The Hunt - Monica James

by James, Monica

  The moment I met him, I knew I was in trouble. He oozed confidence, sex appeal, and that mouth…I should detest that mouth, but I don’t. I want it all over me. I pretended to hate him because he makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a very long time. Maybe ever. I thought he’d give up by now, but he hasn’t, and his perseverance makes me crave him all the more.

  But I can’t tell him. I can’t tell anyone. Not even Maddy knows. As far as she’s concerned, I’d bake a cake at his wake, but that’s so far from the truth.

  When my high school sweetheart, Corey, ended things because I wasn’t “exciting” enough for him, he not only broke my heart…he broke me. To the outside world, I was having the time of my life, being single and carefree in the greatest city in the world. But I was hurting. I couldn’t understand how the man I gave my virginity to could cheat with some random barfly and lie about it for six months.

  If the man I trusted more than life itself could lie and cheat on me, then what hope was there for the rest of the male population? Men are dicks, and they think with their dicks, and I was happy to live alone with my fifty cats, but then my best friend had to go and fall in love.

  Madison and Dixon are living proof that true love does exist. She’s yin to his yang and regardless of the fact that he used to be New York’s biggest player, he gave all of that up for her. He changed because he wanted to change. But Dixon is the exception to the rule. He’s like a four-leaf clover. People talk about them, but no one has been able to unearth one, no one, bar Maddy, which seems fitting, considering he’s been her lucky charm. He would fight for her until the bitter end, and that’s the reason, not that I’d ever tell him, that I respect and like him so much.

  But there was no way another Dixon could exist. I mean, at first, I was having a hard time believing he was the real deal, so to even fathom another knight in shining armor was out there was just plain stupid.

  But enter his best friend, Hunter O’Shea.

  Make no mistake however, Hunter is no Prince Charming, and honestly, if he were the one to deliver the all saving kiss to wake Sleeping Beauty from her slumber, I think she’d prefer to remain a comatose virgin. But I like that he makes no apologies for who he is. I like that he speaks his mind, no matter how crude, or who he offends. I know where I stand with him. There is no bullshit. And after the bullshit Corey put me through, he’s like a breath of amazingly smelling fresh air.

  He stirs a longing inside of me, not only physically, but emotionally as well. And after last night, after our near miss, I’m fucking scared. And that’s my dilemma.

  The problem I’m faced with is I can’t give him my heart because I know he will not just break it, he will set it on fire and blow the fragments to the wind. Corey left me with this insecure, raw wound and I’m afraid of what will happen if I try to mend it. I’d grown accustomed to the reality of being alone, but then Hunter walked into a room, and it was like my heart kickstarted back to life.

  I may talk big, but deep down, I know I will never be able to keep up with the likes of Hunter. When Corey said, I wasn’t “exciting” enough for him, he wasn’t talking about the fact I wouldn’t go sky-diving with him, he was talking about my performance in the bedroom.

  I thought I was an okay lover, but he made it sound like I was a dying starfish, and I should have been grateful that he didn’t cheat on me sooner.

  I’m afraid if I give into temptation, Hunter will laugh at my inexperience and stop wanting me as much as I want him. Sometimes, fantasy is so much better than reality and my measly list of bedroom partners will only prove this fact and send Hunter running to the nearest corner to get lovin’ from someone who knows how.

  Someone like Hunter O’Shea doesn’t settle down. Thanks to Dixon renouncing his place in whoredom, Hunter has taken the place of New York’s biggest player and he doesn’t want some inexperienced, fumbling, born again virgin anywhere near his heart, because that’s what I want.

  So, all in all, I need to forget about him and this unhealthy obsession because it will only end in ugly tears and a weeklong binge of watching Hallmark movies of a love life I can never have.

  But I can’t forget about him. How do you forget someone like Hunter O’Shea?

  And that’s the reason why I’m on the verge of hyperventilating as I’m riding this elevator to his office floor.

  See, refer to my previous. Fucking crazy.

