Secret Identity ▶▶A Hunter Hayes Fanfiction◀◀

7

Joslyn’s P.O.V.

When I told Hunter that I don’t like foreign foods, I meant it. I only ever eat American foods, and lasagne is Italian. Not American. To be somewhat polite, I cut it up, and when no one’s looking, I stuff it into my sweatshirt pocket and pretend to chew and swallow.

It’s weird and awkward enough to be very underdressed, but what makes it worse is that Hunter is watching my every move. For example, if I take a drink of my water, his eyes fall on me from the movement. It’s difficult trying to pretend to eat the food. I think Jennifer’s starting to notice Hunter’s strange behavior at my every movement, but she doesn’t say anything about it. She does talk a lot about touring Europe with Hunter last year, however. She then starts rambling on about different cosmetic things and the entire time I have to keep reminding myself to not fall asleep.

When she asks me about my career, I simply shrug. “I’m a salesperson, if you want to call it that.”

She nods. “Well, what do you do?”

“Sell things.”

Jennifer nods again, glancing at Hunter. His head is lowered so it looks like he’s looking at his plate at he eats, but his eyes are focused on me. Something in my head screams that he knows that I know what he tried to do earlier today. I bet Jennifer doesn’t even know about his attempt.

Under his scrutinizing and somewhat suspicious stare, I grow a little angry. He has the perfect life, yet he tries to commit suicide? Does he not know how fortunate he is? Or how loved? He has family, friends, fans, and a girlfriend. He is literally so stupid to just try and throw all of that away. I guess there could be a reason that no one sees, but I doubt it. Still, I shouldn’t be so hard on him.

“Well,” Jennifer says, “I’m a journalist for Nashville: Current.”

This gets my attention. “Cool. Tell me more.” I don’t ask her directly if she’s the Jennifer Realms, the writer of all the articles about me and how I should be off the streets.

Smiling at my cooperation, Jennifer does tell me more. “Let’s see. Um, I mostly write articles over this Little Birdie person. Perhaps you’ve read one?”

“Oh, I’ve read one,” I say, sitting back in my chair. This grabs Hunter’s attention. When Jennifer is occupied with taking a drink of her red wine, I shoot Hunter a look and mouth, “What’s your problem?”

Hunter clears his throat and sits back, taking a bite of his food. He looks away from me as if I wasn’t just communicating with him. I narrow my eyes, but then go back to normal when Jennifer sets her glass back down on the table.

She asks, “So, what are your views on Little Birdie?”

“What’re yours?”

Hunter rolls his eyes, but Jennifer doesn’t catch it. “I think that she is disrupting the peace-”

“By saving people and helping the community?” I ask, trying my best to sound innocent.

Jennifer purses her lips. Then, suddenly, she stands and wipes her hands off on her napkin. Hunter looks up at her, confused.

“Nope. I can’t.” She places her napkin down on the table before leaving the room. Hunter and I watch her as she disappears, shutting a door behind her. We’re silent.

I slowly turn my head and look at Hunter. He’s still focused on where his girlfriend just went, but when he feels my eyes on him, he turns. He just shrugs.

“Girls are complicated.”

“Agreed.” I hold up my glass of water and gulp down the rest of it. Wiping my mouth off with my sleeve, I stand, Hunter doing the same.

“You know I could’ve eaten that as leftovers, right?” Hunter smirks.

At first I have no idea what in the world he’s talking about, but then I realize that he’s looking at my sweatshirt pocket. I slip my hand into it and take out a piece of lasagna. “It’s your own fault.” I flick the piece at him, and he catches it. “I told you I don’t eat foreign foods.”  I pause, wanting to badly to ask Hunter if he’s okay or something about his attempt, but I can’t. First of all, it would give away my identity. Second, I can’t just casually bring it up.

So, without an exchange of anymore words, I leave.

Hunter’s P.O.V.

I quickly clean up what’s left of dinner and put away the dishes before following Jennifer into her room. She’s lying down on her bed, staring at her phone. She has replaced her red dress with wrinkle-free matching pajamas. She doesn’t look up at me as I sit on the edge of her bed.

“Jen? What’s wrong?”

She gives me a look. “Like you don’t know.” She scoffs, then turns back to her phone.

Growing frustrated and confused, I say, “I don’t know.” I lean closer to her. “Talk to me, please.”

She rolls her eyes. “Hunter, are you being serious? It’s not like I’m blind, alright? I saw you staring at her all dinner.” I don’t say anything about it being because of my conspiracy. She continues. “Plus, she doesn’t like my writing.  She doesn’t agree with my opinion. She totally ruined our entire dinner. She barely ate any of the lasagna I worked hard on. She was dressed like a poor person. She-”

“Not everyone has a private jet, you know,” I point out.

Jennifer scowls. “And you’re defending her know! Unbelievable!” She sits up, texting someone. I stand.

“What are you-”

“I’m texting Daniel to come pick me up.”

I frown. “Daniel? Do you mean your boss? And why do you have his number? Why are you texting him to come pick-”

Jennifer lets out a humorless laugh. “You are too gullible and oblivious, Hunter.” She shakes her head.

I feel tears spring up to my eyes. “What?” I whisper, fearing the worst.

Jennifer gets off her bed and stands in front of me. “We,” she says, motioning towards us. “are over.”

“B-but… why? Is there… is there someone else?” I stutter.

Jennifer gives me a duh look. “Wow, you’re slow. Daniel, Hunter. I’ve been seeing Daniel for months now.” I stand there, shocked and heartbroken. Jennifer walks around me. “I’m coming over tomorrow to get my things.” She gives me one last look before disappearing. “Don’t make it harder than it has to be, okay?”

For a few minutes, I just stand in the middle of her room, numb.

But then I collapse into a crying mess on her bed.