by Beth Michele
Clicking on the Facebook icon, I log on for a daily dose of stalking. Mischief mixed with curiosity overtakes me, and I type Hunter’s name into the search area to see if he has a Facebook account. Several Hunter Graysons come up, but not one of them matches.
I close my laptop and lean back against the pillows, but that darn curiosity to know more about him is niggling at me. Pulling the computer back over, I open it up and go to Google, typing in his name, completely unprepared for what I find. Picture after picture pops up: Hunter in business suits, tuxedos, women hanging all over him—blondes, brunettes, redheads—lips touching his cheek, his hand, his mouth. What the hell? My teeth sink into my lip, all my old insecurities rushing to the surface. My eyes dart back and forth, continuing to scan headings, attempting to make sense of all this. “Hunter Grayson,” I read aloud, “CEO of Emperon Software steps out for charity.” CEO? He told me he was a developer. I don’t understand why he didn’t just tell me the truth. I couldn’t care less what he does for a living. But if he lied about his job, then he very well could have lied about those women. One thing is certain. I can’t compete with droves of other women. I won’t.
My skin crawls at the realization that his hands and mouth were all over me after they’ve been all over God knows how many others. After all, who knows how long Sean had been screwing Kimberly before I found out about it. I refuse to be one of countless women again. Jesus. I’m so naïve. To think I actually liked him, opened up to him in a way I haven’t been able to with anyone else. Thought that maybe—no, I’m not going there. Maybe is for suckers, and I’m tired of being a sucker. I might as well plaster a sign across my forehead.
I slam my computer shut, not wanting to see anymore. My pulse is racing. And while the rational side of my brain knows that I have no right to feel betrayed and hurt by someone I just met yesterday, it doesn’t stop the tightness in my throat. My head does a slow, disbelieving shake as I stare at all the lingerie, before I square my shoulders, hold my chin high, and pull myself together.
After allowing myself another minute to wallow, I shrug on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I collect my dirty clothes and toss them in the suitcase, scanning the room to make sure I’m not forgetting anything. The lingerie is scattered on the bed, and one by one, I gather it up, walk over to the bathroom, and stuff it in the garbage.
I won’t be needing it.
I shove my laptop back in my briefcase and yank my cell phone from my purse, checking the train schedules back to New York. It looks like the last one leaves in about an hour, which gives me just enough time.
There’s a notepad with the hotel name sitting on the small table by the door. I contemplate leaving Hunter a note, but what would I say? You’re a liar?
Exactly.
I paid for the room until tomorrow so I’ll ask them to leave the note on the door, hoping to twist the knife a little bit, because he deserves it. He probably won’t care, though. He’s got a deluge of other women waiting to take my place. Nausea rolls around my stomach, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of getting sick over this—he’s just not worth it.
Digging through the clutter in my purse, I manage to find a pen and a stray piece of tape attached to an old card. I fold the paper in half, scrawling his name on the outside. On the inside, I write: I don’t do liars.
With steady fingers, I tape it to the outside of the door, and then walk away without looking back.
Chapter Ten
~Hunter~
“I can’t believe I’m actually letting you do this now, it’s nearly midnight,” I tell Rex as he sets up all the ink and needles on the table.
“That’s what happens when you drink beer and do shots. You lose your mind,” he taunts, chuckling, and I roll my eyes at him.
“This is going to hurt isn’t it?” I’m already wincing and the needle hasn’t even touched me yet.
“Jesus, Hunter, don’t be such a pussy.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I reply, watching as he cleans my wrist with a pad of rubbing alcohol, then shaves the fine hairs there, before cleansing it again. He applies some ointment to my skin then picks up the needle. That’s when I turn my head.
“Do your worst,” I instruct, and he laughs. “Oh, and don’t laugh. I don’t want you screwing this up.”
“Shut up and let me work.”
