It cut through the air swiftly and landed on a double bullseye.
I gaped, dumbfounded. “Excuse me, what?”
Behind me, I could feel his chest vibrating with a low chuckle. “I told you that I’m an excellent shot.”
I thought he was being pompous about his aim. I didn’t think he’d actually hit double bullseye on the first try. I mean, come on, who getsthatlucky? I guess it was naïve of me to assume otherwise. Hunter was a star quarterback. Of course he’d be a skilled marksman.
I was plagued with the knowledge that he’d win, I’d lose, and he’d walk out of here with more of my secrets than I with his. Not fair.
“Fine. I’ll get you back.” I harrumphed and picked up a dart, squinting with concentration. As if I was going to hit bullseye next. Hah. “Just so you know, I will win.”
“I’m sure you will.” Hunter smiled around the champagne bottle’s rim and took a swig. “What does the winner get?”
“Bragging rights.” My voice came out breathy when he slid his hand over my waist and let it rest underneath my belly button. “A-are you trying to distract me so I miss?”
He grinned roguishly. “Is it working?”
Yes, goddammit. “No.”
His answer was to steal a kiss and turn my face towards the dartboard wall. “Go ahead. Shoot. Show me what you got.”
I tsked. “I don’t like men telling me what to do.”
“Good. No one should be bossing you around.” His voice purred against the side of my neck before he started layering his kisses along my sensitive column, pressing them into my skin with the softness of a feather. “Except for me. You love it when I tell you what to do, hm?”
I closed my eyes, enjoying the brush of his warm mouth. “You’re my exception, Hunt.”
His sharp intake of breath conveyed his contentment. “And you’re mine, Gabby.”
I liked that we were each other’s exceptions.
Carefully raising my arm, I angled my head to better gauge my shot and threw my dart. It sailed straight into a single. My shoulders sagged. Bummer. “All right. Ask me a question.”
There was a beat of hesitation. I glanced over my shoulder. A grim press of his mouth welcomed me. “Tell me…something about your ex. Something that you disliked about him.”
My face scrunched up slightly. Talking about Franco was never fun.
Hunter was about to learn that he was a million times the man my ex could ever be.
“All right.” I gathered my thoughts and Hunter waited patiently. “Well, I met Franco when we were kids. He lived down the street from my childhood home and we grew up together. One year into us dating, I saw sides of him I never saw before when we were just friends. It’s like high school and his familial issues changed him—brought out the worst in his character. He…He used to be the nicest guy I knew and then over the course of three years, he became verbally abusive and an emotional cheater. In his mind, I think I morphed from the girlfriend he was supposed to love to a fictitious punching bag.” I laughed humourlessly. Hunter stiffened. “He started flirting with other girls while we were still in a relationship. When I called him out on it, the manipulative asshole accused me of being needy and imagining things. He also had the tendency to take all his anger out on me. Never physically, but his verbal jabs hurt the same. Anything that went wrong in his life—a bad grade, a bad game, a bad day, he found a way to make it my fault.” I sighed. “All I ever wanted was to love and support him. And you know what I got in return? Franco hurting me, bruising my pride, and calling me a whore. He said my only redeeming qualities were my pussy and blowjob skills.”
“Gabby,” Hunter choked out, his arms tightening around me. “I’m so fucking sorry. No one is allowed to call you a whore. No one is allowed to hurt you. You didn’t deserve it. Tell me you know that.Please.”
“I know,” I whispered into the stillness of the room. I must be progressing in my healing journey since recounting this story didn’t fill me with pain.
I was okay.
Franco no longer had any sway on me and that was extremely liberating.
Hunter laid a shaky kiss to the crown of my head as I said, “You know what pisses me off the most in this entire ordeal?”
“Tell me.” His voice was barely above a snarl.
My breath hitched in my throat at his furious expression. Fury onmybehalf. It made me even more tender for him. “Franco used to shit on my reading tastes all the time. Said I was a loser for reading romance books because they gave women unrealistic expectations for love. During one of our fights, he went as far as yanking out all my favourite books from my shelves, cracking their spines and ripping out the pages. Basically damaging them beyond repair. I cried myself to sleep that night.”
One of my biggest regrets was allowing Franco to treat me like shit for as long as he did. I should have put my foot down and stood up for myself much earlier. It was like my kindness and love allowed him to forget who I truly was—the owner of a loaded gun.
Franco also forgot that he was dating the daughter of a mob man and sometimes I wish I’d tied his scrawny ass to a chair and played Russian roulette with him, just to watch him pee his pants. Fuckingstronzo. Why did he have to come back to my city? Why couldn’t he just rot in hell?