  Once the doors part, I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress and tell myself to woman the hell up. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m not going to overthink it, because if I do, I’ll need a wastebasket to throw up my blueberry bagel.

  Thanks to some subtle snooping, I know where his office is. I can pretend that this is a business call, but deep down there’s no denying the need to see him overrides any rational thinking, because rationality was lost the moment we locked eyes.

  It’s all hustle and bustle, men in sharp suits, and women in designer threads rushing around with phones pressed to their ears. No doubt they’re all on the line with potential investors, which make this firm the biggest and most successful in NYC.

  Nervously, I brush a strand of hair behind my ear. I don’t exactly blend in, and quite frankly, I stick out like dog balls, but everyone is too busy to care. I had no idea what the dress code was, so I decided to dress like a fellow redhead who owned the office she worked at. Miranda from Sex and the City may not have been as glamorous as her other three counterparts, but she had style.

  I’m in a dark navy dress with white belt and matching shoes. Because it’s a typical cold morning in the Big Apple, I have on my long red coat, which just seems to bring out the copper in my waves, but it was either this, or ripped jeans. Makeup is minimal, but I have on a pink gloss and mascara—a girl can never have enough of either.

  I peer down the long hallway, wondering if maybe I should ask someone if I’m going in the right direction, but when I look to my left and see two girls with love hearts basically pulsating from their eyeballs, I know I don’t have far to go.

  The pretty brunette is sitting at her desk, fanning herself with a small notebook, while her friend, a stunning blonde, is leaning against the partition as if needing the support before she crumbles into a heaving mess. “Mr. O’Shea is so hot.”

  “So hot,” the blonde repeats, nodding eagerly, while I slow down and pretend I’ve got something stuck under my shoe.

  “He was in line for coffee and oh my god…he smelled like he rolled in a barrel of heaven.”

  “He looks fucking edible in that pinstripe suit. Did you see that ass? Dear god, I just want to take a bite.” Both girls giggle, while I contemplate taking off my heel and stabbing them repeatedly in the eyeballs.

  “I wonder if he has a girlfriend.” Yes, I wonder that too. Just who was Goldilocks he was with the other night? I cringe, wishing I’d used another reference because all I can think about is if his bed was “just right.”

  “Rumor has it he has lots of them. Not that anyone can blame them. Timothy, the new intern, he told me he saw…” She pauses for dramatic flair, before she continues. “His you know what when they were in the bathroom, and he said it was huge. Like porn star big.”

  More giggles and gushing, while I need to find this Timothy and ask for details. “I didn’t know Timothy was gay.”

  “He’s not, but he said he was jealous because it was one…beautiful…cock.”

  And that’s my downfall—literally.

  I fall sideways into the wall, scaring the living shit out of the two girls and myself. They yelp, while I steady myself from giving myself third degree carpet burns. When I come to, I come eye-level with my informants, who so know I was eavesdropping.

  The blonde crosses her arms with a scowl. “Can I help you?”

  I refrain from saying yes, show me where Timothy sits because the longer I stand, staring like a rabbit caught in the headlights, the more attention I draw to myself. Thinking on my feet, I nod with a smile. “Da liegt der Hund begraben.” />
  Both girls look at one another, completely confused, while I wave goodbye and quickly hightail it out of there, thankful I remembered the only German I learned in college. It loses its meaning because when translated it literally means that’s where the dog is buried, but they don’t know that as they wave back, thinking I’m a client.

  My nervousness is quickly forgotten because I need to find Hunter before I blow it and make a bigger scene when ACC escorts me from the building, asking whose dog I just buried. I turn down a small corridor, and not looking where I’m going, run straight into a solid brick wall.

  It knocks the wind from my lungs and clearly the sense from my brain because I have a sudden urge to dry hump this wall while I lick it…naked. My heart starts an unhealthy beating and I’m certain I’m on the verge of having a stroke. Not understanding what’s going on, I peer upward, and upward again and choke on air.

  “Shortcake?”

  I curse whatever god is looking down at me and laughing at my expense because this is a big office, huge in fact, so why, oh why did I have to bump into him?

