2. Hunter

HUNTER

“ I ’m too damn old for this shit,” I grumble into my phone as the hired car weaves through traffic, heading towards yet another obligatory charity event that my manager, Andrew, insists I attend even if I should be preparing for training camp.

“Well, thirty-four is practically ancient in the NFL,” Andrew oh so helpfully says. “We’ve got to hustle if we want to squeeze out another year on that contract of yours.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes even though he can't see me. “Yeah, well, rubbing elbows with a bunch of socialites isn't going to make that happen.”

“It will if Evren shows up.”

That makes me pause. Evren Kaya, the new owner of the Skyrise Sentinels, and the decision maker on my contract. He’s made it clear that he’ll be hands-on this season to turn the team around. Last season was an embarrassment for us all, and he bluntly stated a repeat won’t be tolerated. My contract extension should be a given since I’m one of the best tight ends in the league, but under Evren, it’s not.

He hates me and made that clear when he announced that any player who doesn’t showcase the team in a positive light will be reprimanded. Within ten minutes of him making that statement, Andrew informed me that I have five fines to pay for. Three for headlines of me partying, one for unsportsmanlike conduct at a game from last year where I threw my helmet on the sidelines, and one for being seen with five different women in one week alone. As far as I know, I’m the only one who was fined for past misdeeds. I’m not sure why Evren is punishing me for having a life and getting laid regularly, but he is and it’s fucking annoying.

“Evren can suck a dick for all I care,” I say, still angry about those fines from last week. “He’s a billionaire for fuck’s sake and doesn’t need my money. I’m a star on this team and?—”

“And you’re coming off an injury. When you put it all together, you’re screwed.” Andrew pauses, letting that tidbit sink in. Andrew is the best in the business, and he’s always been straight up with me. Unfortunately, this is not at all what I need to hear right now. “We’ve leaned into your current image and have been successful with it, but it’s not going to cut it anymore. It’s time to pivot because if we don’t soften your assholeness, it won’t be just a fine we’re dealing with, but the end of your career.”

“Fine,” I grit out. “I’ll make nice with him.”

“And the team.”

“Do I really?” I’ve heard what my teammates say about me behind my back: that I’m an asshole who takes winning too seriously and is too critical of others. It’s not my fault my teammates don’t like to receive feedback. They don’t care about the game like I do. Winning is everything to me. My father drilled that into me from a young age, and he was right. Winning helped me through my parents’ divorce, gave me something to focus on rather than their fighting. Being on a football scholarship was also the only way I could go to college. Now, it’s how I’ve secured millions by playing in the NFL. I’ve carved a name for myself in this sport, and I refuse to give that up because of Evren.

“Yes, and that’s nonnegotiable,” Andrew says. “Making nice with the team will reinforce your image makeover.”

I clench my jaw, unhappy with this development, but extending my contract means everything to me. I’m nothing without football. Sure, I could aim for a trade, but with only a couple years left in me, I don’t want to start over with a new team. I also don’t want to leave Coach Shull. He’s the best coach in the league, and someone I respect.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll make nice with the team. ”

“Good,” Andrew says. “Text me when you leave the charity event tonight.”

“Are you going to be like this from now on? Putting me on a leash?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Andrew chuckles before hanging up on me.

The car pulls up in front of a swanky hotel in New York City, complete with a red carpet that leads from the drop-off area, up a few steps, and into the hotel. Paparazzi line both sides of the carpet and fans stand behind them. The car door in front of mine opens and out steps a slender leg followed by a woman’s profile that’s so beautiful, my entire body pulls taut at the sight of her. She’s taller than every woman here, which is striking enough. But there’s also an innocence about her with her pouty lips and pert nose, but it’s all in direct contrast to the navy, shimmery dress she’s wearing with sexy cutouts at her sides.

There’s an air of mystery about her that piques my interest. I don’t even know who she is, and that’s unacceptable. With that in mind, I open my own door before the car is in position, or fully stopped for that matter, and am striding across the red carpet to catch up with her. The flashes of the paparazzi are like angry bees—nonstop, aggressive, and annoying. But I ignore it all to get to her. She’s like a beacon, drawing me toward her effortlessly.

The fans and paparazzi scream for her attention, but it becomes a jumble of nonsense as they grow louder the farther she gets down the red carpet. The woman startles at the increase in sound, but it’s at the worst time. Her ankle buckles as she takes a step up the stairs and time seems to slow as she plunges toward the ground. Instinct takes over, and a surge of adrenaline propels me into a sprint.

I catch her elbow and yank her upright just before she hits the stairs. Her nails dig into my skin with how firmly she’s gripping my arm. Flashes explode around us, and I’m momentarily blinded. I blink rapidly to clear my vision, and when I do, I get my first full look of her, and my lungs forget how to function.

