The Boy on the Bridge

by Sam Mariano

  I grin, dropping my pen and pushing back my chair. “You caught me,” I say as I move to stand behind his chair and position my hands on his exceedingly sexy shoulders.

  Hunter opens a fresh document, then turns his head and looks up at me. “If you want to work out my tension, I have a few more ideas if this one doesn’t work.”

  “We’ll make a list,” I promise as I start to knead his shoulders. “After we’re finished with our homework, we can try out every last one of them.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Riley

  After Hunter finishes penning his murderous masterpiece and we both finish all of our homework, we get to work on dinner.

  Now aware that I have no wine expertise, he takes me down to show me the wine cellar, but doesn’t consult me as he picks out wine to go with dinner.

  Hunter is making a pasta dish. He says it’s simple to make since he’s using boxed pasta, but I want to help, so he throws some olive oil and seasoning into a bowl, then tells me to toss the grape tomatoes in and turn them over until they’re all thoroughly coated.

  “Would your Italian housekeeper approve of you using boxed pasta?” I inquire, glancing back at him over my shoulder as I coat the tomatoes in olive oil.

  Hunter smirks. “Probably not, especially with all this time we have on our hands. Boxed pasta is okay with her if you’re short on time and essentially desperate, but yeah, it’s always better if you make it homemade. Tomorrow night I’ll make you her famous chicken Alfredo. We’ll make fresh fettuccine for that.”

  I gasp. “You’re going to show me how to make pasta?”

  He turns around and slides his arms around my waist, nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck. “Mm-hmm. It’s only fair since you helped me kill Sherlock.”

  I shake my head, tossing the tomatoes again. “I didn’t approve of that, mister. Don’t mistake my help for encouragement. You shouldn’t kill your friends.” I miss a beat, but not long enough for him to latch onto this subject. “It’s nice that we can learn from each other, though. I like that.”

  He kisses my neck. “So do I.” He releases me and takes the bowl and spoon from my hands. “Those look adequately tossed. I’ll take it from here.”

  “That’s all I get to do?” I ask, turning around and watching him dump the tomatoes and the seasoned olive oil into the baking dish.

  “I told you, it’s a simple dish. Tastes delicious, though.”

  “I want to do more things.”

  Hunter puts the covered dish in the oven and sets the timer. “Tell you what, in 30 minutes, you can smash the tomatoes with a spoon. How’s that?”

  “Sold,” I say as he moves closer. My arms rise, wrapping around his neck as he moves into my embrace. “But whatever will we do for the next 30 minutes?”

  Hunter dips his head and kisses my jawline, locking his strong arms around my waist. “I have some ideas.”

  I close my eyes. “Mm, you have such good ideas.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” he murmurs, releasing me with one arm so he can reach behind me.

  I’m not sure what he’s reaching for, but as he continues to nuzzle and kiss me, I don’t think much about it until all of a sudden, music starts playing.

  The noise startles me, even though it’s lovely noise. I glance back uncertainly, looking at his phone on the counter.

  My gaze shifts back to him as he puts the tiniest bit of space between us and takes my hand, tugging it away from our bodies as he starts to move.

  My body naturally follows his, but I’m still somehow startled when I realize… we’re dancing.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, a bit blankly.

  “You can’t tell?” His eyes gleam with amusement as he smiles. “I must not be doing it right.”

  “Are we… dancing in the kitchen while dinner cooks?”

  “We are.”

  I want to object, but I don’t know why.

  His grip on my waist tightens and he pulls me closer. “We never got to finish our dance at homecoming,” he tells me.

  My heart flutters a bit. My stomach feels funny.

  This is so unexpected, and so incredibly romantic.

  I swallow, trying to push my heart back down into my chest. I try to relax, but I’ve never experienced a gesture like this. Dancing at homecoming is one thing. This is something else.

  “Interesting choice of music,” I murmur, unsure what else to say.

