The Hunter (Boston Belles, #1)

by L.J. Shen

I looked up at him: a beautiful, unexpected curse, sweet poison dripping from petals onto my tongue.

Hunter turned to look at me. “Why am I feeling mildly uncomfortable and seriously turned on that you’ve been here before and know shit about spying?” I laughed. “I was with my dad.” “The respectable businessman,” he taunted. I shrugged, keeping my face straight. “That’s the one.”

“Fuck, you are easy to rattle. Your ass is so mine for the next five months.” “Get away from me.” But my words lacked conviction. They were empty, hollow, wispy. “Submit, prey,” he growled darkly. “Fight harder for it, Hunter.” “I’ll swallow you whole.”

Adults were trash.

The apartment felt extra empty without her.

“Were you using her bra as glasses?” Sailor inquired dispassionately.

“Fine. Run. You have three seconds.”

Enter Player 2. “I hunt you down and fuck you hard. Not deal-related. Call it hare coursing.” “Excuse me?” “That’s the point, baby. You’re excused. Unless you don’t want to be. In which case, you run, I chase. Get out if you’re not game. Three.”

“Two. Leave.”

He was a lonely prince—untouchable, yet in need of a hug. Brilliant, yet deeply misunderstood. Sitting on a throne of broken expectations and disappointment.

“This is happening. It is happening, and you’re frightened. It’s happening, and I’m not a part of your carefully laid-out plan. You don’t know if you have the endurance, or the guts to see this through when it’s time to say goodbye.”

“You can survive this,” he whispered into my mouth. “This?” I groused. “Us. I have a glass soul, baby. Pretty to look at, but it breaks easily, can make you bleed, and nobody gets attached to it.”

He is not going to be here to kiss it better when he dumps you after the deal is over.

“See, baby? One-hundred-percent domesticated. I may be a hunter, Sailor, but I think in your case, I’d like to keep you as a temporary pet.”

Also, you’re welcome for the protein shot.”

I wasn’t at risk of falling in love. Famous last words.

The only person he looked at was me.

Something in the air changed when our eyes met, and I wondered if my friends felt it, too—the way the oxygen sizzled and crackled around us, a bonfire gaining body and speed and heat. His lips parted, and the entire room sucked in a breath, save for Aisling. There was just something magnetic and animalistic about Hunter’s presence.

“I’d like to cash in on our deal now,” he said simply, still ignoring the rest of the girls, ...

The deal: “full-blown, second-base, tit-sucking, dick-groping makeout. Oh, and I get to rub you off.” Those were his w...

“As you can see, I’m hanging out w...

“As you can see…”

“I don’t give a flying fuck.”

I shot him a courteous smile. “You can wait.” “Or they can go,” he countered. “A deal is a deal, and I may be a bad businessman, but like every Fitzpatrick, I don’t take lightly to being fucked over.”

“I love my brother dearly. He is actually a terrific person when you get to know him. People judge him by the headlines he makes, but I know him as the guy who comes visiting every holiday with presents and hugs and funny stories about his life. But…Sailor, he is a player. He makes you think you’re the center of his world without even meaning to, then disappears when he gets bored and tired of you. And he always gets bored and tired of women. I’ve seen him parading no less than twenty-three dates in the years he studied in California. He brought a new girl home each vacation—sometimes going through them in the course of hours, like they were underwear. I will never tell my parents about you two. It is not my business to tell. However…”

“All I’m saying is, remember it’s just for the time being. I’d like to think that one day, Hunter will find his lobster. But at nineteen, it’s unlikely it will be anytime soon.”

“Lobsters don’t mate for life,”

“Sorry, but Friends isn’t the most reliable source for general knowledge. Phoebe, in particular, always seemed like a loose cannon to me. Anyway, lobsters do not, in fact, mate for life. Actually, the dominant male lobster mates with an entire harem of female lobsters in a series of flings that lasts approximately two weeks. Basically, lobsters are not like swans or penguins. They are not monogamous. They are the douchebags of the animal kingdom—the ones who vomit into people’s shoes during frat parties after losing bets and own several Instagram accounts. If there ever were an animal deserving of being boiled alive, shrieking in horror, to atone for its sins, it would be the lobster. Not that I absolve this kind of behavior toward lobsters. They, too, are people, after all.”

