18. Lottie

I'd made a horrible mistake. I'd convinced Hunter not to go to the breeding conference the second day and stay in bed with me instead.

We'd spent nearly every second of the day in each other's arms. We didn't discuss any further what was going on between us. There was a calm that I was too afraid to shatter and I wasn't ready to go back to reality.

With his lips on mine, his hands all over me, I didn't worry about anything else. I didn't need to think about how often my phone was buzzing, or whether this would work between us, or whether any part of this was even real. I could lose myself in him and he could lose himself in me.

I hadn't made him sleep on the pull-out couch. He slept in the bed with me, both of us naked under the sheets, our warmth enveloping one another. It had been far too long since I'd slept so soundly in the arms of someone else. Saturday passed in a blur of pleasure and sweat; a fogged shower door and handprints giving away the passion occurring within. Hours away from friends, family and responsibility, I didn't have to pretend I wasn't feeling something that I was. I could just fall into it.

"Let's go out today," Hunter said softly, his bare chest rising and falling under my cheek. His fingers splayed out across the small of my back, pulling me in just a little more to his side. "Get out of this room for a little bit and have something other than fast food."

The idea of actually getting up and putting on clothes, knowing damn well that a little trail of him would inevitably leak down my thigh, was enough to make me groan in frustration. "But we could get McDonald's this time."

The rumble of his laugh practically shook my brain around in my skull. "Wouldn't you like something nicer than McDonalds?"

"I've had Michelin star food all the way to microwave ramen," I chuckled. "They have good nuggets, man."

He sighed, his hot breath warming the top of my head. I dragged my nails down the front of his chest, down to his happy trail and back up again. Flutters of excitement stirred within me as I felt each little curve of muscle through the thin strands of hair. There was a part of me that wondered if leaving the room would push us ten steps back instead of one step forward. Would the fantasy snap the second I crossed the threshold of the penthouse? Would real life come flooding back in?

I shouldn't have cared. But I did, as much as I didn't want to admit it.

His hand bunched the comforter and sheets before throwing them off within a second, baring our bodies to the cool air of the room. "I'll cut you a deal," he said, grinning down at me when I glared at him. "I'll treat you to some world-class nuggets if we go outside."

————

The large grassy area that stretched along the river trickling before us—named the Colorado River despite it starting in northwest Texas and ending in the Gulf of Mexico—was a decent enough place to sit in the sun and dunk my nuggets into honey mustard. I didn't even protest when Hunter decided to steal a drop for his fries, or loudly read out the sign in front of the river that gave me its entire history. That was permanently drilled into my brain now, purely because of the way he'd grinned when he'd looked back at me trying to dip my toes into it.

I'd proven myself wrong. As we left the hotel to see the sights and sounds Austin had to offer, I didn't feel any sense of remorse or what I'd known as my previous reality. Hunter insisted that I wear one of the t-shirts he brought with him instead of one of the minidresses Dana had packed. It was long enough to pass as a shirt dress on me, and his consideration and awareness of my feelings made me feel reassured. Maybe this wasn't going to crumble to pieces after all.

With my jacket covering my lap so I could sit cross-legged, I squinted at him in the glare of the sun. "I still don't see why we had to come out here to eat."

His little snort as he stuffed the remnants of his lunch into one of the empty bags was more adorable than I wanted to give him credit for. "We didn't. It's just… nice out here. No one's clawing at my throat for a photo, no one's coming up to me because they know who I am. I can be outside here and just relax. I can't do that back home."

"Oh," I said around a mouthful of nuggets. "I guess that makes sense."

"Don't get me wrong. I love Boulder, it's my home, but spending time away from it can be freeing. I can do whatever I want with whoever I want," he said, flashing me a little grin. I wasn't sure if I liked what he was saying, maybe I was overthinking again but I suddenly felt insecure. "Boulder's not that big in the grand scheme of things."

I nodded and shoved another nugget in my mouth to keep myself from saying something stupid. There was a part of me that knew when he asked this favor of me that I wasn't like the girls he would normally surround himself with. Boulder was full of ski girls, ski bunnies, and when they couldn't get the professional athlete they were lusting after, they'd inevitably go for the business tycoon's son. Tall, thin but athletic blondes, with big breasts and tiny waists. I never judged them, but I would never look like them. A part of me envied them.

But that's not who I was. I wasn't ugly or unattractive, I just wasn't the type of woman he was usually seen photographed with.

"Do you think horses know when they're sleeping? Or do you think they just, like, open their eyes and think, ‘wow it sure got dark during that blink?'"

Hunter blinked at me in confusion before a big, full laugh escaped him. "I-I don't know," he chuckled. "I don't think I've ever considered if they understand the concept of sleep."

"Imagine you blinked and the sun was gone," I said, trying to contain my smile from the absurd change of subject I'd brought to the table to avoid what was going on in my head. "I'd probably have a panic attack."

"I'd assume the world was ending," Hunter laughed.

"Poor horses."

————

After lunch, Hunter decided to take me on a shopping spree to buy me clothes that I could actually wear. We walked up and down what appeared to be Austin's equivalent of Rodeo Drive. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. He'd dropped thousands on me.

