Chapter Eleven
HUNTER
M adeline has a great ass.
There’s no other way to say it. Every time she squats, the fabric of her leggings stretches tight over her perfectly shaped ass. If I didn’t already know I’m a sick fuck, I’d be aware of it now.
The girl can’t stand me and here I am undressing her with my eyes, imagining reaching out and cupping her. Would she make a soft moan as she melts into my touch? Or slap my hands away with that fire of hers, challenging me to do it again?
Fuck. No. It’s not happening.
Sure, she’s a girl, but she’s off-limits. She’s my partner for this training program, not someone to scratch that itch.
The thought crosses my mind to give Lydia a call. She’s always down for a quick fuck. But as soon as the idea occurs, I dismiss it almost as quickly. For some reason, it doesn’t seem as appealing as it usually does.
The rest of the video is near torturous as I watch Madeline thrust and squeeze and do all sorts of nonsense the instructor has the participants do. Half of my mind appreciates the view, but the other half really is assessing how good the workout is for what she needs to accomplish. The video is actually semi-challenging, especially for her, so it won’t hurt her to continue doing it.
It’s the other stuff I’m worried about, though. She’d had to stop during the hose pull today to shake out her arms. She’d been breathing heavily, too, as she’d joined me afterward. Building upper body strength and some kind of aerobic activity are on the list, then.
Well, there’s one aerobic activity I could help her with...
Damn it. I have to stop that. That’s not what this is.
I pause the video, unable to take anymore, and Madeline looks at me in confusion, placing a hand on her chest to catch her breath.
“I’ve seen enough,” I tell her.
“And?”
“It’s fine, but what we really need is an ‘Arms of Steel’ video. You have one of those around here?”
She shakes her head. “There is one, but I don’t have it. It’s probably out of print, or whatever the equivalent is for videos. Maybe I could search on eBay?—”
“No, don’t do that,” I interrupt before she runs too far with it. “We’ll figure something out. But you do need more upper body strength. You were struggling with the hose today.” I keep my voice as neutral as possible, not wanting to set her off again. “That’s not a criticism, just an observation.”
She nods warily.
“How about you show me how many pushups you can do?” That’ll give me some kind of baseline.
She gets into position on her hands and knees, but I don’t let her begin.
“Whoa, whoa. No knees.”
She looks up at me, aghast. “I have to use my knees.”
I sigh heavily. “Fine.”
An image flashes in my mind of her on her hands and knees in a different way, me pumping into her from behind, our bodies slick with sweat, her throaty cries echoing in the air.
Fucking Christ, what is wrong with me? Why does stuff like that keep popping in my head? Because her ass was just in my face?
That doesn’t explain all the other times, though...
She gets off the floor and I realize I completely missed how many pushups she did, so I nod like I have a clue what I’m doing.
“I have a weight bench in my garage,” I tell her. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow and I’ll get you started with a training plan?”
Her nose scrunches. “Like the kind you...” She mimes pushing a bar from her chest.
“Yeah.”
Her expression turns to alarm. “I can’t do that.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to learn. You need to step up, Maddy.”
“Madeline,” she says harshly, her tone brooking no room for argument. “Not Maddy. Madeline.”
It startles me, so much that I take a step back, running into the edge of her bed. In a previous week, I would have teased her, or even only called her Maddy from now on, but the idea doesn’t sit right with me now.
She clears her throat and looks at the floor. “I don’t like being called Maddy. That was my dad’s nickname for me. And I don’t...I just don’t want anyone else to call me that.”
“Okay,” I say after a few seconds of silence, an awkward tension settling in the air. More than anything, it reminds me I don’t know all that much about her. We’ve only now breached the barrier from enemies to...not enemies.
A loud noise from somewhere else in the house breaks the silence.
“Let me go check on her,” Madeline mumbles, presumably talking about her mom.
As she opens the door, a heavenly smell wafts in, and my mouth waters. What is her mom cooking? Something a hell of a lot better than anything my mom makes, for sure. Me, too, for that matter.
She leaves me alone in her room and I stick my hands in my pockets, looking around again. The furniture doesn’t seem to match her, everything done up in white and purple. I’d imagined her personal space to be something more neutral, with maybe grays or blues. One thing that’s as expected, though, is how neat everything is. There are no food wrappers or dishes, no clothes on the floor, nothing out of place. Her bed could probably pass some kind of military-grade inspection with how tightly it’s made up.
Everything is squared away on her desk, with one of those fancy mechanical keyboards in front of dual monitors, and an expensive brand of headphones placed off to the side. The computer looks custom-built, and it’s the only area of the room that seems to have any kind of real personality. She said she did something with computers for her job, so I guess it makes sense.
Wandering over to her nightstand, I uncap the candle on top and take a whiff, surprised it’s a sweet scent. I thought she’d be one of those clean linen candle owners. I peek behind me, but she’s still nowhere to be seen, and I open her nightstand drawer, hoping to find something naughty, but no such luck. She really is a goody-two-shoes.
