Page 31 of Hunter

I watch him push through the door of The Spot, the neon sign flickering over his head like it’s welcoming him home. I stop under the awning of the closed bodega across the street, hands shoved deep in my jacket pockets, the cool night air biting at my neck.

I’ll just wait a minute. Make sure he finds his friends okay. Then I’ll go grab that dinner I never actually bought and head home.

Just one more minute.

The bass leaks out onto the sidewalk each time the door opens, and I can picture him inside already—laughing with that Lucy girl, maybe dancing a little, that small secret smile coming back out under the colored lights. My fingers flex at my sides.

Yeah. Just making sure he’s safe. That’s all.

Nothing more.

But then I notice a guy through the doors.

Tall, greasy hair slicked back, leather jacket that’s seen better decades, leaning against the wall just inside the entrance like he owns the place. The second Charlie walks in, the asshole’s eyes lock on him—tracking those tight black jeans, the strip of skin at his waist, the way the cropped hoodie rides up when Charlie lifts a hand to wave at someone. The guy straightens up, smirk sliding across his face like he just spotted fresh meat. Bad news. The kind that doesn’t take no for an answer, the kind that smells vulnerability from across a crowded room and moves in for the kill.

Fuck that.

I’m across the street before I can talk myself out of it, telling myself it’s nothing. Just making sure the kid actually found his friends. And that piece of shit doesn’t slide up next to him and start running his mouth—or his hands. Charlie’s too soft for that shit, and he should stay that way. He doesn’t need some sleazy predator breathing down his neck after what he’s been through.

I shove the door open, the wall of sound and stale beer hitting me. The place is dim, sticky floors, colored lights cutting through the haze of smoke and sweat. I spot Charlie almost immediately—golden curls glowing under the purple and red strobes, already laughing at something Lucy’s saying as she pulls him toward a high-top near the back. Good. Friends found.

But the greasy fuck is already drifting that way, eyes still glued to Charlie as if he’s got plans.

I cut through the crowd, shoulders brushing strangers, until I’m close enough to slide into the empty stool at the end of their table like I belong there. Charlie’s head snaps up, those eyes widening for a split second when he sees me.

“Hunter?” His voice is half surprise, half something softer I don’t want to name.

I shrug one shoulder, keeping my tone easy even though my pulse is still hammering from the walk over. “Yeah. I saw you come in. Figured I’d come in and say hi… and thank you. For last night.”

Charlie’s mouth twitches into a small, crooked smile that makes my dick take notice, but I shove that thought away. Before he can answer, Lucy leans forward on her elbows, glossy lips curing into a polite but very clear smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Great,” she says, voice bright and final. “You’ve said hi. You’ve said thank you. Mission accomplished.” She tilts her head toward the rest of the bar as though she’s pointing out the exit. “We’ve got it from here. Night’s just getting started for us.”

The dismissal is clear. I feel the brush-off like a door clicking shut, but I don’t move. My eyes flick past her, scanning the dim room until they land on the greasy fuck again.

He’s still there.

Leaning against a pillar now, leather jacket hanging off one shoulder, nursing a beer and staring straight at Charlie like the kid’s already his next meal. His gaze drags slow and hungry over him. The asshole doesn’t even try to hide it. His mouth is curled in a smirk, eyes narrowed on him like he’s calculating exactly how long it’ll take before Charlie's friends leave him alone and he can slide in.

My jaw locks tight. The knot in my chest twists harder.

Charlie doesn’t need some sleazy predator circling him tonight, waiting for the right moment to sink his teeth in.

I stay planted on the stool, boots hooked on the rung, fingers drumming once against the tabletop. Lucy’s still giving me an expectant look, waiting for me to take the hint and fuck off. Charlie’s watching me too now, his light-blue eyes look almost gray under the pulsing lights, like he’s not sure what he wants me to do.

I don’t stand up.

Instead, I lean back a little. “Place is crawling with assholes tonight. Figured I’d stick around for one drink. Make sure everything’s cool.”

Lucy sighs, loud enough to be heard over the bass, and rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t stick. “Jesus Christ, Hunter. We don’t need a babysitter.”

But Charlie doesn’t look away from me. Something in my gut settles anyway, heavy and warm, even as the greasy fuck across the room keeps staring like he’s already mentally peeling Charlie out of those tight black jeans.

I flag down the waitress and order a Coke. The memory of puking my guts out in a dumpster last night is still too fresh; the sour burn in my throat, the way the world spun. Going through that again anytime soon doesn’t sound like fun.

The conversation flows around me after that—Lucy talking shit about her manager, the other two girls (I catch one name, Maya, the other one slips past me) laughing too loud at something the guy next to them keeps saying. He’s clearly trying to get with Maya, leaning in close every time she speaks, but Charlie just sits there with that easy, open smile, chiming in like none of it costs him anything. He throws his head back when he laughs. He looks… free. Light in a way that feels like it should contradict everything he’s been through.

It doesn’t match. None of it matches. And I can’t stop watching.