  “I have a name,” I bark, shrugging out of his hold because even though he’s touching me over my coat, I’m currently on fire.

  He raises his hands in surrender with a lopsided smirk. Fuck him. Does this man ever look unattractive? And would it kill him to have a bad hair day? Speaking of. His longer locks are tied back in a low man bun, the dirty blond strands raked back messily, like he used his fingers as a styling tool to tame the disorder.

  His sea green eyes are examining me closely, always so expressive, because in his case, they truly are the window to his soul. His chiseled jawline is covered in a dark scruff, highlighting how delicious his curved lips are.

  The blonde’s comment comes to mind, and now that he’s here, up close and personal, I can completely see what she means. The dark gray pinstripe suit hugs his hulking frame, showcasing every bump and hardened plane along the way. The way it sits snugly over what he’s packing in those pants should make this garment illegal in every country in the world. The crisp white shirt is brought to life by a silk burgundy tie, but in true Hunter fashion, the top button is undone and the tie is loosely knotted.

  He looks like he belongs on a runway in Milan, showcasing attire for bad boys because that’s what he is. It’s not possible that someone is this good looking, but standing before me is living proof that perfection exists. But regardless of the fact that I’m staring at what could quite possibly be Chris Hemsworth’s doppelgänger, I pull back my shoulders and quash down the need to lick his face.

  “Not that I’m unhappy, but given the fact I’m still cleaning the skid marks you left in your haste to flee my apartment, what are you doing here?” His voice is deep, hoarse, like he just woke up, leaving me with obscene images which make my girly parts sing.

  This needs to stop. Now. “Gee, a touch dramatic, don’t you think? I left because I had better things to do, like right now, so stop wasting my time and show me where your office is.” A ghost of a smile plays at Hunter’s lips.

  I wish I could attempt to be civil, but I’m afraid if I do, it’ll be an avalanche of words and feelings and I won’t be able to stop.

  “You’re here because you still want to use me as your lab rat?” His innocent wording has me remembering his analogy from last night of Mr. and Mrs. Rat, and I suddenly feel faint.

  Refusing to give in to my hormones, I roll my eyes. “Careful, if you open your mind too much, your brain just might fall out.” His gruff laugh doesn’t help the predicament in my underwear.

  “Follow me.”

  He turns, leaving me with a glorious view of his ass that has me licking my lips. I wonder if he’d notice if I took a sneaky pic on my phone. Getting my head in the game, I stop being such a pervert, and focus on school. Regardless of the fact I want to devour every square inch of his skin, I do need his office and home to finish my course.

  I follow in silence, unable to tear my gaze from his strapping body. He has an air of arrogance about him and emits a raw animal magnetism which has girls and boys alike wanting to get all up in that tall, dark, and handsome.

  As I’m admiring the dirty blond strands in his hair, we take a right and I walk into what can only be described as the lair of a closet hoarder. “This is not your office.” I forget all about my pent-up sexual frustrations, and focus on the clutter which has my eye twitching.

  “Why, what’s wrong with it?” he asks, stepping inside, expecting me to follow.

  I, however, stand at the threshold, peering around the doorjamb, afraid what will come out and bite me if I enter. “What’s right with it?” Holy shit, this place looks like a graveyard where office stationary goes to die.

  His desk has mountains of paperwork and books heaped on top of it, having me questioning when the last time he saw the polished surface was. A laptop sits on top of a pile of old newspapers, with a crystal tumbler sitting just within reach.

  An outdated leather couch sits along the far wall, which in the 80s would have been a cool feature wall, but now the offensive orange is an eyesore. The wooden bookshelves are the only saving grace, but the countless number of books shoved haphazardly along the shelves has me itching to bring order to the anarchy.

  The view is spectacular, allowing one to get lost in the city that never sleeps, but that’s exactly what I’m faced with, because this place is a train wreck.

  Finally gathering the nerve to enter, I test that the faded gray carpet won’t pull me into a giant sinkhole. When I think it’s safe, I take a step inside and turn in a slow circle. I may have bitten off more than I can chew, but I’m not a quitter, and besides, this just means I’ll have to utilize every second of the next two months.

