I saw it in his eyes the second he came home last night. As we were falling asleep, he asked me how it went. I said I’d sent the video to Pat, and Hunter kissed my head and said he was proud of me. Then, we said goodnight.
And now, as we walk down the street toward the French Quarter, he says, “When do you think you’ll hear?”
“Pat said it could be a while,” I say. “I honestly have no idea how long.” Not wanting to stay on the topic, I smile as I see where Hunter’s leading me. “Café du Monde again?”
“I thought you love that place.”
“I do. You know I do. It feels a little bit like it’s become our place.”
There’s been many a morning the last month and a half that Hunter and I have gone to Café du Monde for beignets.
Today, we luck out. The line isn’t as bad as usual, and before too long, we’re seated outside at a table with our breakfasts.
“God, I’ve missed beignets,” I say as I devour my food. “I literally could orgasm over these sugary treats.”
Hunter’s green eyes darken. “Really.” He holds up his hand for the check.
I grab at his hand. “Stop,” I say, laughing. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”
He grins. “I like seeing you happy, Win.”
I like being happy. Before coming home to New Orleans, it had been a long time since I’d woken up relaxed and actually looking forward to the day ahead. Lately, I’m actually getting out of bed with a smile on my face. And not just because Hunter got me off so good I can barely remember my life before we started having sex on the regular.
My smile slips when a woman approaches our table. Her attention is clearly fixed on Hunter, and she doesn’t acknowledge my presence at all.
“Hi, sugar,” she says to him. “Been a while.”
Hunter’s expression goes from relaxed and smiling to instantly on guard.
The other patrons don’t typically bother us while we’re actually eating. As we’re coming and going, Hunter will often get asked for a selfie or an autograph by a little kid or a teenager, and he always complies.
I’ve had some people recognize me as well, but ever since that first night out at the Riverway, I haven’t gotten stressed out about it. Maybe because I told Hunter the truth about New York. I also think it’s because I’m with him so much, and I get to see firsthand how well he handles having fans. His fans are a lot more diehard than mine, and yet he’s able to calm them down right away with a friendly word and a smile.
But this woman who’s standing at our table does not seem like a random fan. She’s got platinum-blond hair and is tall and thin. She could be beautiful if it weren’t for the fact that her tan is sprayed on, her makeup is way too thick, and she has a terrible vibe about her.
She’s solely focused on Hunter, and I could be mistaken, but it looks like they have a…um, history.
She places her perfectly-manicured hand with red nails on his arm. She does it in a possessive way, and then she angles her body to block my view of her face.
“How have you been? Lonely?” she purrs.
Hunter shoves his chair back to get some distance from her. “Not at all,” he says with an obvious look toward me.
That changes the energy swirling around the three of us. Now, this woman is forced to turn her head and actuallylookat his dining companion.
Whatever she sees doesn’t seem to concern her. She throws me a snide smile and then returns her attention to Hunter.
“Well, I’ve been lonely. Lonely for you,” she says, putting her hand back on Hunter’s arm.
This time, he reaches across the table and grabs my hand, which has been frozen in place with a fork in it this entire time.
I drop the fork and it clatters onto my plate, breaking the sudden silence.
“Hunt…” I start to say.
But he’s already talking. “Deb, meet Winter.”
Deb’s expression turns sour like she just ate a lemon. “She’s what’s keeping you warm at night?”
