Selling Scarlett

He squeezes my shoulder as he steps away, grabbing another handful of clothes and hauling them over to his dresser, and I work hard at not overheating as I watch his taut ass. Ah, and those long, muscled legs.

His back still makes me a little sad. The welts make me feel a little sick. I open my mouth to tell him about Priscilla. At that moment, though, he stuffs the clothes into his drawer and comes back over to me. He leans against the bed, and I notice how radiant his face looks; that’s how focused he is on me. I have to struggle not to grin, because it feels so good.

“I’m sorry that you saw me act the fool, but I’m glad you’re here. It’s been…a break. A nice break, Libby DeVille.” He twirls the end of a strand of my hair, the way he likes to do sometimes.

I wink. “Maybe you need to take breaks more often.”

His fingers tunnel into my hair, and he brings his mouth down over mine. I’m lost in the warmth and softness of his lips and tongue, the nibbling teases of his teeth. He climbs into bed, resting his delicious weight on top of me, and he’s hard and I’m wet and I’m grabbing that gold hair and staring into those cat eyes. When I pull away to gasp for air between our kisses, I really think this might be it. Maybe I’m finally going to lose my V-card.

I go for his boxer-briefs, but his hand clamps over mine. His gaze on mine is hard, which I don’t understand. His chest is pumping, and I can feel how hard he is against my knee.

“Libby—no.”

I frown. Did I do something wrong?

"It’s not you,” he pants. “You’re perfect. It’s just…I don’t want your first time to be like this. With me like this." He looks down at himself, and when he looks back up, he leans his head against my neck and speaks his warm words on my collar bone: "You could do better."

His words shock me. I sit up a little, jarring him, and then I lie back down and cradle his shoulder. Hunter thinks I could do better than him? "Better how?"

“Better place, better circumstances…better guy."

"What’s wrong with this guy?"

He swallows. " You deserve someone who’s got his shit together."

"You seem pretty together."

He chuckles, but it’s a dry, humorless sound. "That’s just because you don’t know me.” He runs a gentle finger down from my throat, between my br**sts. "You deserve the whole package, Libby."

"I’m not sure anyone has that." I haven’t called to check on mom since I left California—because I just don’t care. I’m still angry enough to spit nails at my dad. The more I think about seeing Dr. Bernard again, the more afraid I feel. "No one’s perfect, Hunter. You need to give yourself a break?"

He swallows, and his eyes look so clear, like the river. "Don’t try to get close to me. It’s not a good idea.”

“I don’t care if it’s a good idea. I don’t think I can stay away from you. Now that I know you better…”

He shakes his head. “You’re wrong.” He pushes himself up and lithely shifts his body off the bed. “You don’t know me. And what you do know should not make you want to learn anything more. You need to trust me, Libby. Stay in your own world, and leave me in mine. We can have a little fun together, but that’s it.”

I’m surprised and humiliated when my eyes well with tears. “That’s all you want from me?” I can’t believe this. That he’s giving me no chance to go beyond just sex. And after what I told Dr. Bernard. Since I’ve been here, and we’ve spent some time together, I’d actually started thinking…I don’t know. That we click. That there is something here worth exploring.

He rubs his face roughly, like he’s frustrated, or his shadow is itching. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I’ve got…a lot going on, and I don’t want to get your hopes up falsely. If you’re crazy enough to have those kinds of hopes,” he adds, pulling his mouth into an ominous frown. “Maybe you’re not.”

I push myself off the bed. “All I said was ‘You don’t give yourself a break much’. It’s not like I got down on one knee.”

He just looks at me, his jaw locked. For the longest time, I think I’m being stonewalled. Then his mouth softens, and he sighs. “Then maybe it’s me,” he says, very, very softly. “Maybe it’s me who’s wanting more. Like I said, you’re beautiful and sweet. I’m sure you’re not surprised.”

He grabs my arm, gentle even as he steers me to the door that joins our rooms. I drag my feet, mostly because I’m shocked—and thrilled—and totally confused. Hunter wants more! But he doesn’t want to let himself have it?

I frown up at him, but he’s shaking his head again. “Libby, I’m so sorry that this didn’t work. I guess I didn’t think it through. You need to go. Tonight or tomorrow—as soon as you can get away. Tap your red slippers and go home to Napa."

My chest aches, and I’m shocked to find I can’t speak over the lump in my throat. I swallow hard and try my best to look dignified, instead of like a beggar. "Hunter…I don’t understand."

He shrugs. "This is how it’s got to be."

He opens the door that joins our rooms, but I don’t move. He puts his hand on the small of my back. “C’mon, Libby…I don’t have room for wherever this might be headed, so why not end it while we’re both ahead?”

“We’re not,” I whisper.

He tugs me through the door to my room and sweeps his palm over my hair, giving me a look of what can only be longing before he holds up his hand in a goodbye pose. “Take care of yourself, Libby.”

I can’t even form an answer as he steps back through the door.

*

~HUNTER~

I woke up sometime after Priscilla arrived. At first I thought it was a nightmare. Then I heard Libby, telling her to go away. I’m so ashamed that I just lay there, eyes closed, listening to that bitch talk shit about me—and listening to Libby, my avenging angel. I soaked it up. It soothed something inside me. Made me feel like I’m alive instead of dying.

That’s what it’s been like with Priscilla. Like suffocation. A slow snuffing out of everything I want and everything I need.

Like it was with Rita.

I don’t understand how Libby is so different. After I peeked into the hallway and I realized Priscilla was being dealt with, I feigned sleep until Libby came back and got in bed with me. I stayed completely still while she wrapped an arm gently around the lower part of my back and nuzzled her face into the crook between my shoulder and my neck. Why did it feel so good? I’ve been touched before, but it never felt like that. What’s so different about her?

I sit for a long time in front of the door I sent her through. I shut my eyes and try to feel her in the room behind me, packing up her things. There is a part of me—a raging, senseless part—that wants to burst the door open, rip her clothes off and f**k her until she can’t walk anymore. She’ll be stuck in my bed, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon surrounding me forever.