Strut (Style Series Book 2) by Jay Hogan

Author:Jay Hogan [Hogan, Jay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Southern Lights Publishing
Published: 2022-07-13T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Alec

I rocked with the jolting movement of the train and tuned out the noisy argument over baby names happening two seats back. Hunter had insisted I catch a cab to Darcy’s studio and left money on the table for me to do just that, but I’d ignored it. Riding the train gave me time and a distraction to settle my nerves. Hunter was meeting me after the shoot and I figured I’d let him buy me a drink instead.

I loved that he wanted to take care of me, but I’d been looking after myself in this crazy city for a year. I didn’t need his mothering even if it was kind of cute.

It had been another great week together and I was pinching myself. I’d all but moved into Hunter’s and it was gonna be hell shifting everything back to the model apartment if it came to that. Not that I thought it would. With Hunter’s lease extension confirmed, I couldn’t be happier. So far, so good. Those words bouncing on the end of my tongue were getting harder to hold back.

Hunter had kept me busy all week, in and out of bed, to keep my mind off the re-shoot, or so he’d said. On the weekend, we’d wandered The Met Cloisters and the Tenement Museum, and I’d had my usual bar shift Saturday night. On Sunday, he’d let me sleep late and then surprised me with brunch in bed.

The rest of the week had been busy with work. I’d checked in with Tim, disappointed to find he’d met up again with Miles, but since he sounded a lot brighter, I’d kept my mouth shut. I’d had a small editorial shoot, a runway event, and a ton of castings, but I’d managed to surprise Hunter with a Tuesday night candlelit carpet picnic on his lounge floor. We’d talked until midnight, but I still couldn’t get the words out to tell him what I was feeling. Would he run? God, I didn’t think so, but that didn’t stop me panicking whenever I thought about it.

The subway tunnel blurred out the window of the train as I thought, not for the first time, about the photos Hunter had taken of me. About how they’d exposed the very things I’d been trying to hide, even from myself.

I’d chewed over the image for hours, wondering if Hunter had recognised in the photo what I’d been so careful to try and hide? If he did, he never said. But I hadn’t missed what the image said about the man who’d taken it, and keeping a lid on that hope was taking all my strength.

The raw image of me sprawled on Hunter’s bed had a tender quality, an intimate touch. As if Hunter was spreading me like hot butter on his life before he took a bite, savouring the taste. Making it last. Like maybe he wanted me, really wanted me, like forever wanted me.

Like maybe, he loved me back. Like maybe I didn’t have to be so worried about telling him how I felt.

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