Eighteen
Skye
I climbed into the truck, slamming it shut behind me. I slid the seatbelt on, glimpsing at Hunter who hadn’t looked over at me once. I immediately noticed his hand clenched tightly around the steering wheel, the only visible sign that he was not his normal self.
Jesse was the first to leave, and then Faden was not far behind. Hunter’s eyes were directed on the side mirror, his lips were pursed shut like he was waiting for something. I turned around in my seat, trying to look behind us when it occurred to me what he was doing.
Waiting for Leo to leave.
I dropped back down into my seat, my heart doing strange things in my chest. “Hunt?” I finally pushed out, sounding uncertain.
He didn’t speak. He merely sat there for minutes, watching tentatively until finally he turned the car on and peeled out of the spot and onto the road. I didn’t bother to look behind us to know Leo had probably left, taking Shane along with him. Yet Hunter’s eyes still glimpsed the rear-view periodically, like he was on guard. What did he have to be worried about? It wasn’t like Leo was going to crash into us and haul me away, but I swear that was the direction his thoughts had taken. I knew Hunter like the back of my freaking hand—I was certain he was considering this.
But Leo would never do that. He was too much of a gentleman. He was the fixer, not the one that caused conflict. Hunter had it all wrong, and it was possible that was due to his obsession to have me.
Then again, both men seemed obsessed.
I felt a little tense, a little uncomfortable. This had been discussed at the start, that I would be seeing Leo for a short period every month, and the same would occur with Hunter when it was my turn to be at Leo’s, and yet it didn’t feel natural. This whole arrangement wasn’t foolproof; there were cavities in it everywhere. We had thrown ourselves into it, going through the teething pains, and now I was sitting beside a brooding man that wouldn’t even look at me. No, he was only growing angrier.
“Are we going to talk about it?” I asked, my patience starting to dwindle because Hunter was completely silent, and the more he sat there, clenching that damn wheel tight, the more he seemed to withdraw inside his own head.
“Yeah, we’ll talk about it,” he murmured quietly, his tone indecipherable.
Only, he didn’t talk about it just yet. The silence stretched on, until we were at the clubhouse and then he was jumping out, casting me a look that demanded I follow after him. I did. I had to hurry after him as he strode to the entrance of the pub, his damn long legs always ahead of me while I lost my breath from trying to keep up. He didn’t go inside, though. He spun around, pressed his back against the wall of the pub and pulled out a cigarette. I stopped in front of him, confused and frowning as he lit it up and smoked like he needed something much stronger.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, annoyed as I asked, “I thought we were going to talk.”
“Let me finish my smoke first,” he retorted. Except, he finished it in record time and instead of talking, he wound up pulling out another cigarette. Was he seriously chain smoking right now? I let out a long, exasperated sigh, and he smiled bitterly when he heard it. “Just one more, Nugget—”
“Why are you so pissed off?” I demanded, unable to hold back as he sucked yet another cancer stick dry.
“I’m not pissed off,” he denied, but his voice had a bite to it.
I gave him my driest look. “Hunter, you’re not yourself since I came back from seeing Leo.”
At the mention of Leo’s name, Hunter’s shoulders tensed, and—ughhh—he was already pulling out another cigarette. I marched straight up to him and yanked it out of his hands, throwing it down at his feet. “Stop smoking!” I scolded. “I hate it! I fucking hate it, Hunt. STOP!”
He peered down at the unlit cigarette, and then, to my horror, he pulled out his carton from his pocket and removed another one—
I snatched the carton and threw it down, too.
“Stop littering,” he admonished me.
“Stop smoking,” I retorted.
He spun the unlit smoke in-between his fingers, staring at me with that enraged expression on his face. “Then I need to fuck you.”
I gave him a bewildered look. “What?”
“If I can’t smoke, I need to fuck you, Skye. It takes the edge off—”
“I’m not here to take theedgeoff, Hunter—”
“Can we go fuck?”
“NO!” I crossed my arms as a gust of cold wind pierced through me. This fucking jacket sucked. “We’re going to talk—”
“I want to eat your pussy,” he cut in, staring at my mouth now. “Fuck, can you suck my cock, too, Skye, I know it probably won’t fit, but I need to feel your tongue—”