Chasing Gunner (Chasing Series Book 2)

by J. M Stoneback

  “Enjoy the music, Rainbow.”

  The rest of the jet ride wasn’t bad; it’s still not my favorite thing to do. At least I faced my fear of flying, but I won’t be getting on one unless I have to.

  Gunner rents a convertible Jaguar, and we cruise downtown with the roof down. I like the smell of crisp, sweet, and clean air. Green trees perch on every corner. Taxi and food stands don’t clog the street like in New York City. They don’t have a subway—instead, they rely on the bus. The buildings are as tall as the ones back at home and the weather is scorching hot.

  Atlanta is gorgeous and sweet. Just like a unicorn cake.

  When I glance at Gunner, his veiny hand rests on the gearshift and the other one is on the steering wheel. He looks breathtaking with his white V-neck shirt and faded jeans.

  Things have changed between us. I don’t know if it’s a good change or a bad change. The more I hang out with him, the more I realize he isn’t a wolf in sheep’s clothing. This is dangerous for my stitched heart. I can’t fall for him and I won’t.

  You’re a gullible, stupid heart, I say inwardly. And you’re going to get us hurt again. So stop going haywire.

  Gunner twitches his mouth as he speaks to Oliver through his Bluetooth.

  “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” He taps the button on his earpiece, ending the call. “You hungry?” he asks, tapping his finger on the gearshift.

  “Yeah.” I didn’t eat anything this morning, I was too anxious about flying. My stomach makes an angry growl, demanding I feed it.

  Twenty-something minutes later, we pull up to a diner. When I step out, I strap my purse and camera bag over my yellow sundress decorated in white flowers. Instead of choosing my rainbow socks today, I chose my white and yellow striped knee-high socks along with bubblegum oxford heels. Inside the restaurant, the air conditioner cools off my heated skin as we follow the hostess, who’s wearing a white T-shirt and dark jeans, to a booth. As I slide in on the opposite side of him, she hands us our menu and tells us to enjoy.

  Scanning the menu, I look for the non-breakfast section.

  “Don’t worry, they serve lunch and dinner.” He turns his menu over and points to the bottom of the page. “Watching you with earbuds in your ears, dancing around in the kitchen, making a grilled cheese sandwich in the morning is one of my favorite things to do.” He says it casually like it isn’t at all creepy.

  My cheeks flush as I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling. When I don’t think he’s paying attention, he does.

  He’s still studying the menu as I set mine on the red and white checkered tablecloth. I’ve never been a fan of breakfast food. I don’t like how eggs taste on my tongue or the texture of bacon. In general, breakfast food tastes like eating dry wood.

  “Not only are you a pervert, but you’re also a creep,” I joke.

  Before he can respond, a waitress with neon-blue eyes and gold, wavy hair, wearing the same exact outfit as the hostess, appears at our table. I order myself a double cheeseburger with no tomatoes, and Gunner orders himself sausage, grits, and bacon. He tells the waitress to make sure that the items on his plate don’t touch. She collects our menus and leaves.

  “We’re going to the aquarium and to a ca—”

  “Hold up, Gunner,” I cut him off as the waitress comes back with our food, and I smile at her before she leaves. “I thought this was a business trip.”

  “It is. But we can have some fun while we’re here.” He pushes each item of food away from each other to be sure they won’t touch.

  This feels like more of a getaway with the person you’re dating than a business trip, but if I have a chance to explore a new city, I guess I’m okay with it.

  Traveling has never been on my bucket list because I never thought I would be able to afford it. And I don’t set myself up for unrealistic goals or dreams, that’s why I gave up my dream to own a bakery. Life screwed me over the moment I popped out my mom’s womb.

  I grab my camera from my bag, click on the red button, powering it up. As soon as it’s alive, I snap a few pictures of Gunner and place it in my bag.

  “If you’re gonna take pictures of me I suggest you use them as inspiration to fuck yourself,” he says, between bites.

