The Boy on the Bridge

“I’m not, honestly. Why can’t I think of that fucker’s name? Must not be very memorable. Bushy eyebrows. Boring face. He’s like a faithful pooch that woke up one day as a real boy. He’s on the team. Milner! Something Milner.”

My jaw inches open in surprise and a horrible surge of amusement swells up inside me. “Wow. You’re not even close.”

He waves it off, then leans forward on his elbows and leans over to take a peek at my notes. “Eh, whatever. His name doesn’t matter. What are you working on?”

“His name is Anderson,” I tell him, ignoring his question. “And he is not my ex-boyfriend, he’s my current boyfriend.”

He levels me a look of shock that I think he’s faking, but I can’t be totally sure. “He’s still your boyfriend?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

Hunter shrugs. “I don’t know, another guy sent his girl flowers—doesn’t seem like he’d be thrilled.”

I shake my head, focusing my attention on my notes and trying to hold onto some remnant of concentration.

“Or did you not tell him?” Hunter asks when I don’t offer an explanation.

I don’t like his tone, so I keep my retort succinct. “He knows I got flowers from someone.”

“But you haven’t told him who.” It’s a statement, not a question, but he pauses as if he expects an answer. Then, in a tone tinged with too much pleasure, he says, “Interesting.”

“It’s not interesting,” I disagree. “Maybe I’m just not a fan of conflict and it didn’t matter, so I don’t see the point.”

“Maybe. Of course, since he knows you got flowers from someone who isn’t him, he’s bound to be pretty curious about it. That means it is important—at least to him—which also means it’s more important to you not to tell him than to alleviate his concerns that some other guy might be trying to win over his girlfriend. I’d guess that might also lead to a fight, some distance—definite damage to the relationship. And you’re willing to take on all of that just so you don’t have to tell the guy I sent you flowers. Either you care so little about him, or…”

I am so annoyed by his dissection of my behavior, I shoot him a mild glare. “Or?”

He smiles, his brown eyes glinting wickedly. “Or you care so much about me. You still have a little crush, Riley? A little lingering interest? I bet he’d like that even less than the flowers.”

Even though I don’t want him to think I’m agreeing with his assessment, I can’t help tossing back an overly cavalier, “If I didn’t tell him about the flowers, what makes you think I’d tell him that?”

Hunter nods like that’s what he expected to hear. “So he’s insignificant. That’s what I figured, but it’s good to have confirmation.”

We’re getting a little too mean, so I decide I should knock it off and defend the guy a little. Anderson did annoy me yesterday, but he hasn’t done anything to deserve that.

“He isn’t insignificant. Anderson is a perfectly nice guy. I wasn’t agreeing with any of the nonsense you just spewed—”

“That wasn’t nonsense,” he interrupts.

“—I was only humoring you.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” He leans forward on the table top and his gaze meets mine. “So, I’ve been thinking.”

That’s potentially dangerous. “About what?”

“Your rules of engagement,” he says.

I break his gaze, shifting mine to my notebook. “I think my terms were fair,” I say, testing the waters.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him nod. “A little one-sided, though, don’t you think?”

“Not really. I made one person off-limits to you. There’s a whole school of other fish in the sea, Hunter; I just can’t stand that one.”

“Maybe that’s the one I wanted,” he suggests.

“Well, if that’s the case, I think you’re gross, so please feel free to disregard my request and go for it. I hope you and your vicious trophy wife will be very happy together.”

His stupidly perfect lips curve up. “You don’t mean that.”

“I really do.”

Apparently finding this thread of our conversation insignificant, he says, “Anyway, it’s a moot point as long as you’re willing to play ball. I’m more than willing to agree to your terms as long as you agree to mine, but if you get to make territorial demands of me, I think it’s only fair I issue a directive of my own.”

My hackles rise at his terminology. I’m so used to being a free agent, the idea of following anyone’s directives rankles, but I suppose it’s only fair if I lay down the law, he gets a shot, too. “I’m listening.”

“Dump the dead weight.”

I can only stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“Milner. He’s gotta go.”

“But… he’s my boyfriend.”

“Not anymore,” Hunter says.

“Why?”

“I don’t like seeing you with him,” he states, like that’s a normal thing to say.

I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t do much more than sputter. “I… I’m confused.” I try not to sound hopeful, but I’m not sure I’m entirely successful. “Are you asking me out?”