Page 66 of Hard to Handle

When will the things I do ever be good enough to outrun the clusterfuck of emotions that have been running rampant over the past few months?

It’s simpler to down the first shot of gin. To focus on the burn instead of the argument I had with my mom and the disinterest and then criticism from my dad. From the words I wanted to shout at them—that I’m still alive and still their son, and isn’t that enough?

But I know why they are how they are.

I know why our lives have all changed.

I know that I’m the one who set forward the events that caused all of this.

The second shot I swallow in one gulp burns just as bright as the first.

Thoughts of Dekker fill my head. I can’t get them out. Not her before. Especially not her now.

Her presence is torture. It’s showing me something I thought I wanted. Something I forced myself to walk away from because I knew I didn’t deserve her.

And just when everything is turning to shit, she’s back again. A sinner and a saint, and fuck if I know which one of those parts of her I’d love to drown in.

You’re a piece of shit, Hunter.

I think of the words I spewed at her.

Grade-A piece of shit.

Not like that’s anything you didn’t already know, but now you can’t deny it.

The accusations I made just so she wouldn’t look too closely or see the truths about me.

Hockey player. Royal fuck-up. Commitment-phobe. The reason Jonah’s dying.

I scrub a hand through my hair and down the third shot in as many minutes, landing the glass back on the bar top with a slap for emphasis.

Fucking Dekker.

I shake my head but she’s still there, still owning my thoughts, still making me want her.

But she’s here.

And I think she’s recruiting someone.

But who?

Me? She’s ballsy enough to make that kind of move without a blink of an eye.

Maybe the rumors are true that Sanderson is fucking people over. It’s not like he’s doing me any favors right now.

Would I move over to KSM? Would I let Dekker represent me? Her track record’s phenomenal . . . so why is it people are jumping ship to Sanderson? What exactly is he promising these new clients that us old ones aren’t seeing?

The question is, if she represents me, how is it going to work when I sleep with her? Because I am going to sleep with her again.

That was a forgone conclusion the minute I saw her standing in Tank’s last week.

And with her by-the-book attitude, I’m going to enjoy every damn minute of bending her to my will.

I chuckle to myself and look around, catching the eye of a blonde at the end of the bar. Tall, nice rack, good smile, come fuck me eyes.

She’d do for the night.

But Dekker would be so much better. We may be oil and water, but between the sheets, hell, we’re a goddamn masterpiece.