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Hunter
“WOW. JUST WOW. WELL, screw you, too.” Willa held up her middle finger and tried to move past me, but I stopped her. “Let go of me, asshole.” She squirmed.
I held up my hands. “Let me explain,” I said and she finally relented, stepping back.
“Oh, you mean like how you let me explain after Emmie told you I was a journalist. Which, I’m not, by the way. I was fired over two weeks ago . . . before I met you.” She folded her arms in front of her body and I noticed the silver material of her top was sheer.
I was pretty sure there was nothing underneath it. Willa didn’t seem to like bras very much, which was fine, because there was less to remove. Not that she’d let me remove anything from her body ever again.
“I admit, I was wrong for storming out. But you have to understand, Willa, that I—”
“Wait, is this the journalist Tucker was talking about?” Jon interrupted and pointed to Willa.
“Yes.”
His eyes widened and I could see him coming up with a plan. The man was always thinking up creative ideas that would help my career.
“This is perfect. You two can sing together,” Jon said with a clown grin eating up his face.
“No,” Willa and I both said at the same time.
“Hear me out—”
“I’ve had enough. Goodbye, gentlemen. It was not that great getting to know you.” Willa waved as she pushed past me and bolted down the stairs. At the last step, she tripped but luckily Tucker was right there, where she landed in his lap.
I raced down and heard him say, “I like you, Willa, but using my brother to get to me won’t work.” He winked at her and she laughed.
Willa stood. “Why can’t your brother be more like you?”
“I ask him that every day. My parents always knew I got the charm, the looks, and the smarts. Hunter only seemed to luck out by being able to sing. And from what I heard tonight, you sang his song better than he ever did,” he whispered the last part, but I heard everything.
“Hey,” I said and hopped off the last step to face my traitorous brother.
Tucker held up his hands. “I just calls them as I sees them. You’re talented, Hunter, but Willa’s got the pipes.” His eyes slid down her body. “And also, she’s got the—”
“Stop. Don’t go there,” I warned.
“Thank you, Tucker. It means a lot coming from you that you think I can sing.” She turned to me and folded her arms.
I gave it one last shot. “Can we talk in private? Maybe go somewhere less crowded.”
“Fine,” she groaned and grabbed my hand. She pulled me around the staircase to another set of stairs, but these led to the basement.
A charge ran up my arms where her fingers slid perfectly between mine. It felt good to touch her again. I wanted to rub circles with my thumb against her palm but worried she’d pull out of my grip.
Once we were at the bottom of the stairs, she pulled me down the hall to a small room with a cluttered desk and chair.
Other than that, the place was bare. Old gray stone wall on one side and white plaster on the other walls. This room would be a claustrophobic’s worst nightmare.
But with Willa next to me I could be in a palace and not see anything but her.
“This is the manager’s room. She said I could use it tonight to warm up.” Willa let go of my hand as she shut the door and pushed herself up on the desk to sit.
I stood before her and imagined all the ways I’d cause her to scream in pleasure while she sat on that desk.
I grew hard when I saw her up on the balcony in that top and that tiny little skirt, singing my words. My brother was right. “Price of Love” did sound better coming from her lips.
“Why did you keep that from me?” I said and shoved my hands in my pockets, more so to make sure they didn’t reach out and touch her. Or try to give her a massage . . . on her boobs.
She shook her head and leaned back on her hands, pushing her chest out. Fuck me.
“I knew you’d get pissed. And you did.”
“You’re right, I did, but my brother talked some sense into me. He defended you.”
A soft smile touched her lips. “He’s a good guy. And, if I’m being truthful, I did first come over to your home to ask if I could interview you. But you distracted me with baked goods and your tongue, and I never got a chance to say anything.”
I stood a little taller. “What? So, I was right. You were using me.”
“No. I was never going to use you. I’m not like that.”
Folding my arms, I contemplated walking out this door, but I didn’t. When I heard her sing my words, I believed them. I remembered how I felt when I first wrote the song. I was lost and did stupid things because I was scared.
It’s silly, but the way she sang made me think perhaps she was lost, too.
“I’ve only known you two weeks, so excuse me if I don’t believe you.”
She groaned and hopped off the desk. “Look, my mother can’t get around like she used to. Her joints and back over the years have deteriorated to the point where she needs help doing things outside our home. And, being the only child, it’s my responsibility to take care of her. As I said, I got fired over two weeks ago.”
“You live with your mom?”
She nodded. “Yes. My father died two years ago and for a while, she was fine on her own . . . But one day I got a call from her neighbor, she had fallen outside in front of their house and needed to go to the hospital. I realized, physically, she needed help, and I had to move home. When I lost my job and ran into you, I thought if I could get an interview, I’d get my job back. I’m sorry. I should have been honest from the beginning. It’s not even like I enjoyed being a reporter. But it paid the bills, and I did like writing, just not puff pieces about the local bird sanctuary or the guy over in Snowden Hills who won ten thousand dollars in the state lottery by using his birthday as his numbers.”
“It takes a special type of person to take care of someone who needs help physically.”
“Thanks.”
We stood there for a moment, not saying a word. I understood what it was like to do things you weren’t proud of just for a buck or take work that didn’t make you happy to survive.
I lost touch with that. Maybe that’s why my brother told me to give her another chance. Because he saw that in her the way he saw it in me.
I knew what it was like to be desperate for help, for success, just so you could support the people you loved.
“You can have it . . . if you still want it.”
When her head lifted from watching her foot kick a penny on the floor, my heart sighed. The green in her gaze twinkled in the fluorescent light. I stared in wonder at how lucky I was for this talented, maddening woman to draw a line of chalk around my car and straight to my heart.
“Have what?”
My heart.
“The interview.”
