the music as he jerks off, my name falling from his lips like a prayer.
I did that to him? Jesus. That knowledge turns my entire body into a pillar of flame.
My maybe crush just turned definite.
I tiptoe back to my room, my heart racing and my skin burning. Everything has changed between us.
And I’m not sure there’s any going back.
Four more months of this arrangement suddenly feel like both forever and not nearly long enough.
Chapter19
Hunter
Ipull up outside the youth hockey clinic and sit in my truck for a minute, preparing myself for the sheer controlled chaos that I’m about to walk into. It’s one of those community outreach events we do a few times a year, but this one’s high profile. Tons of local press, major league sponsors, a large crowd of parents in attendance with their phones out.
Walking up to the event, I can hear the noisy bleating of a whistle and the clatter of hundreds of pairs of skates. Through the glass doors, I can see Juliet already inside with her clipboard, talking to the rep from a sponsoring bank. She’s dressed for the cold of the rink but still somehow looks expensive. Long black coat, hair sleek and pulled back, a pair of black boots with spike heels.
She spots me walking in and waves me down to where she stands in the bleachers. I trot down the metal bleachers. Juliet gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, squeezing me in the hug. A public display surely meant for the cameras, but she’s almost friendly about it. Warmer than usual.
“You’re late,” she says, but she’s smiling. It doesn’t sound like much of a scold.
“Traffic.”
“Sure it was.”
If this is what it means for her to be taking a more active PR role with the team, I’m all for it. Ryan mentioned it to me yesterday. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have even known about the change until now. I’m a little miffed that she didn’t tell me herself, but I guess we’re still figuring out how to communicate about work stuff.
Well, all stuff, to be perfectly fair. I feel like she’s just now stopped walking on eggshells around me.
On the ice, chaos reigns. The kids are excited and loud, the parents even louder, and my teammates are only marginally more helpful than the children. Shane’s trying to organize equipment while Connor argues with a ten-year-old about stick technique. A group of kids surrounds Moose, asking him if he really eats moose, which he’s playing up for all it’s worth.
“Let’s get out there.” She pats me on the butt playfully. “Honey.”
“You bet,sweetheart.” I grin at her. “Lead the way.”
I watch as Juliet handles the event without breaking a sweat. Juliet runs point on every moving piece, directing press photographers to better angles, calming the overwhelmed volunteers, and smoothing over a minor incident with a sponsor whose banner had the wrong logo. Hand-holding and reassurance are not things she needs. She doesn’t flinch when a reporter shoves a microphone in her face asking about her engagement to me.
Watching her work like that, watching her take control and stay calm and not once get flustered, I find myself impressed. The situation really impressed me.
We lead some basic drills on shooting, skating, and goalkeeping. The rookies have to chase down every stray puck. The kids have fun, laughing and shouting, running the rookies nearly into the ground trying to keep up.
Ryan skates up, his Havoc sweatshirt damp with perspiration.