  Elvis serenades us. The song—Can’t Help Falling in Love—is very romantic—and very old.

  “My dad likes Elvis,” he tells me, much more at ease than I am. “He played his music a lot when I was in Italy, kind of introduced me to it.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  Hunter nods as we sway. “Yeah. I learned a lot from my dad.”

  I peer up at him, my body relaxing a little in his embrace. “Like what?”

  “You want a list?” he teases.

  I smile. “Maybe.”

  “I can’t give away all my secrets at once,” he says lightly.

  I roll my eyes. “Fine. Just tell me one thing you picked up from him.”

  Hunter considers for a couple of seconds, then he says, “My dad travels a lot for work. His wife has her own life, so she usually doesn’t go with him. They spend a lot of time apart, so their time together is that much more important. Watching him juggle all of his many responsibilities, I picked up one very important tenet.”

  “And what was that?”

  “If you want to live a good life, you’ve gotta have your priorities straight. There are a lot of things you can push off your plate and delegate to other people, but there are other things you absolutely have to make time for. You have to insist on, no matter how crazy life gets, because those things are important to you and you want to take care of them.”

  I think I see where he’s going with this, but I wait for him to get there, anyway.

  “I’m always going to make time to woo you, Riley, even fifty years from now.”

  I smile helplessly “Fifty years from now?”

  Hunter nods, like that’s not a ridiculous claim to make. “Because you’re important to me, and I want to make sure you always know that. You never know, maybe at some point in our lives, I’ll need that reminder, too. If I’m in the habit of treating you like something I cherish, it’ll be a lot harder to forget you are.”

  “Wow.” I need a break from the intensity his words stir inside me, so I break his gaze, redirecting it to his shoulder with a faint smile on my face.

  His kisses usually give me butterflies, but those words… I feel a little flutter in my stomach, and it’s not from his touch this time.

  “I know you haven’t had a great model when it comes to relationships, and to be honest, neither had I,” Hunter tells me. “Until Italy. You might not think it because you know he messed up, I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t, but… my dad loves his wife in a way I’ve never seen before. It’s goals, honestly. Their lifestyle not so much, I wouldn’t want to spend so much time apart, but their relationship… If I ever get married, I want a marriage like theirs.”

  “If?” I question.

  He shrugs. “I’m dead set on making this one girl my wife, and right now she won’t even agree to be my girlfriend. I’m not sure marriage is in the cards for me, but hey, fingers crossed.”

  A helpless grin claims my lips and I shake my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I’m a man in love,” he says unrepentantly, bending his head to kiss the crook of my neck.

  I sigh, tilting my head to give him better access. “You’re so getting laid tonight.”

  He chuckles. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  My eyes drift closed as his lips make their way up my neck, toward my jawline. “I never took you for such a romantic.”

  “I’m gonna turn you into one, too,” he tells me.

  My eyes remain closed, but my eyebrows rise in surprise. “Oh, you think so?”

  “Mm-hmm.” His
perfect lips brush my jawline. “I know you felt a little awkward about it at first, but that’s only because you’re not used to it. You’re gonna get used to it.”

  “Oh, am I?”

  “Yep.” His lips reach my mouth. Elvis sings the last words as the music changes and the song draws to a close. “And see, I love like an Italian, so no one else you meet’s ever gonna compare.”

  “Oh my—” He smothers my indulgent disbelief with his lips as he crushes his to mine. My heart soars, my lips softening under his.

  When he breaks the kiss, it’s to murmur against my mouth, “I’m gonna ruin you for all other men, and then you’ll have to be mine. You won’t have a choice.”

  I smile against his mouth, locking my arms around his neck more tightly and kissing his perfect lips. “You know that part in the movie where the villain reveals his diabolical plan to the hero and then he loses because now the hero can see him coming?”

  Hunter uses his teeth to pull my bottom lip between his. He bites me—not to hurt, but it feels like a wordless, deliberate reminder of Sherlock, and it makes my heart kick up a few speeds.

