“Every damn time,” he muttered to himself with a pathetic chuckle, and she brushed past him to grab her cell phone charging on the coffee table. Skimming a frustrated hand over his mouth and beard, he sat down. He’d waited this long to put his lips on hers; he could wait another minute.
“Hey, Mom,” she said into the phone. She listened for a few seconds then said, “Sure. I’ll bring it over when I come back.”
He watched as she hung up and tried to smell herself inconspicuously. “I haven’t showered in over twenty-four hours. I think I’m starting to ferment.”
He grinned. God, she was perfect. “You smell fine. I know, I was up close and personal two minutes ago.”
“Yeah. About that...” She fiddled with her glasses.
“We can talk about it later.”
After a moment of her looking very unsure of herself, she moved around the couch to his side and kissed his cheek.
Before she could step back, he grabbed her hand, pulling her even closer, reminding her, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said and walked down the hall.
Hearing the shower start, Chris polished off his coffee and helped himself to browse through her bookcase. It was an eclectic mix of hardcovers with the mark of Oprah’s Book Club on the corners and paperbacks that appeared as old as she was—and he guessed some were if the Sweet Valley High titles were any indication. He skipped over the row of pastel-colored romance covers and found a memoir of a child soldier in Sierra Leone, snatching it from the shelf.
Completely engrossed in the first chapter, Chris didn’t notice the knocking at first, but as it got louder, he realized someone was at the door. Peering into the peephole, he let out a disgusted curse and opened the door to a disheveled Hunter.
“What are you doing here?” the shithead asked.
Chris placed one hand on the doorframe, taking up as much space as possible. “I should ask you the same question.”
“Don’t fuck with me. Where’s Bronte?”
“In the shower.”
He eyed Chris before barging past him to scan the place.
“I told you, she’s in the shower.”
The asshole spun around, stabbing a finger in the air. “And I told you not to fuck with me.”
“I don’t need to. You’re doing it pretty well by yourself.” The jaw popping out in anger didn’t deter Chris in the slightest from continuing. “Bronte’s father had a heart attack. You were comatose, so I picked her up and drove her back here to be with her family.”
Hunter took two steps forward, puffing out his chest. “I’m her boyfriend. You’re just some random douchebag who wants what I have.”
Chris scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “That’s ironic since I’m the one who’s been with Bronte all morning, and you’re the one who’s hungover with his shirt on inside out.”
Hunter glanced down, then shrugged. “Now you think she owes you something, or what?”
“No. I’m not like you.” Chris kept his voice even and nonchalant. The calmer he was, the more agitated it made this jackass.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve met a lot of guys like you. You think you can do whatever you want and people will deal with it because you’re arrogant enough to believe they won’t find somebody better than you. Like she’s got to prove something to you.” Chris gestured behind him with his thumb. “But that woman in there? She’s way too good for you, and she’s been way too kind by staying with you for so long.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
Chris smiled politely. “I’m the guy who’ll be here with Bronte long after you’re gone.”
“You son of a bitch.” Hunter shoved at his shoulder, pushing him back a few inches, and Chris automatically set his feet apart, clenching his right fist. He’d had fight training for multiple movies. He could throw a mean right hook, if need be.