We headed next to a ceramics shop where Hunter paid for a private class on how to make clay pots. Before I knew it, there was a massive pile of clay spinning at an intimidating speed on some kind of device in front of us. Our outing was continuing one way or another—Hunter was making sure of it—and as much as I wanted to go back to the hotel with him, I was genuinely having fun.

"Lots, you have to touch it," Hunter said, his lips lifting in a smirk.

His hands wrapped clumsily around the spinning pile of clay, and in seconds it started to turn into a cylindrical shape. I wiped the sweat from my palms on the apron I'd been instructed to wear, putting off the inevitable.

Something about the smell and texture of clay had bothered me since I was a kid—I'd never been one to make things with the colorful contents of Play-Doh canisters. I'd pitched a fit when we had to use it in art class. A shiver ran down my body as I covered the clay with water then slowly pushed down on the pedal as the instructor had shown us. Pressing one finger into the side of the clump, I watched as a solid line began to form all the way around the edges.

"You can make whatever you feel comfortable making, Charlotte." The woman who was teaching us, Angie, said as she stood in the corner of the room, firing the kiln. She'd given us a walkthrough of how to do the basics, then left us to our own devices, allowing our imaginations and curiosity to form our creations.

"Thanks," I called over my shoulder.

As I turned back to Hunter, I couldn't stop myself from staring as he rested his two thumbs on the top of his cylinder. With the gentlest of touches, he pressed down with slick fingers, creating a well in the center. He curved them, dragging the well down along with my thoughts. After a day and a half of nonstop sex and debauchery, I was still turned on just by the simplicity of how his fingers moved, how the little veins and tendons in his hand flexed.

"You can't do that," I mumbled.

"I can't make a mug?"

"You can't finger your mug."

His grin turned wicked as realization crept over him. "Don't tell me you're getting turned on watching me make a mug, Lottie."

"You've touched me just like that too many times to count in the last twenty-four hours," I said under my breath. My jaw ached, my teeth clamped together with frustration, and I had to force myself to relax.

"There's no way you're still?—"

"I am," I croaked, cutting him off before he could go too far into detail at his volume. "Don't ask me how. I just am."

I hadn't been able to stop thinking about him being all over me, hadn't been able to get the feeling of his hands between my thighs out of my mind. He was like a fucking drug—one I was quickly becoming addicted to.

"Maybe I should make something else instead," he chuckled. Deep green eyes met mine in a flash as he crushed the would-be mug beneath his hand. My fingers stilled against the base of my own, curiosity rising, and I watched with bated breath as he began shaping again. Still a bit clumsy and still nowhere near a level of professionalism, I sucked in air as what he was making slowly became obvious.

"Hunter—"

"What? I think it'd be a perfect souvenir for you."

He squeezed the cylinder toward the top, making a swollen bulb at the end before taking his foot off the pedal and going at it stationary.

"Angie's going to see."

"I'm sure it won't be the first time she's had someone make a scale replica of their own cock," he smirked.

The sound of something smashing behind us made me jump. I looked over my shoulder, the sound of whirring growing louder, and watched as Angie stood before a pile of broken ceramic pieces that looked like they had once been a poorly painted mug. She glanced at us, her pale cheeks turning bright red before mumbling an apology and scurrying off.

"Lottie, your clay?—"

Something thick and wet slapped against my foot. I turned back to Hunter, noting the shapeless clump on my spinning board. The same board that was going a million miles per hour.

Within a second, Hunter was on his knees in front of me.

Wet fingers caressed the top of my boot, wiping off remnants of clay. Each movement was gentle, and I felt a wave of guilt about fucking up the new shoes he'd just bought me.

"Sorry," I sighed. I offered him the towel meant for my hands as he dropped thick, mushy slab of clay onto the still plate. "I must have pressed down a little too hard on the pedal."

"It's fine," he grinned. "We can always get you another pair."

————

The sun hung low in the sky, casting reflections of pinks, reds, and oranges onto the buildings of downtown Austin. There wasn't a wisp of frigid air, not a cloud in the sky, and although I missed seeing the mountain scape of Boulder on the horizon, the warmth and clear skies were a welcome relief . I understood what he'd meant now, about how he didn't need to perform. Without cameras following us or the constant phone calls from work, without the looming pressure of the absurd game we were playing, we could truly just relax.

But that meant more than I wanted to admit.

Because we were being too normal. We were acting like a couple with no need to. We had no one to impress, no one to take our picture. So why were we all over each other? Why were we holding hands? Why was I kissing him in the middle of the sidewalk as if it were the last time? Why had he stopped and bought me a long-stemmed, thornless red rose from a local florist?

"I think they might know what sleep is," Hunter said, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts and back to the moment.

"What?"

"Horses," he clarified. "If they didn't know they were falling asleep, they'd be scared every time they woke up."

I stopped, my boots skidding against the cement of the sidewalk. I knew it didn't mean anything, that it was a silly comment I'd brought up earlier simply to change the subject, but somehow, his mentioning it again made my chest ache. It meant he was listening. It meant he cared what I had to say, no matter how ridiculous it was. He hadn't brushed it off as complete nonsense even though on every level it was.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. None of this was what I expected from him. Not a single part.

"Oh," I said, feeling a blush coming over me. I feared I was too obvious, and there was no way on earth he couldn't tell exactly what was going on inside my head. I was fucking falling for him. "Yeah, I guess they would."