  He kisses me softly right after, making me wonder if I imagined it.

  “Yes,” he murmurs.

  A little less amused, a little more breathless and uneasy, I murmur, “This kinda feels like that.”

  Now that the song has ended, the kitchen is dead silent. A foreboding tension suffuses the air around us. It wasn’t there before that kiss. Before that bite.

  I can’t shake it now.

  “That would make me the villain in your narrative,” he remarks, pulling back to look down at me with those intense brown eyes of his. “Do I look like a villain to you, Riley?”

  “No. But the best ones never do.”

  His question gives me pause. When I think of Hunter Maxwell, I think warm, loving thoughts. When I look at him, I see beauty, and not just the physical kind.

  But if I take a step back and view him through a more detached lens, I wonder if the picture looks different.

  Yes, he’s the vulnerable, hurt boy I met on a bridge by pure happenstance, the first boy to ever make my heart beat faster, to ever kiss me and fill me with infatuation.

  He’s also the boy who broke my heart on purpose. Who swept in and wrecked the perfectly good relationship I was in. Who causes tremors in my rock-solid relationship with my mother, who tempts me to lie and keep secrets.

  He’s jealous and vengeful, and kind of a bully when it suits him. He can be a touch manipulative if he thinks that’ll help him get his way, and he doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants, even when he doesn’t really deserve it. He took my virginity in an act of revenge, and the second time we were together like that… it was angry and spiteful, I didn’t even entirely want it to happen.

  Looking at Hunter Maxwell on paper, I guess he does sort of have more villain qualities than hero qualities. It just… doesn’t feel like he does.

  If he’s a villain, he’s the smoothest one I’ve ever encountered.

  And since the thing he wants seems to be me, I’m not sure I’m cut out to be the hero who opposes him. I’m too emotionally wrapped up in him. He’s too hard for me to resist.

  I tell myself I’ve managed to stand my ground, but looking at it objectively, I can see the ways Hunter has worked to erode that ground right from beneath my feet.

  I’ve never been as tempted to betray myself as I am when he’s around.

  Whatever else he just said, one thing is absolutely correct.

  The more time I spend with him, the harder it is to keep resisting.

  I know I wanted this weekend as much as he did, but this weekend was reckless. Not just because we’ve been careless with birth control. I’m being reckless by giving him so much access to my heart.

  If I keep to this course, he’s going to win.

  I can have Hunter or I can have my self-respect, but I can’t keep both.

  When I was stronger, I told him that was one fight he would never win, and I meant it.

  I have to mean it. I have to.

  I refuse to give in when he put us here on purpose. He didn’t make a mistake with Valerie; he made a choice.

  A choice to betray us.

  A choice to hurt me.

  A choice to lose me.

  So now I’m lost, and I have to stay that way.

  I can’t fall into his kisses or those big brown eyes, no matter how tempted I am.

  I can’t say no, either. Not this weekend. It was one of his rules.

  Hunter’s smart. He knows the hero can’t win if she’s been completely disarmed.

  That’s all right. I can play by his rules and still emerge unscathed.

  I may be his, but only for the weekend.

  Come Monday, the only person I’ll belong to is me.

  Chapter Fifty One

  Riley

  As it turns out, Monday is farther away than it seems to be.

  Holed up with Hunter at his house, it almost feels like being in another world. But we’re not in another world, and the ugly parts of our reality won’t stop poking holes in our happy little bubble.

  On Sunday, he gets another text message that pisses him off.

  He doesn’t bother trying to hide this one from me, but when he shows it to me, I find myself wishing I hadn’t seen it.

  Apparently, there’s a picture going around.

  A poorly Photoshopped picture, but the poor Photoshopping doesn’t matter. It was never meant to be convincing, only to illustrate an ugly rumor in the crudest way possible, a way guaranteed to be passed around the whole school. Passed around until it became anonymous, impossible to remember who started it.

