Page 28

Hunter

It’s been four days since Peyton came apart in my arms.

Four days since I felt her tremble and fall against me, her breathy moans filling my ears and replaying in my head on a loop I can’t shut off.

And for four nights in a row, we’ve managed to miss each other.

I come home late from practice or a game, and she’s already in bed, curled on her side like she’s guarding the damn pillow wall again.

Or she’s holed up in her studio, headphones on, lights dimmed, so laser-focused I don’t have the heart to interrupt.

Either way, we haven’t talked about it. I haven’t touched her since.

And it’s driving me insane.

I’m the guy who only does casual—who prefers temporary hook-ups that never last more than a week or two, tops.

I shouldn’t still be thinking about how much I want a repeat with Peyton. Maybe it’s the fact that I can’t get laid by anyone else for another six weeks.

Maybe…but I’ve had dry spells before. I don’t sleep with everyone I take out to dinner or drinks, and though it may come as a shock to the media, and probably even Peyton, I haven’t slept with every woman I’ve been photographed with either.

Two months without sex isn’t the kind of hiatus to put me in a mental or physical tailspin. I’ve had plenty of spans that lasted that long, or longer. So this? Peyton getting under my skin like this after only touching her once…it’s something I seem to have no control over.

Still, I know that Peyton deserves more than I’m willing to give her.

She wants the white picket fence. The dad who takes his daughter across the county to tennis tournaments, the mom who takes care of the entire family and gives great big hugs to absolute strangers who crash Thanksgiving dinner since they’re fake dating her daughter.

She wants the syndication deal and the story about Bethany that I can’t bring myself to give her. It’s not a part of my life that I want to relive. Unfortunately, that puts us at odds, since it’s the story she needs to put her in line with winning the network spot.

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, the cool leather squeaking beneath my fingers as I turn into Jesse’s school’s visitor parking lot near the entrance of the red-brick building. Kids run wild on the playground, their laughter a blur through my open window.

It’s been two weeks since we agreed to fake-date. Two weeks since I moved into Peyton’s townhouse to avoid Bethany. And I thought I’d be able to keep a handle on this whole thing. Keep it fake. Keep it safe.

But my cock has been hard since the moment she collapsed against me, gasping my name.

I’ve gotten off in the shower every morning since—eyes closed, one hand braced against the tile, the other replaying that moment with her in my lap, trembling, whispering my name when she came. Feeling her body squeeze my fingers.

I park, kill the engine, and glance at the school entrance where I’m supposed to meet Peyton. I exhale a slow breath and drag a hand through my hair.

Time to get it together.

The second I spot Peyton popping her head out the front door of the school looking for me and waving me over, a relieved smile on her face—I grin from ear to ear.

I head for her with a little bounce in my step. She opens the door wider for me as I walk up. Her face lights up—that full, open smile I swear could stop traffic.

“You’re here,” she says. “Thank you for coming.”

“I said I would.” I grin as I pass through the door. “Morning skate went longer than I expected, but I wasn’t going to bail on Jesse’s big day.”

Shari stands next to her. “Yes, thank you. Jesse hasn’t stopped telling people that you’re coming to Career Day. He said that his classmates don’t believe Hunter Reed is coming to speak today. He’s going to be so excited that you’re here.”

I follow Shari and Peyton as they lead me down the hall. The smell of cleaning supplies and library books fill the air. The nostalgic smell of an elementary school I suppose. Mine smelled exactly the same.

As soon as we round the corner, I see a small crowd of what I assume to be parents, standing outside of the classroom, here to discuss their job with the class.

A few murmurs break out as the parents see us coming. I hear some whispered remarks. “Is that Hunter Reed?” But I stay on target.

I barely get to the door of the classroom before Jesse’s eyes lock on mine.

“You’re really here.” I think I hear him say over someone else speaking to the class.

He’s sitting in the second row when he jumps up, grabs his cane, and heads for me. No wheelchair in sight. His first couple of steps seem like an effort but then he’s moving well.

Shari pipes up behind me as all three of us watch him head our way. “He said that since you were coming he didn’t want his wheelchair today. He wanted to show you how strong he’s been getting with his physical therapy.”

She finishes her explanation just as Jesse nears the door.

Jesse’s practically vibrating. “You’re going to talk to my class today! That’s so cool! I knew you’d come.”

“You bet I am,” I say, ruffling his hair. “And you look ready to lead the charge.”

Peyton’s watching me again, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Pride. Gratitude. Maybe something more, and for some reason, it’s the first time in a while that I really want to be that for someone. At least for today.

And just like that, all that pent-up tension from the last few days? It softens a little. Not gone, but...manageable.

The parent who was just in the classroom steps out and finishes with their Q&A from the class.

His teacher steps out quickly. “Mr. Reed. I’m Mr. Laurence, Jesse’s teacher. How great you could join us. Jesse has been talking about you all week.”

He’s a guy in decent shape, probably a decade older than me with glasses and his school lanyard over his neck.

“I’m glad I could be here. We could always use more kids interested in the sport,” I tell him, which is true.

Someone has to fill our skates after we retire. There always has to be someone to take on the sport.

“Great, well the floor is yours when Jesse is ready to introduce you,” he says, smiling down at Jesse and then heads back into the classroom.

“Ready to introduce me, champ?” I ask Jesse.

He nods enthusiastically and grabs my hand like we’ve done this a hundred times. “Come on! Everyone’s going to want to meet you.”

Peyton trails just behind us with Shari. They move inside, finding a place against the wall to listen but to stay out of the way.