The woman who caught my interest is Stella Wilde. She’s more beautiful in person than online, and that’s saying something. She’s the type of beautiful that people write songs about. Perhaps they’d talk about her heart-shaped face or her sexy-as-sin red lips. Or maybe they’d dedicate multiple songs to describing her green eyes that are as vibrant as a storm at sea. They’re a mesmerizing, dangerous beauty that threatens to pull me under. Flecks of gold dance within their depths, sparkling like sunlight catching on churning waves.

“How fucking embarrassing,” she mutters before clearing her throat and glancing at me. “Sorry, what I meant to say is thanks for the save.”

Her husky voice deserves to have an entire album dedicated to it. I could listen to her read the ingredients of a can of soup, and still beg for her to continue .

“Don’t worry,” I say, “you can thank me later with dinner.”

“Woooow. You’re mighty presumptuous. I think I’m going to take back my thank you.”

“You could,” I say when we reach the top. “But I’ve grown attached to it. Finders keepers and all that bullshit.”

She huffs out a husky laugh, one that reminds me of silk sheets and smoky bourbon.

“I…” I can’t think of a single thing to say, or, at least, a single thing that isn’t falling to my knees and begging to worship the ground she walks on.

“Stella,” a woman says, five steps away from us. “Are you ready? Let me show you to your table.”

Stella turns away from me easily, too easily, and walks to the woman, saying something too low for me to hear.

In the next instance, a man approaches me. “I’ll take you to your table now, Mr. Holt.”

“Only if that table is the same as Stella’s.”

“Oh.” He fiddles with his jacket. “That’s not possible. They’re assigned seats.”

“I don’t give a shit. I’ll move the name card myself.”

I stride toward the ballroom with a single purpose—find Stella Wilde. I’m not sure why I’m so focused on her, but there’s something about her that’s caught my attention. Sure, she’s fucking gorgeous, but it’s more than that. I haven’t been interested in a woman enough to pursue her in…ever. Normally they flock to me due to my fame. But not Stella. She’s able to walk away as if she didn’t just take a bite out of my soul.

There are hundreds of people in the gold-and-black room. I lift onto my toes, scanning the guests. A flash of blonde hair appears to my right, and I head in that direction. Even with Stella’s height, and my own, it’s not easy to keep her in my line of sight.

“Mr. Holt, you can’t?—”

I spin around. It’s the man from the entrance. “I can and will. You think a little name card is going to stop me?”

“I…” His eyes widen and I take an intimidating step toward him. I’ve got a good six inches on his six-foot frame and at least a hundred pounds. “You have no chance to stop me from pursuing what I want.”

He swallows hard and murmurs something that sounds like I’m not paid well enough for this shit . I give him one last hard look and continue my pursuit of Stella. When I find her, a man has his hand on her arm, and she recoils from his touch. She says something to him, and he laughs before throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his body. She stiffens and glares at him, but he doesn’t move away.

I increase my pace and overhear him say, “Come on, doll. You don’t have to play hard to get with me. Come sit with me and let me take you home when this thing finishes.”

“Get your hands off me,” Stella hisses, trying to move away from him, but he just tightens his grip on her.

“There’s no need to be like that,” the douchebag says.

“Leave me alone.” Stella struggles to escape, but to no avail. Where the hell is her security? More than a few people take note of the altercation, but no one does anything more than take out their phone and hit record.

“Doll—”

“There you are,” I say, grabbing Stella’s hand and tugging her toward me. The guy lets her go easily, which is oddly disappointing because I wouldn’t mind punching him in the face for manhandling her. “Sorry I got held up.”

Stella sinks into my side, and I move my hand possessively to the small of her back. I glare at the asshole who clearly can’t take no for an answer. He looks vaguely familiar. An actor perhaps? Black hair, an aristocratic nose complete with a round jawline.

“Do you need a lesson in consent?” I ask. “Because I heard her say to leave her alone multiple times and yet you didn’t.” I look briefly at Stella. “Do you want to press charges?”

“Charges?” The guy has the audacity to laugh. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“My ex -boyfriend,” Stella stresses. “You’re an ex for a reason, and you’ll definitely be staying that way. ”

“You can go now,” I say to the ex, dismissing him with a wave of my hand. “You’re causing a scene.”

The ex glances at the phones pointed our way. He gives me a death glare before saying, “This isn’t over.”

Once he’s gone, I turn to Stella. “Are you sure you don’t want to file a report? He overstepped, ex or not.”

“I’m sure,” she says evenly. “I would thank you, but I’m not sure if you’ll say something to make me want to punch you again. So, let’s just leave it at have a good night.”

