Hidden Play: The Return 《COMPLETE》

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Have you ever heard people blame a bad decision on alcohol? 'I just had too much to drink.' Or 'I would have never done that sober.' Well, it's true. Your inhibitions are lowered, and your worries become a dull throb instead of a sharp ache. You do things you normally wouldn't. Or, for me, do things I normally shouldn't.

In this case, it's rebounding from my ex with a man I barely know mere hours after our breakup. Pseudo-breakup? Whatever.

Hunter guides me to the guest room in Evan's home. I'm not sure how we score the spare room while Casper and Brad are stuck with the couch, but hey – I'm not complaining. Hunter nudges the door closed with his elbow, effectively shutting out Evan's sex moans and Brad's loud laughter.

If it wasn't for the half dozen beers and two shots of vodka, I might feel awkward in the silence. But, as it stands, I bask in it. To enjoy the feeling of being buzzed without having to keep up with all of Brad's stories and Evan's questions.

Hunter tugs his shirt off and hangs it on the back of the desk chair. I have no shame admitting that I openly stare at him, admiring the lines of lean muscle roping his stomach. Hell yea. Come to Papa. The tattoo I was eyeing earlier climbs all the way up his bicep and spills onto his chest. The entire piece is a scene of a demon chasing an untouchable angel. Her wingspan consumes every inch of his chest and cascades down his torso. It sounds lame to say it's breathtaking, but it is.

At first glance, this guy looks rough. Sure, he's got a nice face, but his whole 'fuck off' demeanor gets in the way. His stance is intimidating, too - tall and tense, like he's bracing himself for a fight. Who knows? Maybe he is.

And unlike the guys on the team, whose wardrobes look like a sports commercial threw up in their closets, Hunter's clothes have no labels. His style is simple and clean, while his accessories give him a slight edge. He wears it well. Maybe too well.

"You getting a good look?"

I lazily draw my gaze away from Hunter's stomach and silence my nonsensical thoughts. He's smirking, and my stomach tightens in angst. It reminds me of the way Zion looks at me. Looked at me.

"I'm trying to," I respond, not missing a bit and refusing to feel any remorse about it.

What else did he expect? Taking his shirt off and looking the way he does in front of a drunk, gay guy? Behind closed doors? Ha - yea, he knew what he was getting into.

Hunter smirks and faces me, head on. He brings his hands to his belt buckle and starts undoing it, slowly. My pulse quickens, the blood surging into my ears...among other places. I know what he wants from me, and I want it too. Don't I?

Guilt gnaws away at my insides. I ended things with Zion, if there was anything to end at all. Granted, doing it through text was lame as hell, but what other choice did I have? To spend yet another miserable night being ignored and having (what's left of) my self-confidence slip away into oblivion?

No. I'm done with that.

And I'm done with him.

The internal statement makes my intestines twist in denial. The problem is, I don't want to be done with him. I'm crazy about that idiot. Why isn't he as crazy about me? I just – I don't get it.

Hunter clears his throat, and my eyes snap back to his face. His smirk becomes an understanding smile. He stops undressing and moves around the bed, sliding in beside me. He doesn't try to fuck me. He doesn't even try and kiss me. He simply slips his arm around my back, pulling me against him.