  I know who started it, though.

  We all know who started it.

  The picture appears to be a screenshot from a porno. A brunette girl lying on her back with her legs spread, one guy fucking her, one guy about to shove his cock into her mouth, and a third guy getting jerked off on the couch behind her.

  Well, me.

  It’s my face Photoshopped onto the girl, of course.

  Hunter’s face is pasted over top of the guy fucking me, Sherlock has been Photoshopped in as the guy whose dick is about to go in my mouth, and Anderson’s face is pasted over that of the guy being jerked off.

  The caption reads, “Riley working her way through the football team.”

  I sit on the couch a bit woodenly as Hunter calls the friend who sent it to him. “Who the fuck sent this to you?” he demands as he storms out of the room to take the call, but I don’t know why he even needs to ask.

  We all know Valerie is behind it.

  Hunter stays in the other room for a long time dealing with it.

  I go upstairs to his bedroom to start packing up my things.

  I’m not leaving early because of it, it’s just the last day of the weekend, anyway, so it seems like a good time to pack.

  When the doorbell rings, I frown.

  Would Hunter have invited someone over when I’m here? I don’t know how his conversations are going with whoever he’s interrogating about the picture, but I can’t imagine he would.

  I leave Hunter’s room and go find the nearest window with a view of the driveway to take a look.

  My heart just about stops when I see Valerie Johnson’s car.

  What the fuck?

  Packing forgotten, I hurry down the stairs.

  I don’t make it all the way down them. There’s a landing near the bottom that also makes a pretty good hiding spot for eavesdropping. I stop there and press my back against the wall.

  Hunter has already answered the door. Whatever conversation they’re having clearly hasn’t just started.

  “What was I supposed to do?” Valerie demands. “You blocked my fucking number, Hunter.”

  “I blocked your fucking number because I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit,” he tells her.

  “It’s not bullshit,” she insists. “I swear to God, Hunter, I’m
not the one who made that picture.”

  “Maybe you’re not the one who made it, but you are the one behind it. Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Valerie? You’re jealous of Riley and you can’t stop tearing her down, but you know what? It ends now. I gave you a warning. I played fucking nice, didn’t I? That’s over now. You’re done. You don’t exist anymore. You’re a fucking leper. If anyone has anything to do with you, they’re done, too. I’ll make that clear to everyone; we’ll see how many fucking friends you have left when I’m through with you.”

  “Hunter, think about it,” she says, and I can hear the fear in her voice. “Think it through. Look at the picture again. Why would I make you the one fucking Riley? You think that’s a visual I want in my head? And not only that, the guy fucking her? Not the hottest guy. Whoever made that thing put Sherlock’s face on the hottest body. If I made it, I would have made you the hottest. You may not think doing something this fucked up is beyond me, but you have to know that.”

  “Are you fucking with me right now?” he asks, sounding a bit dumfounded.

  “I’m serious,” she says petulantly. “I know it sounds stupid, but it’s the truth. When I think about doing that, that’s where my head goes. Sherlock doesn’t even like me, why the hell would I make him the hottest of the three guys? I’d have made him the jerk off guy. She dated Anderson, there’s a better chance his dick has been in her nasty mouth than Sherlock’s.”

  “That’s enough.”

  “I mean, I guess maybe at the party, but—”

  “Stop fucking talking,” Hunter says.

  She does. Only for a few seconds, though.

  “I’m sorry someone did this, Hunter, but it wasn’t me. You have to believe me. I’ve done bad shit to her in the past, but I stopped when you told me to. I would never do anything like this to you. I’m crazy about you. I made an ass out of myself at homecoming to keep you from getting tarred and feathered, remember?”

  “Yeah, and then I turned your own prank on you and pissed you off.”

  “No,” Valerie says, the denial in her voice firm. “I mean, yeah, you did, you’ve been a complete asshole to me, but… Hunter, I would never hurt you. If you want my honest opinion, I think it was Sherlock.”