  “No, I’m going to hang them in my room and throw darts at them. Or draw horns sticking out from your head and write ‘I hate Gunner Underwood’ on it.”

  “If you’re going to add all of that, make sure you write ‘But I love his giant dick.’”

  I shake my head and pretend like I’m actually putting real thought into this. “I’m not going to tell lies.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a lie, Rainbow. My dick is open like a twenty-four-hour grocery store. You can have access to it any time you want.” Lust pours into the depths of his eyes. And my vagina clenches at his words, and all of a sudden I feel like my skin is on fire, my ovaries are ready to explode. Does he have to keep turning me on—and of all places, at a restaurant?

  “What happened to not wanting to sleep with your employee?” I tilt my head to the side.

  “You don’t strike me as a vindictive bitch, so I’ll break my rule.”

  “Come again?” This conversation went from playful to serious real quick.

  “I fucked one of my employees, and when I dumped her ass, she threatened to sue me for sexual harassment. I had to pay her money out the ass to keep her trap shut about our relationship.”

  “Oh,” is all I can say, really. Because I haven’t heard that floating around the break room. Wolf is a lot of things. Cruel, check. Male slut. Check. But after living with him for a month, he doesn’t strike me as a man who goes around sexually harassing women. At home, he always knocks on the bathroom and bedroom door and asks me if I’m fully dressed before he enters. I caught him a few times checking out my breasts or butt, but he never touched me inappropriately or in a way I didn’t like. And I feel safe around him, like he’s my security blanket.

  I dig into my burger even though it burns my tongue. My mouth forms the letter O as I try to blow on it, and I grab my glass of Coke and wash it down.

  We eat our food in silence, but chatter from other customers fills the air.

  My mind ventures to this so-called business trip. And how for the first time in forever I’m able to let down my hair and not worry about bills or stress out about money.

  It feels good to be able to breathe for once, go with the flow, and not worry about what tomorrow brings.

  The waitress brings us our bill and asks, “This bill is together or separate?”

  “Together,” I tell her. I made sure to transfer five hundred dollars from my saving to my checking, so I’ll be able to cover our food. Gunner reaches for his wallet in his pocket, and I place my hand over his. “I got it.”

  He’s already done more for me than anyone else in my life, the least I can do is pay for his meals.

  “No, Gia. I’m the man. I should be paying.” His face is serious.

  “No, let me do something nice for you, please.” I dig into my purse and hand the waitress my debit card.

  “Thanks.” Surprise flickers on his face, and his smile feels like he’s kissing me in the rain on a summer day.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “No, I really mean it. Thanks. Most women I fuck tend to expect me to pay for everything. I don’t mind. I was raised to take care of women, but sometimes that shit gets old real quick when it isn’t appreciated and instead expected.” He scoots the crumbs from the table in his hand and dumps it on his empty plate. “Most women care about what’s in my pocket more than me.”

  Sadness seeps through my pores. This explains why he’s so closed off toward women. I’m a little surprised he’s confiding in me because Gunner isn’t the sharing type.

  Before I can respond, the waitress brings back the receipt; I sign it and leave her a ten-dollar tip.

  “You ready to go?” he asks, getting up from the table.

  “Yeah.”

&nbs
p; The aquarium is packed with families and teenagers. We stroll through a long tunnel surrounded by sea creatures in different colors, shapes, and sizes.

  I have Gunner take pictures of me touching a few stingrays in shallow water. We watch a dolphin show. I should have brought a jacket because it’s freezing in the building. Gunner entwines his fingers with mine the entire time. Weirdly, I don’t mind. His touch feels wild and free. I haven’t held hands with a guy in a long time.

  I take pictures of everything. He asks me what made me get into photography and I tell him about how my mom loved it and that I want to capture every good moment in my life. Because when bad moments hit, I want to be reminded of the good. We stop by the souvenir shop, and he buys me a stuffed orca.

  After we leave the aquarium, we head to a car show and stroll around checking out different cars ranging from the sixties to the present. Different brightly colored cars are lined up in a row. The place is flooded with men and boys.