  My entire body cartwheels at the thought because it means I have no other choice but to see Hunter every…single…day.

  Tapping my chin, I take a deep breath before gathering the nerve to talk to him. “I thought it’d be bigger.” Yes, complete innuendo, but I can’t help it because when I turn around to face him, I almost choke on my own tongue.

  He’s leaned up against the front of his desk, arms and ankles crossed as he watches me with those eyes. A strand of hair has slipped forward, shaping his sharp cheekbones and adding to the rebellious vibe. “It’s not the size that matters, but rather how you use it, and Shortcake, I know how to use it.”

  Deadpanning him, I can’t help myself. “A big dick doesn’t mean anything if it’s attached to a bigger dick, so you may as well have a three-inch crooked vibrator.”

  Hunter bursts into uncontrollable laughter, while I high-five my foul mouth. I can give as good as I get, and I’m addicted to the way his mouth twitches and how he consumes me with a fire when I don’t hold back.

  Most guys can’t keep up with my dry humor, hence another reason why I’m still single, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Hunter, who looks seconds away from tackling me to the floor. “All this vibrator talk is making me hungry, have you had lunch?”

  Ignoring him, I hunt through my bag with shaky fingers and pull out my cell. “Mind if I take some pictures?” He nods, allowing me free rein to take over his office and home.

  I go to work, snapping pictures, as I’ll use them for my before and after presentation. As I’m working with the light to capture the best photographs, I decide to take a panorama to remember the entire space I need to revamp. I start from one end and then slowly pan across. The moment Hunter appears on my screen, still resting against the edge of his desk without a care in the world, my mouth goes dry and my earlier reflection of him being a runway model doesn’t seem too far off the mark. The camera loves him.

  He doesn’t mask the fact he’s staring directly at me, which excites and confuses me all in the same breath. “Haven’t you got work to do?” I ask, the camera still on him.

  I watch him through my screen as he shrugs. “Yes.”

  I’m expecting him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He continues his vigil, rub
bing his thumb over his lip while watching me closely. My cheeks heat and I know I’m turning a bright pink—the joys of being a redhead with pale skin.

  Just as I’m about to retort with a smartassed response, a voice which sounds like angels singing to the tune of Ave Maria floats through the air. “Oh, sorry, Hunter, I didn’t realize you had company.”

  I would know that voice anywhere because I was subjected to its sickly sweetness Saturday night. Turning so quickly I almost give myself whiplash, I see none other than Goldilocks standing in Hunter’s doorway, two coffees in hand.

  The first thing I notice is how incredibly gorgeous she is. Like not just pretty, but so beautiful it makes grown men cry. She’s wearing a simple white summer dress, but nothing can look simple on her. Maybe she and Hunter can star together on the cover of Vogue, summer edition.

  My fingers curl into fists, but I ignore the urge to kill and destroy, and rip out her long golden hair, strand by strand.

  “Hi. Mary, right?”

  She knows my fucking name. Don’t act coy. But I nod with a stiff upper lip smile. “Yes, and you’re Karen, right?” Childish and completely immature, but I can’t acknowledge her because that will mean she’s here, in Hunter’s office, liable to drop to her knees and suck him off.

  “It’s Keira,” she corrects with a small smile. The minor details don’t count. What does count is why is she here?

  I know she was his “date,” but I didn’t think they were actually a thing. I think the better phrasing here however would be I had hoped they weren’t. I feel like a complete loser for coming here, expecting what exactly, I don’t know, but I most definitely was not expecting to be the third wheel, and that’s what I am.

  She has two coffees—one for him and one for her, because that’s what people in relationships do. They bring their partner coffee.

  Trent has never brought me coffee, which is sad on all counts, considering we work together, waiting tables. But we’re not in a relationship, hence the no caffeine at work, or any place. I brought him to dinner because I knew Hunter wouldn’t be alone. I couldn’t sit there and watch him fawn over some bimbo while I fantasized about writhing beneath him as I screamed out his name.