Chasing Gunner (Chasing Series Book 2)

by J. M Stoneback

I follow him to the kitchen. Midnight-black cabinets with gray marble counters and stylish lights hang from the ceiling. A stainless-steel fridge, stove, and dishwasher decorate the kitchen. Since my rent is super-duper cheap, I plan on adding bright colors to this black and gray kitchen. I’ll buy yellow pots and pans, colorful baking utensils. I haven’t been able to bake in a long time.

  We walk into a sprawling bedroom. The headboard is molded to the black walls. The bed is decorated with a pink floral duvet with matching sheets, and just like the living room, the wall is made out of glass. I’m starting to fall in love with this place.

  “Was someone else living here before I was?”

  “No, as soon as I left work, I contacted my interior designer to go pick out a bedroom set and shit. This room used to be my gym.”

  He did all this for me? Butterflies spill into my gut, and I can feel a blush seep into my cheeks and move to the crown of my head.

  He strolls to the other side of the room and opens a white door. “We share a bathroom. My bedroom is on the other side of that door.” He points at the door straight across from the one he opened, and I walk through the spacious bathroom.

  I’ve died and gone to heaven. The shower is made out of different shades of gray stone and wide enough to fit ten people. The glass sink is shaped like a fish bowl with Gunner’s manly products cluttering the black marble counters.

  He didn’t have to help me, and I don’t deserve an ounce of his kindness. I stand there with my arms crossed over my chest, rocking back and forth, staring down at the black marble floors.

  No one has ever gone out of their way to help me without wanting something in return unless it was Izzy.

  “Thanks for letting me crash here.”

  “You’re more than welcome.” His Nike sneakers come into view, and he uses his index finger to lift my chin. My cheeks burn under his touch, and I flinch. If he notices, he doesn’t mention it.

  My stitched heart beats wildly like she remembers who she belongs to. I’m going to have to have a serious talk with her about wanting to go to people she knows will break her.

  She used to beat for my ex, but never this wildly or this urgently. After nine years, she’s come out of remission, reminding me she’s alive, able, and ready to give herself to the man she should have forgotten all those years ago.

  “Rainbow . . . I . . .” His tone is uneven.

  “What?” I say, staring into his eyes.

  “Nothing.” He shakes his head and drops his hand. I follow Gunner back to my room. He clutches the brass knob and says, “I’ll see you on Monday, Rainbow.”

  The door clicks shut behind him, then the front door slams, leaving me in the quiet condo.

  After Jimmy delivers my trash bag to my room, I change from a white shirt and pink jeans to my yellow tank top and pink flannel shorts with lavender knee-high socks. I tour the rest of the condo on my stroll back to the kitchen. I open the fridge; it’s fully stocked with fresh fruits, veggies, and bottles of water. I open the freezer to chicken, beef, and pork stacked neatly on top of each other.

  It’s been years since I laid eyes on a fully stocked fridge with healthy options. Normally, cheap food clogs my fridge.

  I shut the freezer and open the fridge door again, grabbing a glass bowl of fresh green grapes, and walk to the balcony that’s connected to the living room.

  I perch myself on one of the lounge chairs, kicking my legs up on the glass table, and pop a grape in my mouth. Different-sized plants sit on both sides of the terrace. The baby-blue sky bleeds orange, and the sun plays hide-and-seek with the tall buildings.

  Gunner has done more for me in the last two hours than anyone has done in my twenty-nine years of life. That thought alone makes me sad. And the way he seems to care about me clouds my mind. Most men only take from you until you’re empty, but Gunner is giving. Why is he giving to me? Maybe this is a ploy to get into my panties. Maybe he thinks if he’s nice to me, I’ll sleep with him.

  Whatever his motive is will come to light, and I’m waiting for this to play out like a Halloween horror movie.

  Gunner

  What the fuck am I thinking moving Gia into my penthouse? I could have let her stay in a hotel until she found a place to crash, but no, I let my dick do the thinking.

  This has to be the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done. No, scratch that. The most impulsive thing I ever did was go apeshit on Charles, Alana’s piece of shit ex-husband. I broke his nose and busted the crown of his head with a frying pan because he made a conscious decision to stuck his dick in another woman.