I’m not sure how many minutes go by because I’ve kept my eyes closed the entire time. Although, it hasn’t really hurt all that much.
“There,” he says, pride filling his voice, “all done. You can look now, chickenshit.”
I twist my head back around, my jaw dropping and my heart warming at the same time. Tyler’s name in thick, black script surrounds my wrist. “I fucking love it.”
“Good, because it’s permanent.” He pauses, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Seriously though, man,” he adds, nodding his head, “this would make him proud.”
“Thanks.”
He wraps up my wrist with a bandage and I smile. Autumn’s words ring true. Now I really am carrying him with me every day.
My palms are sweaty, knee bouncing endlessly as the taxi driver takes his sweet time getting to the hotel. It’s a ten minute ride, yet it feels like it’s taking forever. Even though it’s only been a few hours, I can’t wait until morning. I’m anxious to see Autumn, to hold her, to kiss her. I’m especially excited to show her my tattoo, to let her know how much she inspired me.
I rub my hands down my pant legs a few times, attempting to steady my breathing. This is ridiculous. We just saw each other, but for some reason, I’m nervous. I’m looking forward to hearing her laugh. That sounds asinine, I know.
The driver lets me off in front of the hotel. I don’t have exact change, but when a twenty gets slapped into his hand, he doesn’t complain. As soon as the car door slams, I hesitate to say that I run into the hotel. It’s more like a jog—an exceptionally quick one.
I’m willing the elevator to ascend faster but it isn’t complying. This has to be the slowest elevator in history. By the time I reach Autumn’s floor, there’s a strange feeling rolling around in my stomach.
It’s not butterflies because guys don’t get those.
As I get closer to her door, I smile. There’s a note taped to it, making me grin wider. I rip it off and open it, the smile dropping off of my face as quickly as it arrived.
I don’t do liars.
Shit.
I clamp my eyes closed, exhaling a harsh breath. “Shit!” I shout, earning me a dirty look from an elderly woman walking out of her room. With a tight fist, I bang on the door a couple of times. “Autumn. It’s Hunter. Open up. I want to talk to you. I need to explain.” When there’s no response, I try again. “God damn it!”
Pent-up adrenaline courses through my veins, my only release the wall in front of me. I punch it hard, then shake my hand out and wince when the pain sets in.
“Fuck!”
I’m pissed at her for not letting me explain, but mostly I’m angry with myself for being dishonest. How the hell did she find out? It doesn’t matter now. I have to fix it. I’ll camp out here and wait. Then she’ll have no choice but to hear me out.
I head down to the lobby, taking a seat on one of the leather couches, when I realize it’s the middle of the night and it will be hours before she leaves. An idea strikes me. Maybe I can get them to let me into her room. It’s a long shot but worth a try. I saunter over to the front desk, hoping my charm will work in my favor.
“Excuse me, beautiful,” I compliment the attractive blonde behind the counter. “I was visiting a friend earlier this evening and left something in her room. I’m wondering if you can let me in?” I bite the inside of my lip as I wait for her answer.
“I’m sorry, sir, we’re not allowed to do that, but if you give me her name, I’ll call up to her room to see if she’s in.”
I huff out an irritated sigh, which gets me nowhere. “Her name is Autumn Winters.”
“Ok
ay, hang on just a second.” She goes to her computer and types something on the keyboard before coming back rather swiftly. “I’m sorry sir, but she already checked out.”
“She what?”
“She checked out of the hotel already.”
I drop my head in my hands, contemplating what to do now. “Okay, thanks.”
There are a couple of taxis out front and I snag one, texting Rex to let him know I’m on my way back over. I guess it’s too much to hope the elevator’s been fixed this quickly. I’m not in the mood to climb stairs.
My mind races through various scenarios, a dull ache gnawing at my stomach. My knuckles sting from my aggressive encounter with the wall, but shit, I deserve it. I should’ve trusted Autumn enough to tell her, to know she wasn’t like all those other women. But then again, I didn’t even know her that well so how could I trust her? There’s an incessant tapping on my shoulder and a voice telling me that it doesn’t matter. I should’ve told her the truth. I fucked up.