She spins away, and I grin at her sass. I can’t keep my gaze off her while she finds her table and sinks into her assigned seat. I stride toward her and pluck the name card from her right, crumple it, and stuff it into my pocket before taking that seat for myself.

Stella looks from the table to my pocket with the name card in it and then to my face. “You don’t look like an Arthur.”

“That’s offensive,” I say in my best Valley-girl voice. “I can totally pull that name off.”

“You can’t,” she says with the same accent. “And offending you was the point.”

I grin. “Aren’t you funny.”

“Oh, I definitely am. But what I want to know is why you, Fake Arthur, want to sit next to me.”

“Because you’re hot?”

“Ahh, I get it now.” She nods once as if she’s having an internal monologue about the situation and agreeing with herself .

“Get what?”

“You’re a player.”

“That’s mighty presumptuous,” I say.

“Am I wrong? If I Googled your name right now, would the headlines be positive?”

“Define positive…”

She laughs, a playful glint to her eye. “Now I must know what your name is.”

“You really don’t know?” I ask, shocked.

“No. Should I?”

“Does Hunter Holt ring any bells?”

“Nope.” She says it easily and whips out her phone. One that’s five generations too old and complete with a cracked screen. The background is a picture of her smiling with her cheek smooshed against a pretty, dark-haired woman with a mischievous smile.

She types something on her phone before scrolling. She hems and haws before letting out a low whistle. “Wow. I think it’s safe to say the media hates you.”

“You know that saying? Don’t believe everything in the news?”

“Oh, I know it well. But I have a feeling it doesn’t apply to you.”

I laugh, loving how feisty she is. How she doesn’t hold back and it’s completely at odds with how I expect her to act. Stella is America’s sweetheart, with her wholesome image, incredible talent, and do-gooder nature. But her sass doesn’t quite match with how I thought she’d act, and I can’t help but be curious about the real her. Because the glimpses I’m getting? They’re addictive.

“Do you like football?” I ask, trying to take the heat off my reputation. One I’ve never cared about until now. Until I’m trying to impress Stella fucking Wilde for the night.

She glances at me before saying, “I despise it with the intensity of a star collapsing into a black hole.”

“That’s…oddly specific?”

She shrugs and takes a sip of her champagne. Her phone buzzes with a message and she spends time replying to whoever it is. She frowns as she types, and it deepens the more she reads whoever is writing her. She keeps glancing at me, and I wonder if I’m the subject of the text. I hope so.

“All good?” I ask.

She sighs and says, “There are already photos of us online. Apparently, they’re not the ones of you helping me on the stairs but mainly from our little confrontation with my ex.” She flashes her phone to me. On it is a grainy picture of my hand on the small of her back. The headline reads that I’m her protector. Huh, now that’s a headline I don’t mind reading about myself. I bet Evren would even approve.

“We already have a ship name,” she says, locking her phone screen.

“And? Is it a good one?”

“Are there ever good ones?” she asks.

“Of course. Bennifer. Speidi, Brangelina?— "

“It’s Stellar.”

“Ohhh, that’s catchy.” She glares at me, and I bump my shoulder gently into hers. “Come on, you’ve got to admit it’s badass and way better than Huntler or Stunter.”

“Fine, I’ll agree it’s not as bad as those. Thank chance you’re not the one responsible for naming couples.” Her lips twitch at her own joke. I have a feeling she totally loves our ship name, even if she won’t admit it.

“But,” she continues, “I really don’t need to be linked to anyone right now, especially with you.” She glances at me briefly. “No offense.”

“None taken,” I say easily. Of course, she wouldn’t want to be linked to me. Football always comes first, and someone like her deserves more. But knowing that doesn’t stop me from being interested in her. I can only give her one night of fun, but it’d be mind-blowing. “If we already have a ship name, I should probably know something about you. Well, something more than how gorgeous you look tonight. What do you do for fun?”

“Regularly crush men’s egos and sneak any form of microfeminism into my daily life that I can. You know, the usual.”

“Sounds interesting,” I say. “Tell me more.”

She tries to fight her smile, but fails. “Are you always so charming?”

“You think I’m charming?” I bat my eyelashes in an exaggerated way, and her smile turns into another husky laugh.

“I take it back. That’s not charming, that’s creepy. Like those dolls who can wink and make you wonder if they’re going to murder you in the middle of the night.”

“What kind of dolls have you encountered?” I tease.

“I think you’re in my seat,” an elderly man says from behind us.

“Are you Arthur?” I ask. He nods and I say, “There was a mix-up with the tables. You’re supposed to sit in Hunter Holt’s seat.”

Arthur frowns, looking between the two of us with a crease between his brows. Stella tries to cover her laugh with a cough but is doing a shit job of going along with this lie. I guess it’s up to me to sell it. I flag down one of the staff members, and when they come over, I say, “Can you please help Arthur to Hunter Holt’s table.”

