Page 3 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
“I do not go gooey-eyed,” I say with disgust. Although maybe that’s half the problem. I rush in heart first. “And maybe you’d be surprised.”
“So, when can we meet her then?” Ash teases.
I grind my teeth. “Maybe the problem isn’t me. It’s you fuckers screwing up every relationship I have.” They aren’t the problem. I am. But they’re irritating the hell out of me. “Maybe that is the reason I haven’t introduced her to you.”
“Bullshit,” West chuckles, reminding everybody about my last date to the Emmys – the model who hooked up with a waiter and left me stranded.
“Can we drop this now?” I say, as we finally pull up at my house. A modern place designed by a Scandinavian architect with a view over the valley. I bought it with the profits from our last sell-out tour. The simplicity of it, the natural woods and cool colors, remind me of home. I miss the quiet of Sweden. As much as I love it here, sometimes LA – fuck, sometimes the whole of the States – is just too loud and too colorful. It gives me a headache. Home is somewhere I can breathe.
But if I hope for a bit of peace and quiet as I unlock my front door, I’m in for a rude awakening. Kim, our personal assistant and the walking embodiment of a headache, is lurking in the hallway, ready to pounce on me as I step through the doorway.
“Girlfriend?!” she shrieks, hands on hips, face like thunder.
I jolt, not expecting to see her here. “Fuck, Kim, you scared the shit out of me. What the hell are you doing lurking about in the shadows?”
“Coming to spank your ass! Girlfriend? Why the fuck did you tell that woman you have a girlfriend?” She thrusts her fist in my direction, her fingers curled around her phone. “My phone’s been blowing up with journalists asking who the hell she is! Fuck, I even had management call and ask me if this is going to be another scandal we need to contain.”
A couple of years back, Ash ended up biting and mating his one-night stand. Kim had to work her butt off to mop up that shit-storm. It all worked out in the end though. They’re happily married with a baby now.
“Just tell them it was a joke, or some other bullshit.” I stomp past her, heading towards the kitchen. She trots alongside, practically boiling over with annoyance.
“You want me to tell them you were joking? You know you’ll look like a real dumbass, right? There’ll be memes all over the internet and they’ll post videos all about you on TikTok.”
I scowl at her from behind the fridge door. I pull out a bottle and toss it to her. Then grab one for myself and slump out onto the deck, dropping down into one of the chairs.
Kim follows me, one hand full of phone, one now full of water. She shakes them both at me.
“Hunter?”
“No, I don’t particularly want to be a laughingstock all over the internet,” I growl. “That’s why I said that shit in the first place. That woman was getting all up in my face, saying shit about me.”
“You know what we’ve agreed. Leave the talking to Ash and West. The number of times I’ve had to clear shit up because you got fucking grumpy with an interviewer–”
“Yeak, okay, I know.” I snap the lid off my water and take several long chugs, gazing out across the valley. Traffic snakes between the buildings and the trees, and in the far distance the sea sparkles like a sapphire. Even the green of the trees, the blue of the sea and the gold of the sun seem brighter here. “Can’t you ignore the calls? They’ll move on quickly enough.” I’m not the frontman, not the main draw. I’m the bassist. Shit, they care less about the bassist in a band than they do the fucking drummer.
“They won’t.” Kim drops into the chair beside me with a groan. “Ash and West’s recent love affairs sold magazines and advertising space. People made money off those stories. They can smell more money here, more opportunity. They’re going to fucking hunt me and you ragged until they find answers. Every event you go to, every interview, every appearance in public – first thing they’ll ask: ‘who’s the girlfriend, Hunter?’ ... Hunter, are you listening to me?” I turn my head.
Kim looks exhausted. We actually got worried about her a few months ago and the hours she was working and forced her to hire an assistant. I don’t know if it’s working out though. Dark shadows ring her eyes.
“Before the day is out,” she continues, “you’re going to have the paparazzi camped outside your house in the hopes of catching Hunter Larsson’s girlfriend.”
“Then make some shit up, Kim. Or better still, find me some girl to date to get them off our backs.”
Something twinkles in Kim’s eyes and she cocks her head, appraising me. “You know what? That isn’t a bad idea.”
I recount what the hell I just said, because Kim looks way too happy about it. “What?”
“I’m going to find you a girl to date.”
Ahhh, shit! I can see this working out about as well as that model at the Emmys.
2
Isabella
I scurry across the road,dodging in and out of the honking traffic, two coffee cups balancing in my hands and scorching my fingers. It’s really flipping hot today, the sun baking down on my head. I wish I’d worn my yellow summer dress and not my black leggings and oversized shirt.
The heels I’m wearing were stolen from my cousin and are a tad too big. They flap around on my feet and, at one point, get lodged into something sticky on the tarmac. With a grimace, I yank my foot away, earning myself a fresh round of blaring car horns.
