flexes his muscles playfully, and I laugh.
“He’s not trying to impress me.”
He leans forward and kisses my lips. It’s fast yet deep and with just the right amount of tongue.
“Baby, we’re all trying to impress you,” he says.
“You’re ridiculous.”
He smiles. “You have no idea.”
He quickly raises his eyebrows a few times before heading back to the game. I lay my fingers over my mouth and savor that kiss.
Branson is on the far side of the court. He’s staring directly at me. I smile and wave.
Hunter sees and tilts his head at me. I brush him off with a silly expression.
Feeling better about being here, I take a spot behind the glass wall and watch the game. Branson serves, and the two begin their battle. The ball hits the front wall and then the sidewall, and then it lands outside a line painted on the wood floor.
Hunter returns, and they volley until someone yells, “Side-out.”
Apparently, no points are awarded.
Hunter serves next. The ball hits the wall, bouncing twice before Branson can get to it. He rallies it back with such force that Hunter has to dive and slams his racket into the wall so hard that I fear it will break.
A man nearby makes a sound as if that was a tough move.
They volley until the ball is out of bounds again. Branson gets to serve again. The men grunt as they swing with all their might. Hunter trips over his feet as he dives and misses.
Point to Branson.
My boss turns around and smiles at me. I give him a thumbs-up and then put it down when Hunter glares at me.
The ball is now Hunter’s, and something has changed.
Like a ping-pong on steroids, the ball is throttled across the room. It must take a lot of trust to trap yourself in a small room, behind a glass wall, with a torpedo coming at you at rapid speed. The pounding sound slams over and over along with the slap against the racquets and the men’s loud sounds of exertion.
Hunter gets a point on Branson with a smirk on his face.
The two men seem to have tunnel vision, each of them playing as if there’s more than just a gym championship title on the line. I can’t imagine their weekly games are like this.
It’s mean. It’s primal.
It’s an all-out war that needs to stop, or someone’s going to get hurt.
“Fuck!” Hunter yells as he falls to the floor.
I spoke too soon. Branson slammed into Hunter, and now, they’re both on the floor with Hunter clutching his ankle.
I open the door and rush to his side. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” He tries to stand, but by the painful expression written all over his face, anyone can tell he’s hurt.
Branson leans down to give him his hand. “Sorry about that, bloke.”
Hunter reaches up to take it and stands up, his right foot hovering in the air.
“Can you put any weight on it?” I ask him.
He tries to and winces in pain.
“Come on. Let’s get you home and get it iced and elevated.”
“No. I want to finish the game,” Hunter demands.
“How? By hopping across the court?” I ask.
Branson lets out a laugh and then rights himself. “Forfeiting is admirable.”
Hunter shakes his head with a laugh as he pushes his hair off his sweaty forehead. “For now, Ford. Just remember, if it wasn’t for my ankle, I’d kick your ass.” Hunter’s carefree personality is back.
Branson shakes his hand and then grabs their bags, putting Hunter’s racket away. After Branson is declared the victor with little pomp and circumstance, Hunter puts an arm around my shoulders and lets me walk him out the door.
Branson is at our side. “Do you need me to bring you home, Katherine?”
I turn to Hunter, who’s scrunching his face. I tell Branson, “We’re gonna take a cab to my place. See you in the morning.”
Branson’s brows pinch as we walk out the front door, and he turns toward the locker rooms.
Hunter has a mischievous grin on his face. A puzzled expression covers mine.
“You certainly handle losing pretty well,” I say.
“There’s always next time. Besides, I get to go home with the girl.”
He kisses my head as we walk out the door.
Chapter Thirteen
I open the door of my apartment and guide Hunter toward the couch. He has his arm slung over my shoulders like he needs the support. Really, I think he just likes the attention … and the occasional boob graze.
We remove his shoe and sock and get his foot propped up to