“Don’t plants like it better at night?” I respond, and bite my lower lip. Why does that sound dirty? I think I really do have some energy that has nowhere to go.
“Yes, but… what’s the deal? You don’t usually do them.”
I pause. My throat tightens. I don’t want to tell him what’s going on with Keith. Not yet. Not until I know what it means.
“I just thought they looked thirsty,” I say.
He gives me a soft smile and pulls me into a hug.
“I just worry about you being outside so late.”
“I’m fine, Daddy.”
Later, as I lie in bed, trying to will myself to sleep, Hunter Holloway drifts into my mind.
I try not to let him in.
But the more I push him out, the more he lingers.
WhyHunter?
Maybe it’s his eyes. The way he looked at me. Ate me up like he didn’t care who was watching.
Like he alreadyknewhow I tasted.
Just the thought makes my body buzz.
Okay,nope. I amnotgetting turned on by a guy my father would probably kill if I ever spoke to him.
Still... I’m tempted to search for him. Just a quick peek at his Reels. Nothing serious. Just curiosity.
But that feels stalker-ish. I don’t do that kind of thing.
Instead, I kick off the covers and head downstairs to the living room, hot and restless.
I turn on the TV, volume low.
SportsCenter is still on.
Of course.
The feature segment?
“Hunter Holloway: NFL’s Newest Sensation?”
I drop onto the couch, stunned.
The reporter is talking, but I’m not listening to a word. The screen cuts to locker room footage. Hunter grinning. Shirtless. Flexing like it’s just another day.
He’s… ripped.
Okay, understatement. He’s obscene. He could quit football today and doarm pornfor a living. Or sell cutting board rights to his abs. Hell, maybe both.
I stare a second too long. Then switch off the TV, because clearly the universe is trying to mess with me.
Or maybe I’m just spiraling.
I head back to bed.