The staff member expertly guides Arthur away, and Stella gives me a long look. “You’re persistent.”

“I am. Do you have a pen?”

“And where am I supposed to keep said pen?” She waves a hand toward her dress, one that hugs her body to perfection. And now I can’t help but picture her naked.

Swallowing hard, I try to get the image out of my head as I stop another staff member and ask for a pen. When I get it, I take Stella’s name card and write my name below hers with a little star next to it. She watches in silence, fiddling with a navy-blue, braided bracelet on her left wrist. Interesting. I didn’t notice it before now since she hid it under her diamond bracelet.

When I finish, I place her card between our plates and say, “There. Now there won’t be any more mix-ups for the rest of the night.”

She huffs and her phone buzzes again. She grumbles under her breath and says, “Sorry, I have to respond.” She types back and forth with someone who’s clearly annoying her. While I wait for her to finish rage-texting whoever she’s talking to, I spot Evren making his way toward me.

“Fuck,” I say. The reminder of why I’m here is like a splash of cold water in the face. Football first, always.

“You good over there?” Stella asks.

“No.” I sigh and rub my temples. “My boss who hates me is on his way over here.”

“Why does he hate you?” She sets her phone down and gives me her undivided attention.

“Because he’s a dick. Oh shit, here he comes.”

“Hunter,” Evren says in greeting.

I stand and shake his hand. “Hello, sir. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I could say the same.” His piercing dark eyes assess me. I hold myself steady, refusing to give anything away. Instead, I assess him in the same way. His impeccably tailored suit doesn’t distract from his broad shoulders and muscular physique. He may be a billionaire and in his early forties, but there’s something that hints at him having street smarts. Like he knows how to fuck someone up if he needs to.

“I’m always down for supporting a good cause,” I say.

“Hmm.” Evren doesn’t look impressed or that he believes me.

“He also saved me from falling earlier,” Stella says, standing and coming to my side. “If it weren’t for Hunter catching me at the entrance, I would’ve been dealing with an embarrassing situation.”

Evren glances at Stella and then does a double take. She extends a hand toward him, and he takes it in shock, as if he’s starstruck by her. I know the feeling all too well.

“That’s surprising,” Evren says, giving me a once-over. “Stella, would you like to join me at my table?”

“Why?” she asks, genuinely confused. “I’m happy where I’m at.”

“But his reputation?” Evren looks between us both. “Sitting together might make people talk.”

He’s right. We’ve already got a ship name, and if we’re sitting together for the rest of the event, there will be even more photos and speculation about us. I should go find my original seat and leave Arthur to sit next to her and?—

“Bless your heart.” Stella’s smile flattens and her gaze turns icy. Her Southern accent becoming more pronounced as she says, “People are more than their reputations. Looks like you’re living proof that advanced age doesn’t always equate to wisdom if you didn’t know that by now.”

Evren looks stricken, like he was really trying to help Stella with his advice. “Of course, my apologies. I’ve just now realized I overstepped. I hope you enjoy your night.”

Once he walks away, Stella settles back into her chair and turns toward me, a grin on her face. “I did well, didn’t I?”

“You did,” I say, taking my seat. “I’m just not sure why you stood up for me.”

“Sometimes, we all need a helping hand.” She says it so simply, as if she didn’t just extend me a lifeline or give me the benefit of the doubt. No one has ever done that for me. They make assumptions about me based on what they’ve heard. But Stella? She read the articles and still put Evren in his place. “That and you did help me out with Jax. Think of it as a favor for a favor.”

“Thank you, especially since now I won’t be able to look at Evren without thinking about his advanced age.”

“You know, next time someone asks about my hobbies, I’m going to add ‘putting men in their place’ on the list.”

“You should.” I lean closer to her. “But just so you know, you can put me in my place anytime.”

“Is that so?” She arches an eyebrow.

“Care to test it out? ”

“Not even a little bit.”

I laugh, not able to tell if she’s serious or not. Her denial makes me want to tempt her, to test her, to get a reaction out of her. I’m having far too much fun talking to Stella, which is more than I can say for anyone else I’ve met recently. But tonight is all we can have. I can’t afford any distractions right now. Football and securing my contract extension should be my priority, not Stella Wilde.

But even knowing this doesn’t stop me from charming Stella all night long. And she’s charmed all right, based on her husky laughs and beautiful smiles. Thirty minutes before the event ends, I lean into her ear and ask, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Her phone pings and she glances at the screen. “Shit, I’ve got to run. Have fun with impressing your boss.”

She rushes to the door, and I yell, “Wait.”

A few people turn my way, but she waves over her shoulder and doesn’t stop.

I remain frozen in my seat wondering what the hell just happened, but more importantly, how I can see her again.