“So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, Hunter is a lobster. I know that. Rest assured, Aisling, if I ever found myself in a state of temporary insanity and decided to take your brother as a lover, I would be sure to remember he is not the marrying kind.”

“Snap, bitch. You caught feelings for him.”

“Poor Sailor. This is beyond curable. Did you hear that monologue? She is legit a goner.” “Lost cause.” Aisling nodded gravely,

“Hunter Fitzpatrick, what are your intentions with my virtue?” I looked up, asking for the first time in a real, straightforward fashion. He smirked down at me. “Funny you should ask, Miss Brennan. I’m afraid I’m going for complete destruction.”

He was my self-medication. My alcohol. My cocaine. My un-prescribed ADHD pill, designed to enhance my emotional performance.

“Are we okay?” He sloped his chin down. It was we again.

“I know we made a deal, Hunter, but I don’t know if I can do this again.” “Do what?” “Kiss you. Suck you off. Have your mouth on me. As you said, this is temporary, and I don’t know how you’re going to walk out of this, but if I’m being honest with myself, I think I might get hurt if I let it go further. I’m that type of girl.”

“What type is that?” “The one who gets attached.” “You’re stronger than getting attached to the likes of me.” “I am strong, yes. But being strong doesn’t mean never getting hurt. It means having a h...

“Is that why you changed your hair? Got a new wardrobe? Because you don’t want us to continue doing this?” he asked evenly.

“Maybe I wanted to impress you. But you shouldn’t let me.” “Too late,” he said, reaching for his towel and throwing it into my hands. “But if that’s what you want, I respect that.”

I just want to share something my father once told me. He said if you love someone, and they love you, there’s no point taking offense in what they say or do to you, because they never mean you harm, anyway. And if you don’t love someone, if you don’t care about them, then there’s no point in taking offense in what they say or do to you, because you don’t care about them. Either way—” “You don’t get offended,” I finished.

“I thought my ears were failing me.” “Nope. Just your panties. Get rid of them.”

“Do you speak Latin, Cillian?” I asked, taking a bite of my steak.

“A fair amount. Any particular reason you’d care?” He popped a piece of steak into his mouth.

“I was wondering if the word jerk derives from the Latin word jealousy. Thought you could shed some light regarding that.” I smiled sweetly, cocking my head to look at him.

“Do you think you’re clever, Miss Brennan?”

“Not a genius by any means, but I get by with my perfectly adequate, average IQ.” Another mocking smile touched my lips. “I’d ask you the same question, but I already know the answer. You think you’re the smartest person in the room.”

Your baby brother sits at 147 points, which marks him as a literal genius. Yours is merely 139. Still above average, but no 147. Now tell me, Cillian, is your math as good as your Latin?” I blinked innocently.

“I just want you to know one thing.” I pointed at Gerald, feeling my eyes narrow into slits. “When I agreed to this arrangement, I thought I was helping a loving dad guide his son back to the right path. But you’re not loving, and honestly? You’re barely even a dad. You’re a patronizing, bigheaded schmuck. You have no right to be mad at Hunter for turning to booze and sex with random people. He never seems to get any love where he needs it the most—his family. Whatever failure you see in him, be sure to know a big slice of it is your own.”

“The prince is not going to save you, aingeal dian. He is stuck in his castle, fighting his own battle. Are you ready to step out of your comfort zone and live?” he asked, almost brokenly. I’d never seen him so bare, so raw. “You have to let life touch you. Drown a little with me, baby.”

“If I freeze you in friend-zone winter, will you run for my heat, or stay content with your useless little wings?”

“You are my butterfly, Sailor. And maybe I’m not Gerald’s flesh and blood, but make no mistakes—when I finally catch you, I intend to capture you, too.”