I glance over just to catch her watching me. I’m used to having eyes on me since I play a sport that has millions of fans around the world and televised games. But her attention on me hits differently than it ever has with anyone else. I realize that I want her eyes on me all the time.

She always looks at Jesse like he hung the moon. But the way she looks at me now?

It’s different. Soft. Open. Like I won’t fuck up. But I might. Not for career day, that’s in the bag, but making sure that I don’t hurt her when this whole thing is over. That I can’t promise, though I wish I could.

The second we step into Jesse’s classroom, all hell breaks loose.

“This is Hunter Reed,” Jesse announces like he’s bringing a celebrity into a press conference. “He’s my friend—and he plays for the Hawkeyes!”

The room explodes. Not literally. But close.

Kids cheer. One kid drops a pencil case. Someone gasps so loudly you’d think I just announced I was giving away free puppies.

“Hi, everyone,” I say, lifting a hand, trying not to laugh. “Thanks for having me.”

I keep it light. I talk about teamwork. About getting benched. About coming back from an injury. About the away games, and camaraderie with the players. About seeing the world and doing what I love. I leave out the drama with Bethany and the staged kiss that made the sports blogs combust.

Instead, I tell them about the time I wore two left skates to practice and fell on my ass. The kids lose it.

Jesse’s laugh cuts through it all—loud, unfiltered joy. And damn if it doesn’t settle something in my chest.

When I wrap up, the teacher opens the floor for questions. That’s when chaos really erupts.

“Do you fight a lot?”

“Are you rich?”

“Do you have a tiger like that one guy on the clock app?”

“Will you sign my forehead?”

I’m signing T-shirts, notebooks, even a baseball cap someone swears belongs to their older brother. The whole time, Jesse stands to the side like he’s the one who brought in the rock star. Which I guess, technically, he did.

Then someone—a kid with glasses and big energy—pipes up from the back.

“Is it true you’re dating Jesse’s aunt?”

The room goes silent. Every kid whips their head to look at Peyton, and even the parents outside in the hallway.

I glance over.

She’s standing near the door, one brow lifted, like she’s waiting to see how I’ll answer. Maybe hoping I’ll stick to the script.

But I don’t.

I smile, easy and sure. “Yeah,” I say. “I am.”

The kids scream. Jesse turns to Peyton. “I told you he’d say yes!”

Peyton’s cheeks flush pink, but she doesn’t look away. She just shakes her head, biting back a smile.

She doesn’t look mad. She doesn’t look freaked.

She looks…proud.

And suddenly, pretending feels a lot harder than it used to.

The classroom slowly empties of parents as the kids have to head to lunch next. Some thank me on their way out. A few try to snap a selfie. One asks if I do birthday parties.

Peyton slips out of the room before I can catch her, her hand lightly brushing Jesse’s shoulder as she goes. “I have to take this call with the network,” she tells him, her phone ringing. “I’ll see you later though. Okay? Love you.”

Jesse nods and then walks over to me, his face still flushed with excitement. “That was so cool. You’re like…famous.”

I chuckle, crouching down to his level. “Don’t let it get out. I like being your secret weapon.”

“Can you come over soon? I want to show you how I’ve been improving on my slap shot that we worked on over Thanksgiving. I think I’m getting pretty good. I could use some more tips.”

“Definitely,” I tell him. “But how about I do one better and you come out to the stadium to hit some pucks on the ice. You have to clear it with your mom and your grandma. Do you think you’re up for that?” I ask and then glance at Shari to make sure I didn’t overstep.

She nods that I’m on the right track.

“That would be so cool,” he says.

“Okay, we have to go so you can head to lunch. I’ll be here to pick you up. Your mom picked up a late-night shift. I’ll get Hunter’s number and then we can coordinate next week as long as your physical therapist is okay with it,” she says.

He seems disappointed as if he thinks he won’t get cleared, but then everyone in his class lines up for lunch and a few of the boys in his class call him over.

Shari gives me a soft smile as we exit the classroom and start down the hallway toward the exit. “You were wonderful in there. Thank you for doing this for him.”

“It was my pleasure. He’s a good kid,” I say. “A great one.”

We push through the exit to find Peyton standing by her car, still on the phone.

Shari’s eyes twinkle at me when she catches me staring—like she’s holding back about six follow-up comments. But she doesn’t push. Just pats my arm and then heads for her car. “I’ll be in touch,” she calls over her shoulder.

And then it’s just Peyton.

She ends the call and heads for me.

“You were amazing in there. They loved you. And you made Jesse’s life by showing up here today. I am going to be his favorite aunt forever, so thanks for that.”

“Think I’ve got a future in second-grade public speaking?”

She laughs, and it’s soft and real, tugging something loose in my chest.

“I have a feeling that you could do anything you wanted to do if you put your mind to it,” she says, her voice gentler now.

I stop walking. Just for a second. “Thanks for saying that.”

She stops too. “You’re welcome. And I mean it. You’re a very capable person from what I can tell from the time we’ve known each other.”

I step closer. Not too close. But close enough to see the truth flicker in her eyes.

Temptation builds, wanting to ask her what she sees in me. If there’s something I’m missing that could make something like her and me work.

She stares back up at me. So close that I could bend down and kiss her if I thought she’d accept it.

I take a breath, then step back, giving her space.

“I’ll see you at home,” I say, voice quieter now.

She nods once. “Drive safe.”

And just like that, the moment passes. She climbs into the car, and I stand there for a beat longer, watching the taillights until they disappear.

Trouble.

That’s what this is.

And I’m already in deep.