“You fucked up, bro,” Rex states flatly, taking a handful of potato chips, stuffing them in his mouth, the crumbs falling to the floor.
“Thanks for telling me what I already know.”
“Why did you lie to her anyway? Why not tell her the truth?” he pipes back, brushing the remnants off his jeans.
The truth? Now there’s a novel concept. What would I know of the truth? I had the worst teacher in the world when it came to that—my mother. But it’s no excuse. I may be my mother’s son, but I’m damn sure not my mother.
“I don’t know. I guess I wanted her to like me, for me,” I answer honestly, opening the fridge, pulling out the orange juice container.
“That sounds a bit like high school melodrama,” he jokes, as I pour a glass of juice. “How old are you?”
“Funny.”
He crinkles up the empty chip bag, hurling it into the garbage. “So, just find her and tell her the truth. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
“Yeah. I have to look her up. I didn’t even get her cell phone number so I don’t know how to contact her. I’m sure I can do an internet search. Actually, I think I’ll start that now.”
“Geez, fucking anxious much?” he taunts, “I hope you have broadband because I don’t have wireless here.”
“Yeah, I’ve got broadband.” I walk back out to the living room, retrieve my laptop, and then plant myself on the sofa, hiking my legs up on the trunk that serves as a coffee table.
Almost a half-hour later, I haven’t found anything. “This is ridiculous.” I shoot Rex a look as he’s flipping stations with the remote. “I can’t find any listings for Autumn on Google, just links for her books. There are a couple of Autumns on Facebook, but none of them are her. Shit.”
“She’s a writer?” He clicks the remote off to give me his undivided attention.
“Yeah.”
“What does she write?”
“Erotic romance,” I reply, staring down at the screen, searching for addresses in New York.
“Oh shit, she writes porn? You hit the mother-load.” He grins, pitching a dark brow in the air.
“No, it’s nothing like that. Anyway, I can’t find Autumn Winters anywhere,” I complain frustrated, typing a couple more search strings into Google.
“Autumn Winters?”
“Yeah.”
He cocks his head to the side, scrutinizing me. “Bro, that sounds like a stage name.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh man, I thought you were smarter than that. Going to Harvard and shit. You’ve been hoodwinked.”
“Hoodwinked? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before. What the hell do you mean?”
He shakes his head, chuckling. “Bro. That doesn’t sound like someone’s real name.”
“What?” It takes me a second to process his words when the realization hits me, a thousand bricks being dropped on my head simultaneously. “Fuck.” I fling myself off the couch, rubbing the back of my neck, pacing back and forth over the green, stained carpet.
“Yep. If there was ever a time for you to drop the F-bomb, it would be now.”
I scrape a rough hand through my hair. “Christ. How the hell am I going to find her now?”
“Well, you’re going to have to hope she comes looking for you.”
“Yeah, right.”
Chapter Eleven
~Olivia~
The lock clicks on the door, opening to the sight of Vanessa and Charlie sitting on the couch watching television. She looks up from her bowl of popcorn, a smile of surprise lighting her hazel eyes before her lips flop into a frown.
“Jesus, who died?”
“Good to see you, too,” I retort, as Charlie bounds off the sofa, tail wagging, attacking me with a bout of sloppy kisses.
At least he’s happy to see me.
She clicks the off button on the remote, tossing it on the table. “Sorry, but you look like hell. I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow afternoon. It’s almost one a.m. What happened?”
I kneel down beside Charlie, hugging and patting him on his favorite spot below his belly. “It’s a long story.”
“Well….” She winks, hopping off the couch. “Lucky for you I don’t have any place I need to be. Leave your stuff. Let’s go to Heavenly Lattes. They’re still open for another hour.”