  Dipshit had it coming.

  I never liked the fucker.

  Anyway, shacking up with Gia is a train wreck waiting to happen. The minute I left her at the condo Friday night, I rented a hotel room and fucked every hole on my random hookup. I took my anger out on her cunt because she wasn’t Gia, even though she had the same hair color and eyes. If I believed in voodoo, I would say Rainbow put some fucking spell on me to make me obsessed with her.

  “I found a school for Cora,” Rylee says, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s closer to you.” She pauses. “I don’t know what to do about her. She keeps getting into fights at school lately.”

  Rylee worries her bottom lip as she tugs on the ends of her vanilla hair. Rylee is as put-together as Cole Sear from The Sixth Sense. She shakes violently and is always on edge like she’s waiting for the floor to be snatched from under her feet.

  Guess I would be too if I married a jackass whose dick got hard from pounding on me like a punching bag.

  Thank fuck Ellis didn’t beat on Cora. I met Rylee and Cora through Ellis.

  “Those kids are teasing her and putting their hands on her and the principal won’t do shit about it,” I say. “So I told her to hit those snot-nose asses back.”

  What Rylee doesn’t know is that the kids found out how Ellis died, and Cora doesn’t want her to know because she doesn’t want her to worry.

  “I don’t condone violence, Gunner. Why would you encourage her to fight?” Rylee’s voice is mousy.

  Is she fucking serious right now? “If she doesn’t stand up for herself, then no one else will.”

  Rylee shakes her head at my answer, but I don’t give a fuck if she doesn’t agree. I’m not going to watch Cora grow up without a backbone. Fuck that.

  My eyes venture to Cora, who’s wearing a Sailor Moon swimsuit. Her hair is the same shade of auburn as mine. She’s a spitting image of Alana when she was twelve years old. Same button nose. Same full lips. The only difference between the two is Cora has chocolate eyes, and Alana has mismatched colored eyes. Cora’s complexion is olive like Rylee’s and Alana’s is tan. She’s even into anime and video games like Alana was. Cora is a chatterbox—one time she talked herself to sleep—and she’s a whiner.

  Cora runs to the ocean and splashes her feet into the calm teal water as seagulls screech, hovering in the inky sky. The stars hang out with the full pale moon. The summer wind breezes lazily in the air and sprouts of grass grow in the golden sand.

  I sit in the rocking chair next to Rylee on the white porch. I bought this beach house for them ten months ago.

  Rylee grabs my hand, and I glance at her heart-shaped face. Her eyes are the same color as a gray sky right before a thunderstorm. She’s staring at me like she wants me to fuck her like I did when we first met. In my defense, we were both drunk, and I was dealing with some fucked-up shit I did. She was nursing a broken heart. Both of us were at a shitty place in our lives. Quickly I remove my hand. It would be nice to try to fuck Gia out of my system again, but I can’t use Rylee like that—she deserves someone who will give her a white picket fence lifestyle. My morals are jacked up as dressing a tree in a T-shirt, but my conscience is still intact and alive.

  She’s as beautiful as the sun shining on a bright day. Tattoos of each Disney princess smile at me on her right arm, and she’s sporting a black tank top with the Paramore logo on it while bleached shorts ride up her
olive legs. You can’t tell she’s ten years older than me.

  “Are you sure you want to pay for her tuition? You’re already supporting us.”

  “You’re family, and I take care of family.”

  I’m protective of my family—okay, fine. Maybe too overprotective.

  Since Ellis’s life insurance money ran out six months ago, I’ve been taking care of her until she can find a job.

  “Thanks,” she says.

  Cora skips to the porch, snuggles on my lap and lays her head on my chest as her swimsuit dampens my black shirt and basketball shorts.

  “Tuxedo Mask, I missed you.”

  She gave me the nickname from her favorite show Sailor Moon because every time she saw me I wore a suit like the character.

  “I miss you too, Chibiusa.” I gave her that nickname because it’s her favorite character from the show.

  “When are you gonna take me to meet Alana?”

