Page 8 of Playing the Field
“Your sister was telling me about how a guy was flirting with her at the airport last month, and I was saying she probably gets that all the time.” He grins.
“Um, yeah. Happens all the time,” I mutter, hopping off the stool and going for more coffee. I feel like there’s an obvious implication that no smoking-hot athlete would be flirting with me. Kyler seems oblivious to the tension.
“So what happened, man?” Ky asks, pulling out the stool next to mine for Hunter to take a seat. I scoot mine over to create some distance while my brother pours more of the purple smoothie into a glass. “It’s all fruit and some protein powder.”
Hunter reaches for the glass but stops short of touching it. “Milk?”
“Coconut.”
“Awesome.” Hunter takes the smoothie and slugs down half of it in one gulp. “Smells like a bakery in here.”
“I baked cookies.”
“Breakfast cookies?”
“Nope, regular old cookies.”
I swipe my knife through the block of butter in front of me and slather it on my cold sourdough toast, on top of the healthy layer of butter that’s already there.
When I look up, I catch Hunter smirking at me. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
I point at Hunter’s smoothie. “What happened to regular milk from a cow?” I ask.
“Cholesterol,” they say in unison. I decide to drop the subject before I pull out some Wikipedia fact I’ve filed away in my brain, lest I reveal how much time I spend researching random things.
“Wow. It’s like I’ve moved to a foreign land. Where’s a refrigerator full of Yoo-hoo when you need one?”
“Yoo-hoo?” Hunter asks, raking a hand through his dark wavy hair. He causes more disorder, and now his locks look like they’ve survived a windstorm and are better for it.
“Chocolate milk. Never mind,” I say.
His brow creases in long lines, and I can see the heaviness in his eyes, which look dark in the overhead kitchen light. “I can’t fucking believe this happened. They think the sunlight hit that stained glass mandala at some weird angle and burned a hole in my sofa, which flamed up and torched the house from the inside out. You know how much wood furniture I had in there. Plus the logs. That house was basically kindling.” He shakes his head, seemingly blaming himself.
“Sounds like a freak accident,” I say. “I can’t imagine you had that much wood.” I’ve never seen his house, so I have no idea how much timber we’re actually talking about.
“Wood’s never been a problem for this guy,” Kyler says, smirking. My face flushes again.
“It was styled like a log cabin built into a hillside. Wood, top to bottom.” Hunter sighs with such sadness that I turn to see if he’s okay. He rubs his eyes with his knuckles and shakes his head. “It’s been a hell of a twenty-four hours, that’s for sure. Devils CEO calls me in for a meeting to discuss my contract—probably means they’re trading me to god knows where. And I find this out five minutes before hearing my house is on fire. I mean, what the actual fuck?”
Hunter nods back at me, but he looks bleary, and I’m not sure if he’s really processing the information.
I shuffle across the kitchen in my slippers, ignoring the feeling that Hunter is watching me. My back and legs feel hot like his gaze is setting me on fire, but it must be in my head. He lost his house, and I’m barely on his radar. I refill my cup and go to the refrigerator for the half-and-half tucked away on the top shelf.
When I walk back to my stool, I hazard a glance in Hunter’s direction to find him staring. Not just looking my way, but staring.
For a second, I worry my shorts have fallen to my ankles because his eyes are glued to my legs.
My hand goes to my thigh, where I can feel the fabric of my shorts covering at least the top couple of inches of flesh. He’s probably marveling at the fashion faux pas that is my sleepwear. Well, I’m comfortable. He can shove it.
“I have some time today between meetings. I can help you get into it with your insurance company,” Kyler says. It snaps me out of my silly self-consciousness. This isn’t about me.
“Me too,” I say. “I can lend a hand.”
“Thanks.” Hunter’s eyes look glassy, emotional. He’s probably been up all night. I decide right then and there that I need to woman up and stuff my old insecurities away. I will make this work. Living under the same roof as the guy I once crushed on won’t send me back to prepubescent levels of insecurity and mortification.
I’m a professional. This will be okay. I mean, probably not, but a girl can hope.