  I even see a car that I want to buy. It’s a white Volkswagen, a Beetle, and it’s decked out with cream leather seats and a colorful dashboard with a sunroof. I’ve been wanting a new car for some time now.

  “You like this car?” Gunner asks, checking out the engine.

  “Yeah, it’s cute. I’m going to buy a used one,” I admit. I picture myself driving it on the highways. “I’m going to get it in apple red, decorate it with polka dots on the roof, and attach lashes to the headlights, so it can look like a ladybug.”

  Gunner shakes his head. “You’re weird.”

  After we check out a few more cars, he stops in front of an updated version of his white Audi. It’s sleeker and smoother than his current car.

  “Get in the passenger seat,” he orders. I slide in as I drink in the sight of the colorful dashboard blinking lights at me. The black leather smells like fresh lemons.

  “You love cars,” I say while he smiles like a schoolboy who received his first kiss from his crush.

  “I worked as a mechanic in college”—he grips the steering wheel—“to help my ma to pay off bills. This baby is an Audi R8, with a V10 engine and six hundred and thirty-two horsepower.”

  “I have no idea what you said.”

  “It’s a fast sports car costing over a hundred grand.” He smirks. “I’ve been waiting on this baby to come out for the longest time.”

  People gather around the car, snapping pictures, and a little boy with the purest blue eyes I’ve ever seen waltzes up to the car with a magazine in his hand. His dad is right behind him, and he does a double-take when he sees Gunner but doesn’t say anything. He takes a picture of his son and the car and walks away. I lay my head on the back of the seat as two more little boys with their father take pictures of the car.

  “I need to let you in on a little secret,” Gunner tells me. I turn my view to look at him. Sadness flickers in his eyes as he uses his thumb to rub his bottom lip.

  “Okay.” I rest my hands on his while his eyes move back and forth as if he’s thinking hard.

  “My dad used to use me and my ma as a punching bag.”

  His face scrunches up in pain, and my heart breaks for him. I want to give him a piece of mine. Even though it won’t be a lot, it might be enough to cover the hole in his heart.

  “When I was four, I had my first drop of alcohol. My dad was an angry drunk. And weirdly, I used to want to be like him, so I snuck in his man cave and drank some of his beer. When I was caught red-handed . . .” He blinks, and the crowded building evaporates in front of us, as if we’re in our own little bubble and time has stopped. “He beat my ass with an extension cord to punish me and told me if I ever uttered a word to anyone he’d skin Ma alive.”

  My heart catches in my throat at his words, and it weeps for the little kid inside him. He’s broken like glass; I can see the cracks he hides within himself. My tiny fingers entwine with his big ones, and I squeeze as hard as I can. His eyes—filled with unspoken words—meet mine.

  I’m broken, don’t fix me.

  I don’t say anything because the way I grip his hand speaks volumes. I’m here, and it’s okay to be hurt and broken.

  Maybe that explains why he drinks so much. Ever since I moved in with him, he seems to have some kind of liquor in his hand. And earlier this week when I went to his room to clean up the mess I made, I found him asleep clutching a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, weeping like a baby. So I backed out, giving him his space. And I don’t dare bring it up to him. Those are his demons to deal with.

  “That’s also the first memory I had of him beating me.” He pauses. “When my ma wasn’t around, he would hit me for stupid shit, like leaving my toys on the floor, or asking for seconds after a meal.” Another pause. “When I see other kids happy with their dads, I think how fortunate they are.” He points to a boy and a girl running circles around their dad. “Sometimes, it’s best not to have a parent at all than to have one who’s fucked up.”

  I agree with him on so many levels. People who are abusive get off on having control of their victims, and if they feel like they are losing power, their violence escalates.

  There is a very long pause, then he says, “Alana was born two months before her due date. My dad kicked my ma in the stomach because she made the wrong dish for his boss when he invited him over for dinner. And he threatened to kill her if she told the doctors what he’d done to her.” My eyes burn with tears, but I try so hard not to let them flow. “When he left, I was relieved. It felt like I could breathe.”

