“I don’t know how you can eat with these fucking things,” Hunter complains, giving up on trying to grab the sashimi. Instead, he turns the chopsticks around in his hand and uses them to stab one of the thin slices of raw fish on his plate.

“It takes a bit of time,” I admit, deftly maneuvering my chopsticks as I pick a slice from my own plate and take it to my mouth.

“I've never been a fan of sushi,” he continues, stabbing another piece of sashimi. “But this is good!”

“Oh, yeah, this is probably the best sushi restaurant in New York. I just found out about it a few days ago too.”

Truth be told, bringing Hunter to Asakura’s wasn’t my first thought. But then I started thinking about it, and I realized Asakura’s had to be our meeting place. It doesn’t seem to make any sense, right? Well, just think about it; Logan owns this place, he’s friends with the chef, and he comes here a lot… Which, if I’m lucky, means that he’ll show up while I’m having dinner with Hunter. And once these two are face-to-face, then I’ll know if there’s a story to be told or not.

“So, how do you wanna do this?” Hunter asks me then, turning on his seat to face me while he drinks from his sake cup.

“We can talk. Just a normal conversation, and we’ll go from there… I’d like to know more about your upbringing, your background; you know, the usual.”

“Uh, yeah, right,” he whispers distractedly, running one hand through his hair as he looks away from me. For a guy that seems to thrive on attention, it doesn’t look like he enjoys talking about himself.

To be honest, I wasn’t expecting his hesitancy. The moment he strolled inside the restaurant, I was already sitting by the counter; he came in loud and confident (to the point of arrogance), and greeted me from the other side of the room, taking his sunglasses off and looking at me with a devilish grin. Just like Logan, he’s wearing a suit that wouldn’t look out of place in a James Bond movie set, and everything about him oozes confidence and raw power.

Still, so far he’s proving to be different than what I expected. From what I read about him, I expected a complete asshole, but he’s actually very gentlemanly. Sure, he’s very different from Logan, while one is calm and collected, the other is a brash fast-talker with a penchant for cursing. He’s very cocky and, unlike Logan, he grew up in the United States. Maybe that explains why they’re so different.

“I had no idea you'd be this good looking,” he tells me suddenly, the grin on his face letting me know that he sized me up the moment he stepped inside the restaurant. I noticed the way his eyes lingered on my cleavage then (this time I made sure I had one that was sexy enough), and I gotta say… I don't mind the attention, not at all. After all, not only is he one of the most fit people on Earth, he's also one of the most good looking.

“Thank you?” I laugh, tucking a lock of hair over my ear as I smile at him. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not acting like a well-behaved journalist; no, I’m leading him on. I know that Hunter can’t help himself whenever he’s around a woman, and maybe I can use that to my advantage. Besides, it isn’t particularly difficult to act as if I’m being charmed when, in fact, that’s really happening.

“Just saying the truth,” he laughs, once again using his chopstick as a spear. As I laugh with him, I notice Asakura frowning behind the counter. He probably knows who Hunter is (who doesn’t), and he isn’t particularly impressed with the way the heavyweight champion is stabbing the food he prepared. Yeah, finesse isn’t a word you’d use to describe Hunter, but I’d counter that’s just part of his charm. A very rugged, American charm.

I spend the next thirty minutes pestering him with words about his upbringing and, despite his reluctance to talk about himself, I still manage to wrangle some answers out of him. Unlike Logan, for instance, he wasn’t born to a family with means; he was part of the lower class, another troubled inner city with a passion for punching every kid taller than he was, and he fought long and hard to reach the top. He’s the embodiment of the American dream, it seems, and I like that; it gives me a nice angle to work with.

Still, it isn’t as juicy as I need it to be.

I keep on making all kinds of questions, hoping to bring Hunter into the conversation, but he sidesteps and disarms me each and everytime. Instead of answering me, he deflects my questions and turns them on their head, always coating his words with some kind of innuendo.

“It’s hard to focus, you know?” he eventually tells me, cleaning up what’s left on his plate and washing it down with a cup of sake. I arch one eyebrow questioningly, and he opens up into a wide grin. “I have a hard time focusing whenever I’m around beautiful women.”

“You really don’t know the meaning of the word subtle, do you?” I laugh, feeling my cheeks burn.

“I do. I just don’t like to risk being subtle.”

“And since when is being subtle a risk?” I ask him, not entirely sure where the conversation is headed.

“Subtlety means you’re using tactics. It means that you don’t want to face whatever it is head-on. Whenever I want something,” he says, lowering his voice and looking straight into my eyes, “I just go and get it.”

With that, he reaches for me and lays his hand on top of mine. I look back into his eyes, my gaze drawn to his lips, and --

I turn my head around as I hear the restaurant’s door swing open, and my heart almost stops as I notice the man standing there.

Just like I planned, Logan’s here.