He lifts his head, his eyes on mine. His softens, like he's remembering something nice. "I used to know someone named Libby. She was kind...and when I met you, you reminded me of her."
I flush with shame. So the name is not for me. Of course not. He's dating a p**n star, for crying out loud. Is he like this with everyone, I wonder? Sex on a stick, making women everywhere drop what they're doing and give him a hand-job in club bathrooms? I think about his back, unable to reconcile the grisly wounds with the look of kindness burning in his eyes right now. He must be some kind of fiend.
I draw my hands back to my sides, scooting away so I dislodge the hand that's still in my panties. I'm staring at his handsome face while telling myself that this is it. This insanity with Hunter West is over now.
"Libby, what's—" wrong?
How could I ever begin to explain?
I stagger to my feet and throw open the sauna door, and I’m into the bathroom before Hunter is even on his feet. I'm crying before I get into the hall. By the time I sprint into the parking lot, I know I have a lot to learn about more than sex—starting with how to shield my fragile heart.
*
~HUNTER~
I can't go after her. I can't even move. I'm shaking everywhere. I can't believe I told her that—the name Libby. I’ve never mentioned her to anyone, ever—not even Marchant. But I told Elizabeth DeVille. I told her something secret, something as personal to me as flesh and blood—and she looked at me like I'd just slapped her. Why did it make her so upset? Does she think Libby is a girlfriend?
'Libby' came into my mind the moment I saw Elizabeth DeVille trying to pop the hood of an old Porsche in the middle of the road in the middle of the night. She'd begun as a neon blip on my infrared security camera, but even then I could see her temper, her determination. As she watched me in my garage later that night, her perceptive eyes brought the first Libby back to mind. I have a thing for names, so the few times I saw her again over the years, I would remember how she reminded me of Libby.
I don't bother asking myself why I always end up doing crazy things with Libby DeVille. I already know I don't have the answer. She just does it to me. Gets under my skin like a rash.
As I leave the sauna and stroll back into the stall where I left my shirt, everything on my body aches, but nothing more than the regret inside my chest.
Chapter Twenty-Three
~ELIZABETH~
"Scarlett!"
"SCARLETT!"
"There she is!"
I'm standing in the parking lot by the side of the Joseph building, having just declined a ride from—of all people—Michael Lockwood, the guy who Hunter bashed to pieces, when my posse catches up to me. I turn around, and before I can get a good view of anything, Juniper smashes into me, surprising me with a ferocious hug. "We were dreadfully worried!"
"I'm sorry, girl." Loveless pats my head, and Bella says, "We've been looking for you for half an hour."
Juniper releases me, and I look down the row of concerned faces. "I'm really sorry. It's my fault. I went to the bar and..."
"That's when I saw Juan," Loveless says. "He was my client a few years ago and I hadn't seen him since then so I guess I got distracted."
I feel relieved. None of them saw me with Hunter—at the bar or in the bathroom.
"I'm so sorry," Loveless says. She grabs my hand, and I'm being tugged behind the rest of them. I assume we're going to our ride, and a few seconds later, there is Rod in the Escalade. The other girls shuffle me inside first—"So you don't get lost," Bella teases—so I end up in the back, sandwiched between Loveless and a wall.
As we crawl onto the crowded strip, I listen to the girls talk about the reason we're leaving 'early'. Apparently Domino, Marie V.'s overzealous client, started talking crap about the guy whose nose he broke in the fight, and Loveless thought it was a good idea for the Love Inc. crew to leave.
"So I held you guys up? I'm sorry."
"It was Loveless's fault for leaving you," Juniper says. "Don't worry. We're a family here. We forgive each other."
"How was Juan?” Bella asks Loveless. "Still looking fine as mama's apple pie?"
"Finer than a key lime pie," Loveless confirms.
She glances over at me, giving me an exaggerated wink. I don't really understand it, and it's not long before I find myself drifting off into my own little bubble of Scarlett angst. How is it possible that I’m selling my virginity as a fund-raising measure, but I'm so addicted to my crush that I'm all tied up in knots not over the auction the day after tomorrow but over who said crush is screwing and why.
By the time we make it off the strip, I've decided that I can console myself with something: Hunter is obviously in to me in the same way I am to him. I remember the way his green eyes burned when he grabbed my arm in the ladies' room. When I add everything together, I’m very tempted to say Hunter doesn't want to have a thing with me, but he can't help himself.
I smirk. Maybe it's pheromones.
My smirk turns into a frown when I remember seeing Priscilla out by Hunter's car.
I really wish that bitch would just disappear.
The road darkens as we head southeast, toward the ranch, and in the privacy of the dark, I allow myself to remember Hunter's beautiful body. I'm pretty sure this will be the last time I ever see it—I'm not doing that to myself again—so I want to remember everything. But the thing that stands out most in my mind, other than the beautiful, blissful expression on his relaxed face as I worked him toward an orgasm, is his back.
And I know Priscilla did that. And I hate her for it.
And I wonder for the hundred-thousandth time, why? Why is he with her? Assuming for a second that her personality and her job don’t matter at all (and I’m aware the job gripe is kind of hypocritical considering the company I’m presently keeping), she’s not even that striking. She’s attractive in a prefabricated kind of way, but there are lots of other fish in the sea—other pretty women with Crest-white smiles, fake tits, and mile-long legs.
I swallow, feeling weird. I'm one of them, aren't I? Okay, my boobs are real, but now that I've gotten into shape, I'm leggy, and I've always had a nice, white smile. It's strange to think of myself as pretty when I'm so accustomed to ignoring my appearance—but I am pretty. I'm striking. A week or two under Brenda's care and I'll be just as cut as the next working girl. I'm the whole package, so why is he with her?
I’m going to figure that out.
As far as the other major thing I have to think about—I feel comfortable with this, comfortable in general as the girls take turns describing features of their best-ever client, leaving the others to guess names. And then we turn onto the little asphalt road that's lined with billboards, and Loveless leans in close and whispers, "I didn't talk to Juan tonight. I saw him, but he went downstairs before I could get to him."