  “Why are you spilling your secrets to me?” My voice is barely a whisper.

  “You’ve shown me you’re not using me to get a paycheck. Therefore, I don’t have to worry about you blackmailing me with personal information.” He removes his fingers from mine and taps the steering wheel. “My secrets are safe with you.”

  Gia

  With my purple glittery headphones over my ears, I listen to the playlist Gunner gave me. I notice his playlist contains old eighties, nineties, and a very few early two thousand songs.

  I tear some tape with my teeth and press it onto the pictures in my scrapbook.

  Two things I’ve learned today.

  One—Gunner’s cold heart is cracked from his past.

  Two—we share a common background. We’ve both suffered at the hands of an abuser.

  Gunner opening up about his dad brought up a crap ton of memories of living with my ex. Memories I thought I locked away, but they resurfaced and poured into my brain like it happened yesterday.

  My ex stomping me in my stomach because I forgot to pick up bread from the store. Or the time he forced himself inside me when I didn’t do what he said.

  When scientists create a pill to forget your past I’ll be the first in line to take it. That way I won’t have to live with the emotional scarring of my heart. Every time I think about him or my past, blood seeps through the cracks of my stitched-together heart.

  No one wants you.

  You’re a whore like your mom.

  I have to fuck other women because you don’t know how to fuck. You can’t even suck dick right.

  What are you good for?

  You can’t be seen with me, you’re too ugly.

  He isolated me from his friends; when he used to throw parties I wasn’t allowed to go with him. I hung out with Izzy on those days.

  I used to cry a lot about my life. I was so desperate for someone to love me I put up with whatever love I could get. My heart was so lonely. I used to think that true loneliness was not knowing who I am as a person because I didn’t know who my parents were, but true loneliness is being with someone who makes you feel like the scum of the earth. I’m better, I tell myself. I’m in a better spot. No need to waste tears on a person I’ll never see again.

  When I feel a hand on my shoulder, I scream at the top of my lungs, pick up my scrapbook, and smack it across Gunner’s head. He throws his hands over his face to cover himself.

  “Are you trying to kill me?” I shriek. “Don’t ev
er sneak up on me like that!” I remove the headphones from my ears.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He slurs his words. He flops on the couch next to me and pulls me to him by the waist until our thighs touch. “Why don’t you like me?” he asks. He smells like he showered in a bottle of tequila.

  I wave my hand in front of my face. “You smell like a bar.”

  “I just came from one.” He pauses. “You didn’t answer my question. Why don’t you like me?”

  “I do like you. At least I’m starting to.”

  “I went from hate to like? I should win a gold medal for this shit.”

  I roll my eyes at his smart comment. “Wait a sec. How’d you get into my room?”

  “The door was slightly open.” He slouches, resting his head on the cushion, staring at the ceiling fan.

  My hotel room can’t get any fancier with silk green drapes, a chandelier looking like it’s made out of diamonds dangling from the ceiling, and a television mounted on the gray wall. They have room service offering gourmet meals and fancy wine that cost more than my weekly salary. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this lifestyle.

  “My dick is so hard. I haven’t fucked a woman in a month.” That was out of the blue.

  “Why haven’t you?” I place the scrapbook on the black table, cross one leg over the other, and tug my nightgown over my knee.

  “Because my dick wants to be owned by you.”

  I feel my cheeks redden, my nipples harden, and my sex is as wet as the deep ocean.

  Gunner makes me feel like a woman. Desired and beautiful. He stares at me with those same predatory eyes, waiting to size me up and swallow me whole.

  It’s sad, really, that my heart wreaks havoc for a man who is a hurricane. He drinks like a sailor and shuts everyone out. He’s beautiful and cold on the inside—kind of like a sculpture.

  “What kind of panties are you wearing?”

  He tugs on the end of my nightgown, and I break out in goosebumps. “Cheekini. Purple with white polka dots.”