Page 58 of My Treasured Obsession

“Yes.” Hunter smiled before cupping a hand under my jaw and tipping my head back so our gazes connected. “You look so beautiful tonight and I’m jealous of all the men eye-fucking you in this room.”

I sucked in a breath through my parted lips, my hand tightening around my drink.

Guess I wasn’t the only one feeling possessive tonight.

With his admission, another line was blurred. I didn’t have it in me to re-erect it. It would be inane, when it was obvious we were close to departing the friend zone.

“I…” Could barely formulate a sentence.

Heat sparked in his gaze as it roved over my body with appreciation. “I’m getting a drink.” He chin-nodded to my near-empty glass. “You want another?”

“N-no.” Though the filthy look he perused my entirety with left me parched. “I’m good. What are you having?”

A bastardized smirk, filled with corrupt promises, spread over his mouth. “Certainly not beer, doll.”

Fuck, I loved this flirty side of Hunter.

Everything about him turned me on. The luscious black hair that was pulled back tonight in a low bun at the nape of his neck, a lone strand trickling down his face. Those bedroom blue eyes and full lips drenched with wicked intent. That straight nose with the little scar on the bridge and that chiselled jaw just begging to be bitten. And that inked body of his that was Olympian in nature, harbouring thick, quilted muscles, poured in a mouth-watering combination of black pants, black dress shirt, black shoes, with his signature silver chain around his neck and Cartier timepiece on his wrist.

Hunter Saint Warren was an aphrodisiac and I wanted to savour every lick of him down to the core like a greedy goddess desperate for her fill.

I was afraid I’d never stop feeling this hunger until I had a bite.

In a vain attempt to stop undressing him with my eyes—although he didn’t mind as he seemed to be doing the same thing to me—I questioned, “How was your game?”

“Great.” He signalled over a bartender, pulling out his voucher. “Though it would have been better if you came, you little heartbreaker.”

“I’m sorry, Hunter. If I didn’t have to be here early to prepare with my team, I’d have been there, cheering you on.”

“I know and I don’t hold it against you.” Hunter swept a few strands of my hair behind my ear, his thumb caressing the shell of it. An unexpected frisson chased down my spine. “You’re forgiven.”

I clutched his wrist before he could pull away, pressing my cheek into his palm. “Did you bring me a jersey?”

“Mhm. It’s in my car.” Then he leaned down to whisper, “What are you drinking?”

The four words fanned over my lips and I found myself licking my bottom one. “Virgin Mojito.”

Hunter didn’t let go of me but angled his head just enough to tell the awaiting bartender, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

While the bartender made his drink, his brows furrowed as he ran his hand down my neck, down my shoulder, down my arm, until he reached my formed fist and unclenched it, weaving our fingers together.

A deep sense of tranquility curled into my ribcage, right next to my beating heart.

“Why are you so tense?” he rasped. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

I didn’t want to lie to him, but I wasn’t sure if I should speak to him about Franco. But deciding that honesty was the best policy, I ripped the Band-Aid and told him the truth. “My ex is here.”

His jaw clenched. “Tom?”

Tom hadn’t even crossed my mind. Our arrangement was short-lived and barely had an impact on my psyche. Not like Franco. “No—well, he’s here too, but that’s not who I’m talkingabout,” I said. “My ex-boyfriend from high school. Long story short, we had a really bad breakup. I haven’t seen him in years and now he’s suddenly back. I hate him.”

Hunter’s beautiful face morphed into a scowl. “Who is it?”

“His name’s Franco. He’s here with two guys and talking to a bunch of girls.” I tilted my head towards the left, where he was gathered with the rest. “White T-shirt, blue jeans, backwards ball cap.”

Hunter’s drink arrived and he took a sip while subtly shooting a glance in the direction of Franco, sizing him up.

“Fuck, Gabby, you dated that?” Absentmindedly, his fingers squeezed mine tight enough that I had to caress my fingers slowly down his veiny forearm to get him to alleviate his hold. Cursing under his breath, he softened it. “Sweetheart, you could do so much better. You’re a motherfucking ten and he looks like sloppy leftovers.”