Chapter Eight
Hunter
I walk through the door of Lucy’s coffee shop and all eyes turn to me. There is a striking number of women in here today. Every table is surrounded with ladies drinking wine and topped with stacks of books and bottles of wine at the ready. I don’t know why, but I feel the urge to tip toe through the maze of tables as to not spook the heard. I’ve stared straight down the barrel of a pack of lions and felt less scared than I do right now. Their heads follow my every move, tongues licking lips, eyes devouring me like a snack. And it’s terrifying.
“Hunter,” my name comes shouting out from the back corner of the shop. A rush of air passes by as all the heads shift in the direction of the noise, including mine. Lucy is standing on her chair waving her arms to get my attention. I’ve never been more relived to see her sweet face. I flash a quick smile at the ladies then walk as fast as my legs will take me to Lucy.
She greets me with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot it was book club night.”
“It’s not a problem.” The selfish part of me is disappointed not to have Lucy all to myself tonight. Yes, I want her help with opening my gallery, but the real truth is I asked Lucy because I wanted more one on one time with her. I want the chance to show her I’m not the man my sister has told her about. I’m more than just the womanizing asshole I used to be.
“I asked the artists I feature at both shops to bring me their portfolios and they may have gone a little crazy.” She steps aside and reveals three towering stacks of portfolios resting on the table. It’s going to take us all night to get through all of these. Yes!
“One good thing about doing this on book club night, we have booze. Can I get you a beer?”
“I’d love one, thank you.”
****
Lucy’s laughter is the only sound in the coffee shop. The book clubs have had their last sips of wine and are long gone. It’s just me and Lucy. The way I wanted this night to go.
“I can’t believe Brooke drew a penis on your face.” Lucy squeals with laughter. The conversation moved from art to tales of our childhoods a couple of hours ago. Lucy has been more relaxed with me. Lucy’s nervousness of Brooke watching is gone. The conversation has been easy and light. This is the most fun I’ve had not sleeping with a woman. Before, I never would have gotten this far into getting to know a potential fuck toy. Why get to know someone if you aren’t going to see them ever again. With Lucy, I want to know about every aspect of her life.
“That was just last week,” I say just to get her to laugh again. Damn, I love her laugh. It’s so fucking cute, especially when I get her to do the snort laugh. “Brooke was a mischievous little thing when we were kids.”
“I can believe that.” Lucy rests her chin on the palm of her hand and spins her wine glass between her fingers. She looks at me with a relaxed smile. Her dark hair is gathered over one shoulder. She’s taken off her heels and has one foot tucked under her. Her cheeks have a slight pink tint. “So, what was little Hunter like?”
“I’d rather know what little Lucy was like?”
“She was much like she is now. Except a little more clumsy and better hair. I was the girl with her nose in a book, and the mother hen of my friends.”
“That I can see. You do have one of the biggest hearts I have ever known.” Lucy takes care of everyone. She took care of Brooke when she was put on bed rest during the last part of her pregnancy with Ella while Brian was at work. And she has been there to keep Lucky going after the tragic year she had. Lucy is the connecting force that keeps everyone together. She is one of the kindest people I know and it’s what I love most about her.
“My parents had a lot to do with that. They are the kindest people I know. My dad would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. My mom came from money, and she took the opportunity that life gave her to give back to the people that needed it more. That was something they instilled in me and what I’m doing for Bailey as well.” She softly smiles.
“You’re doing a great job, Bailey is an amazing kid.”
“Thank you. There are days where I feel like I’m fucking it all up. I’m just glad I’ve gotten her this far in life without any major injuries. By the time I was her age, I had fractured my left wrist, broken my leg, and had to have twelve stitches in my forehead after Ryder crashed his dad’s truck when we were out joy riding. We were ten by the way.” She leans over to show me the faint scar above her left eyebrow.
“I thought it was bad when I jumped off the roof of our house to see if I could fly and ended up breaking my leg.”
“Why on earth did you do that?” she asks.
“I was eight, and I wanted to be like Superman,” I admit, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I went through a major Superhero kick between the ages of six and eight. It wasn’t long after that I quickly realized my dreams of being Superman were over.”
“Aww, poor little Hunter. So, you just became more like Clark Kent in a way.”
“I guess in a way I did.” I never thought about it like that.
“You do look like Clark when you wear your glasses,” she adds. That’s the first time anyone has made that comparison.
“I do, huh?” I say, cocking my eye brow up in her direction.
“Yeah, but like a sexier version of Clark Kent. The version where you’d want to sit on his face,” she says freely. Her admittance takes me by surprise. “You are built like Superman. Just imagining you in the uniform.” Her eyes fall closed. “That S across your chest. The spandex hugging you in all the right places.” The wine has made her more relaxed around me. “Mmmm, now that is a Superman I would fuck.” She purrs the last part. Note to self: buy a Superman costume.
“Lucy, did you just you say you want to fuck me?” My suspicions were correct, Lucy does want me. She’s always been standoffish around me, especially whenever Brooke is around, but after she’s had a little wine, her flirty side comes out, and it’s out in full force right now.
“No, I said I want to fuck Superman,” she says with a slight slur.
“But you were imagining me as Superman, so that technically means you want to fuck me.”
“No, it doesn’t. Beside you are Brooke’s brother and we can’t anyway.” She shrugs and downs the last of the wine in her glass.
“But what if I wasn’t Brooke’s brother?” I ask needing to hear the words.
“Then I would let you lay me out on this table and have your wicked way with me,” she says with a lazy smile. Her response makes my dick twitch with excitement inside my pants. We’d break the fucking table with what I want to do to her right now.
My hands grip the edge of her chair. The force of me pulling her to me leaves scratch marks on the floors beneath us. “What if we pretended I wasn’t Brooke’s brother.” My hands move to her outer thighs and lift her into my lap. A soft moan falls from her lips when my hard on brushes against her mound. “I’m just Hunter, the gallery owner.”
Her eyes look up at the ceiling and she chews on her bottom lip while she contemplates her next move. Her hands move up my chest and her eyes return to me. She leans forward, her soft curves pressing against my hard muscle. “Just Hunter,” she whispers. She’s just centimeters from my lips when the bell on the door chimes, pulling her back to reality and stumbling off my lap.
“Lucy, thank God you are open. Me and the boys could use some of your delicious coffee.” Ryder’s voice bellows from across the shop. Perfect fucking timing, Ryder.