We link arms, say goodbye to Charlie, and walk out to the elevators. When we arrive in the lobby, Henry, the doorman for my building, addresses us with a nod of his head.
“Evening, Miss Vanessa, Miss Olivia.”
“Good evening, Henry,” we greet in unison, giving him a small wave as we stroll by.
It’s actually a beautiful night, and typically, I’d be marveling at all the passers-by, the bright lights, the stars in the sky. Even though I’ve been here a while, it never gets old for me. But tonight, I don’t feel very appreciative, and I certainly don’t feel like smiling.
“Okay,” Vanessa sends out into the air, “you’re awfully quiet. Are you waiting to spill it until we get our coffee? Needing your fix first?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, whoever he is, he’s really gotten under your skin. That’s pretty obvious.”
“How do you know it involves a he?” I protest, although I know she sees right through me. She has the gift of psychic ability where I’m concerned. “Yeah, I need my coffee first.” I sigh heavily, and she gives my arm a supportive squeeze.
As we round the corner, the red neon sign flashes above Heavenly Lattes, our neighborhood coffee house. This is where Vanessa and I met seven years ago, and we’ve been hanging out here ever since.
The scent of coffee beans and warm cinnamon welcomes us when we walk inside. I breathe in through my nose, the aroma serving to calm me, at least for the moment. The dim recessed lighting combined with muted green, burgundy and gold colors are both relaxing and inviting. Trent, the owner of the shop, waves us in and gets busy making our drinks. He doesn’t even have to ask. We’re that predictable. Vanessa goes over to snag us a booth, while I hover over the selection of doughnuts at the counter.
“Hey, Olivia, what can I get you, sweetheart?” Trent salutes with a friendly smile, my stomach dropping to the ground in response. Suddenly I’m not very hungry anymore.
“I’m good, thanks. Just looking,” I answer, then stalk off to the booth, sulking.
Vanessa puts her hands on her hips as I slide in next to her. “All right, I’ve had enough. You look like hell. It’s time to pay the piper and tell me what’s going on.”
“Well,” I start, flipping my hair around my finger, staring down at the table, “I met someone.”
“Yes, I got that much. Go on.”
“He was beautiful and hot as hell, funny, and…,” I glance to my left and to my right, before whispering, “his cock was magnificent.”
She leans in close to my ear. “You do realize you write erotic romance novels, right? It’s okay to talk about cocks out loud.”
&n
bsp; I pinch her arm, tossing a sharp stare her way. “Yes, I know, but no one else does.”
“Okay, let’s get back to the cock. I need a bit more detail on that.” She giggles, finally making me smile.
“He did dirty things to me on the train, and I seriously liked it. In the hotel room, too. Oh, and he talked dirty, and I found myself liking that, too. Remember with Sean—” I stick my finger in my mouth making a gagging noise “—he would always tell me he was ‘gonna put it in.’ Ugh,” I wince, “It was nothing like that.” I shrug my shoulders, my throat sore as I say the words. “I was starting to really like him.”
“Okay, so I’m still not getting why you’re so upset. He sounds amazing,” she says just as Trent brings our drinks over, his light brown hair flapping against his green eyes.
“All right, beautiful ladies. One caramel latte for you, Olivia, and one mochachino for you, Vanessa.” He places our drinks on the table, adding two cider doughnuts to the mix. “On the house.” He winks, before traipsing back behind the register.
“He’s pretty cute. I think you should go out with him,” I suggest, taking a sip of my latte, the warm liquid gliding down my throat.
“He is cute,” she comments, “but he’s rather run of the mill. You know I like my men to stand out from the crowd. Anyway, you’re distracting me. We were talking about you.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Yeah.” She nudges my shoulder, but I take a quick bite of the doughnut before continuing.
“Well, I started to really like him, but I found out he was lying to me.”
“What do you mean?” She swirls her straw around her drink, confusion marring her brow.