There’s a small container filled with ChapStick, nail clippers, hand lotion, and a floss pick. God, she’s boring. Other than that, the only other item in here is a journal. Oh, maybe we’re getting somewhere now. A diary, perhaps? If I read it, will I discover a rant about me?
I flip it open to a random page, but can’t make sense of the indecipherable scribblings. And this isn’t my normal issue with reading. This is something on a whole other level.
?php
$users = array("Basic","Premium","Admin");
var_dump($users);
?
What the hell does that mean?
Oh, duh. She does coding. This must be computer code. So, she actually understands this stuff? And not only that, but writes it herself? I knew she was a brainiac, but damn.
I place the notebook back in the nightstand drawer and linger for another moment, then leave when it gets weird being in here by myself.
“I’m fine, really,” Madeline’s mom is saying to her in the kitchen.
“You almost broke your neck trying to get this from the top shelf.” Madeline motions to a platter on the table.
“Well, we have a guest tonight. We should use the fancy china.”
“He’s not staying for dinner.”
“Oh, he has to. I made extra.” Her mom looks up, catching sight of me in the entryway. “You’re more than welcome to join us for dinner. I’ll take it personally if you don’t at least try a bite before leaving.”
Next to her, Madeline rolls her eyes. I can’t tell if it’s good-natured annoyance or serious, though. “He probably has plans. It’s Saturday night.”
“I don’t,” I say, enjoying the stink eye she gives me. “And I’d love to stay for dinner.”
At the very least, the kitchen smells amazing, so the food must be good, too. And there’s something about riling Madeline up that gives me such satisfaction. If I can’t do it in ways that’ll seriously piss her off anymore, I’ll have to get my fill another way.
She shrugs, and as she passes by me on her way out of the kitchen, she murmurs, “It’s your funeral.”
What the fuck? Is she trying to psych me out? Staying for dinner can’t be that bad, right?
Fifteen minutes later, I understand what Madeline meant when we first arrived about talking to her mom. I don’t think the woman’s taken a breath the entire time, other than to ask me rapid-fire questions about everything under the sun, from my work to my favorite meal. Why would she care about any of that?
“And do you have a girlfriend?” her mom asks, slipping another piece of Swiss steak on my plate. She takes a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes and plops that down next to it, not even asking me if I want more. I mean, I do. But that’s beside the point. “Boyfriend? Partner? I can’t keep up with what everyone’s into nowadays.”
“Mom,” Madeline says on a tired sigh.
“What? I’m making conversation with your colleague.” She tries to load seconds onto Madeline’s plate next, but Madeline doesn’t let her.
Colleague . That sounds so formal.
“No, ma’am,” I tell her, taking a bite of my second helpings. Everything really is delicious. “I’m not seeing anyone.”
She reaches over and pats my hand in a motherly way. “Well, not to worry. You’re still young. You’ll find someone.”
I keep my smile to myself. Does she think I’m worried about that?
I glance at Madeline. Is she worried about that? Actually, I’ve never asked, but I assumed she was single. Someone who spends all their free time reading textbooks and writing computer code must be single. Plus, she’s met up with me so many nights recently at the library. What guy would want his girl hanging out with another guy so much? If she was my girl, I wouldn’t want her?—
Whoa. Weird train of thought. Let’s pump the brakes on that one.
“That’s what I always tell Madeline,” she continues. “Plenty of time to find someone. Just because you have one failed relationship doesn’t mean?—”
“Mom,” Madeline hisses. “Hunter doesn’t need to hear about that.”
Oh, but I really do. Especially if she doesn’t want me to hear.
“What’s the big deal?” her mom asks no one in particular, waving her forkful of mashed potatoes around. “We’re all friends here.”
Madeline’s lips thin. “I didn’t say he was my friend.”
Ouch. But also . . . completely deserved.
“Well, don’t be rude, honey. You know, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
Unfortunately, the subject of whatever this failed relationship is gets dropped, but during the rest of dinner, I discover such hidden gems as Madeline being unable to swim without water wings until she was ten years old and that she still harbors an intense fear of E.T.
“E.T.? Really?” I ask her. “He’s supposed to be a friendly alien.”
She shakes her head before I’m finished speaking. “No, he’s terrifying, as any rational person will tell you. That scene with him by the river is nightmare fuel.”
She’s got a point—not that I’m telling her that.
“What’s strange is Madeline’s never been afraid of death,” her mom says. “She was so rock solid after her father’s death, and such a comfort to me.” She squeezes her daughter’s hand. “So I don’t understand why E.T. affected you like that.”
Madeline stares at her plate, seeming to withdraw after her mother’s mention of her father. She got weird earlier, too, after saying she didn’t want anyone calling her Maddy because her dad did.
Thinking about it, she also said he’s the reason she’s involved in this firefighting training to begin with.
Guess the girl’s got some unresolved daddy issues.