  This has been the question for ten months now. She’s been asking every Sunday when I visit her, and I’ve been giving her bullshit answers. I’m not ready to face what I did, and if I expose her to Alana, then I have to face my demons.

  It’s selfish, but I’m choosing myself over them.

  “No, not yet. But I will.”

  “When?” Her voice is sweet as cotton candy.

  “Cora, go set the dinner table now.” Rylee jerks her chin to the glass sliding doors.

  Cora gives me a peck on my cheek before jumping off my lap and plods into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

  “You need to keep your word and introduce her to Alana. She’s family. Alana has a right to know.”

  Rylee’s words slice through me like a sword, and guilt eats at me.

  “You can’t keep breaking Cora’s heart. She looks up to you and loves you.”

  “I love her too.” I rub my bottom lip with my index finger as my eyes wander to the calm sea.

  “Then start acting like it.” She stands up from the rocking chair and walks inside. I turn to look at them as Rylee says something to Cora. Sadness colors Cora’s face like Rylee told her that her puppy died.

  The more I keep Cora from Alana, the deeper the grave I dig is going to be.

  Monday rolls around. Gia and I are in and out of meetings, having lunch with Mason to go over the market analysis, and not getting too excited that the stocks in Underwood Banking went up twenty percent. While the stock market is up, the stock at American Banking is going down, so Darien and I have to form a board because it’s mayhem over there.

  Gia and I act like we aren’t roomies, which is fucking fantastic. She treats me like I’m her boss, and I treat her like I always treated her—I scold her for sending the wrong flowers to my ma. When she isn’t shooting me hate glares, I check out her ass, gawk at her tits, and fantasize about laying her over my desk, feasting on her pussy.

  How long is she going to keep up this charade that she doesn’t want me?

  Good thing she didn’t choose acting as a career because she would suck at that job too.

  At seven, I let her go while I finish signing off on some of the new policies that will be enforced in the next four months. Nine o’clock creeps up on me, so I lock up my office and head to my apartment.

  The only women I’ve ever lived with were my ma and sister, so I don’t know what to expect from Gia. To say that I’m nervous is an understatement. I’m sweating my balls off.

  When I unlock the door, the smell of garlic and butter hits my nostrils. I haven’t used my kitchen since I bought this place five years ago, even though my ma keeps my fridge and freezer well-stocked. I’m not much of a cook. The only time I cook is when I visit my ma and she makes me help her out in the kitchen. Takeout from Thai and Chinese restaurants are my best friends on lonely nights. I don’t live like most of my rich friends where they have hired help to wait on them hand and foot or wipe their asses. I was taught to clean up after my own self, so Gia better do the same.

  I stroll through the living room to get to the kitchen. I set my keys and wallet on the granite counter. Gia bends over with her hands on her knees, facing the stove. She’s no longer wearing the brown dress she wore earlier for work, but hot pink shorts and rainbow knee-high socks.

  I can see the outline of her panties, and my dick is raging hard, ready to explode.

  Fuck me. My life would be so easy if she looked like the green witch from the Wizard of Oz. That way I wouldn’t think about fucking her every five minutes.

  I adjust my dick, clear my throat, and she spins around. The yellow tank top clings to her torso, and I can see the outline of her polka-dotted bra. She looks like a fucking rainbow, reminding me of the song She’s a Rainbow by The Rolling Stones. How can she fit so many colors in one outfit? It’s beyond me.

  “You hungry? I made some garlic chicken and asparagus.” Her voice is soft, and I cock my eyebrow. Even though I didn’t know what to expect, I didn’t expect her to turn into Paula Deen.

  She turns back around and uses a pink oven mitt to take out the food while I park my ass on the leather barstool and fold my arms across my chest.

  We don’t speak for a while as she slaps food on my plate and sets it in front of me. I stare at it like she poisoned it. For all I know, she could have.

  “What kind of food do you like? So I can buy it,” she says.

  Instead of answering her question, I cut off a piece of the meat and shove it in her face.

  “What?” she asks, arching her thin brow.

  “I want you to eat it first.”

