Against the Odds

Chapter 19

Do you know that feeling when you've worked out so hard that you feel like you're going to pass out, but all the endorphins give you so much energy you feel like you can fly? That's sex with Hunter. It's like a runner's high. And last night, we ran a triathlon.

His automated blinds open precisely at 8 am. I now understand why they're named as such; my eyes burn from the rays beaming into the room. I pull the covers over my face. I'm not ready to get out of bed. What kind of psycho wakes up before 9 am on a Saturday? Hunter shuffles beside me, his fingers tracing circles on my back. Oh. That's not the only thing I feel back there. Good morning indeed.

I must correct my previous statement. We've now completed a...quadrathlon? Words are hard when your brain is literal mush. I tell Hunter that I desperately need a shower, and scurry off to the bathroom before he turns us into Olympic candidates.

I take my time in the bathroom. It's sinful to have a shower nozzle with this much pressure. How am I ever supposed to get out? Unfortunately, if I stay any longer, I'll emerge as a raisin. I wrap my hair in a towel and put on a white cotton robe. The mirror's fogged up, so I wipe it down with my sleeve. As soon as my reflection stares back at me, I shriek.

Hunter runs into the bathroom wearing joggers and a grey t-shirt that hugs all my favorite muscles. He's holding a spatula and looks so domestic. For a second, I forget why I'm mad.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Hunter asks, looking around. What is he going to do? Beat off my supposed attacker with a kitchen utensil?

I narrow my eyes and point to my neck. "This!"

Hunter crosses his arms and relaxes against the doorframe. "You're screaming bloody murder because of that?"

I purse my lips, unimpressed. "You gave me a hickey! Are you a teenager?"

Hunter casts a wide smile. "If I recall correctly, I was just following your orders."

I cover my neck with my hand and turn away in a huff. Shit. He's not wrong. "This is going to last a week! People are going to stare," I complain.

"You can always wear a turtleneck," Hunter beams.

I spin around. "I don't own any turtlenecks!" That's not a bad idea, though.

"I'll buy you one," Hunter smirks. "Hell, I'll buy you ten." Oh, he's being coy. Lovely.

"Can you buy me back my dignity?" I aggressively point to the leech mark. "I feel like I'm back in junior high."

Hunter cocks an eyebrow. "Junior high, huh? Someone started early."

I grab the spatula from Hunter's hand and start playfully swatting him. "You are in no position to mock me. Here," I hand him back the spatula. "Go make me some breakfast while I try to cover up this mark of shame."

"As you wish." Hunter winks at me and walks out of the bathroom.

After three layers of a random concealer I found in my purse, the mark is barely visible. I thank my lucky stars that the color matches my skin tone. Having an orange blob on your neck is nearly as embarrassing as having burst blood vessels. Both scream trashy. I quickly blow dry my hair and put it up in a bun. I envy girls whose hair dries perfectly. I need about three different products to pull off the 'natural' look.

"So, what are we having?" I ask Hunter as I prop myself down by the island. Ttwo skillets are sizzling on the stove. One of the dishes looks like an omelet; the other is bacon? "What's that?" I point to the odd-looking meat.