“Now, you haven’t mentioned your folks at all,” Madeline’s mom says, nearly flinging mashed potatoes at me with her fork. “You’re local, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hardly anyone here isn’t.
“And who’s your momma?”
“Bonnie O’Connor.” I doubt she knows her. Doesn’t seem like they’d run in the same circles.
Her lips purse. “Bonnie . . . Only Bonnie I know is Bonnie Walker.”
I pause before taking another bite. “That’s her maiden name.” I glance questioningly at Madeline. “I thought you moved here in high school.” How would her mom know mine from that long ago?
“Mom grew up in Green Valley,” she replies steadily. “She moved away when she married my dad.”
Guess that’s why they moved back, then. And that explains the slight Southern twang in her voice.
“Oh, Bonnie was such a pretty girl,” her mom reminisces. “She was a few years older than me, so we didn’t talk much. Smoked like a chimney stack, that one.” She laughs to herself. “She ever kick the habit?”
I shake my head. Growing up, my clothes always reeked of cigarette smoke, but what do you expect from a Wraith kid?
“She doing good? There are so many people I used to know way back when that I haven’t seen since we’ve been back.” The laugh she gives this time is more forced. “Guess I’ve been a bit of a shut-in.”
For the last decade? Not going to touch that topic with a ten-foot pole. “Uh, she’s fine.” If by fine you mean married to my cesspool of a father for nearly thirty years and working as a gas station attendant for about the same length of time.
“Her and your daddy still married? And who’s he again?”
Wow, does she ever stop with the questions? She must drive Madeline insane. “Yeah. Ralph O’Connor.”
“Hmm. That name doesn’t ring any bells. He must have graduated before my time.”
He didn’t graduate at all. But no need to go into that.
“Well, this has been lovely,” Madeline interrupts, standing and bringing her plate to the kitchen sink. “But it’s late and I’m sure Hunter has places to be.” The look she gives me practically lifts me from my seat and escorts me out the door.
I shovel the last of my food into my mouth and bring my plate to the sink, too.
“Oh, you don’t have to take care of your plate,” her mom says, making a fuss at me. “Madeline will do it for you.”
I grin around the mashed potatoes still in my mouth and hand an unamused Madeline my plate for her to wash.
“Thanks,” she mutters. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Now, you stop by anytime you’d like,” her mom calls out to me as I take my leave. “You’re always welcome to dinner.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Woodward. The meal was great.”
“Oh, you call me Vera, honey. It was lovely to meet you. Madeline never has anyone over.”
She’d mentioned that when I first got here, too.
“And you’re definitely leaving now,” Madeline murmurs as she ushers me out.
When we’re in the safety of the driveway, I ask her, “Why do you live with her if you’re so annoyed?”
She rubs at her temple. “Because I pay pretty much all the bills. She’s terrible with money.”
Shit. I didn’t know that. And here I was ready to give her crap for still living at home the way Nate does. Green Valley’s not like other parts of the country where it’s impossible to move out. Real estate has stayed pretty stable around here the last few years.
Thinking about it, though, she’s not a moocher at all. And she probably makes beaucoup bucks at her job.
“You know she actually fell for one of those email scams?” she continues. “The one where a foreign dignitary needs access to your bank account info to keep their millions safe temporarily.”
My brows raise. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. And I can’t afford to pay for two households...So here we are. Also, can you forget pretty much everything she said in there? You don’t need any more ammunition against me.”
I can’t help the smirk that crosses my lips. “What? That you can’t swim?”
She plants her hands on her hips. “I can swim now. It just took me a little longer than other kids.”
I rub at my jaw, the stubble there rasping. I should throw her a bone. “You know that spot out at Bandit Lake everyone swims at?”
She nods, confused by my sudden change of topic.
“My brother threw me in there when I was three thinking I could swim, and I nearly drowned.”
Her eyes widen.
“I didn’t go back in the water until I was eight, and that was only because other kids were making fun of me. So you’re not the only one who learned to swim late.”
She squints skeptically at me. “Are you making that up to make me feel better?”
My smirk grows wider. “So distrusting.”
“Hmm, I wonder why.”
“Hey, we made a truce. I’m on the straight and narrow now.”
The laugh she lets out is infectious, and I find myself chuckling, too, even though it’s probably at my expense.
The air of irritation surrounding her throughout dinner finally lifts. “You couldn’t be on the straight and narrow if you tried.”
Though the words are a little harsh, she says them with an almost...affection.
I rub at the back of my neck. “Listen, how about we start you on arms tomorrow?”
Her mouth twists to the side. “We have training all day.”
“Afterward.”
“But—”
“Are you going to use that excuse every day?”
Her lips compress, eyes flashing fire for a moment. There she is.
“Fine.”
I nod. “See you tomorrow, then.”
As I drive home, it startles me for a moment to realize how much I’m looking forward to tomorrow. And now that I think about it, when was the last time I looked forward to anything?
The only thing is, is it because of the training program?
Or because of Madeline?