  She scrunches up her nose, studying my face like she’s trying to piece a puzzle together. “Why?”

  “To make sure you’re not poisoning me.”

  “Really? Gunner!” Shock colors her face.

  I’m serious as a heart attack. She glares at me like I killed her cat, but I don’t want to end up on The First 48.

  “Yeah,” I deadpan.

  “Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean I can’t be nice.” She crosses her arms.

  Reluctantly, I bite into the chicken. It’s not too dry and not too moist, and then I dig into the asparagus, and it tastes like heaven in my mouth.

  Little Miss Rainbow can cook just as good as my ma.

  Gia clicks her nails on the granite counter. “Did you taste it?”

  “Taste what?” I say, separating the meat from the veggie. It irks my nerves when my food touches—if it does I have to throw the whole plate away. Don’t know why I’m like that. I just am.

  “The bleach and peroxide I put in it. I can’t believe you’re still standing after the amount of chemicals I mixed with the garlic and oil,” she says with a straight face.

  What. The. Fuck.

  I spit out the food. It flies everywhere, and she jumps out of the way while bursting out laughing like a hyena. I tear a paper towel from the holder and wipe my mouth.

  “I kid. I would never do that. But it’s funny you actually believe me. I don’t hate you enough to kill you.”

  “That shit is not funny.”

  “Then why am I laughing?”

  Who is this new Gia? Because I don’t recognize this woman. It’s like she’s flipped a light switch. At work, she’s gloomy and quiet, but here, she’s funny and happy. She studies me while I eat the food as she nibbles on her bottom lip to keep from laughing. I’ve never seen her smile, and it’s as beautiful as staring at the stars. Once I finish the meal, I scoop crumbs to the edge of the table into my hand and rub my hands together over the plate. Rainbow grabs the plate and dumps it in the dishwasher along with the rest of the dishes.

  “Where did you learn how to cook like this?” I ask as she taps the button on the dishwasher. It hums to life, then she ambles over and plops down on the leather stool next to me, crossing her legs, pulling her socks over her knees.

  “Food Network and Pinterest. I didn’t have, um . . . anyone to teach me how to cook growing up.”

  “What about your mom or dad?” I c
ock my head to the side.

  “Did you know hair keeps growing after death? Like three months? That’s crazy, right?” Gia babbles random facts when she’s nervous, so I rest my hand over hers, and she looks at everything else except for me.

  “Why are you nervous?”

  Her tits rise and fall as she takes a deep breath, and her amber eyes meet mine. “I’m ashamed of where I come from. It isn’t pretty.”

  “No one’s past is a ray of sunshine, Gia. Elaborate.”

  What the fuck am I doing? Sitting here, trying to get to know her. Hannah would have a field day with this.

  “My mom is dead, and I don’t know who my father is.” Pause. “I lived in foster care most of my life, and some of the families weren’t nice to me.”

  “What do you mean by ‘weren’t nice’?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  Calm down, Gunner.

  She doesn’t need to see you raging. If you keep this shit up you’ll run her off.

  “They treated me like they didn’t want me, used me for my foster care subsidy, and some neglected me.”

  Her face looks like the calm before the storm, and my heart bleeds for her.

  Now, the urge to bash someone’s skull in is even stronger.

  Mental note: Make sure to check if I’m growing a pussy between my legs because that’s what Gia is doing to me—turning me into a giant one.

  I tuck a few silky strands of her hair behind her right ear, and she flinches like I’m going to strike her. It isn’t the first time she’s done this. She does it a lot at work. My ma was abused, so I know the signs.

  I want to ask her who the fuck abused her.

  But I don’t. She’s always struggling to give me glimpses of herself.

  The tension is thick enough to choke a person, so I untie my black tie and rest it over my shoulder. She takes out a purple pen and a notepad with the Underwood Banking logo stamp at the top of the page from her worn purse.

  “Me paying you a hundred bucks a month isn’t enough, so I’ll cook you dinners on nights you’re here, and I’ll buy groceries,” she says, changing the subject, writing on the pad “food items,” drawing a heart over the I. Her penmanship is girly and cursive. “What kind of food do you like?”