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Authors: Aubrey Parker
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at her latest when the phone rings in my hand. I’m so surprised, I jump. It’s like something out of a horror show, where the quiet monster suddenly leaps toward the screen.
It’s Hunter Altman, the hotshot music producer Caspian works with.
“Hunter?”
“Caspian?”
I want to say something sarcastic, like, Yes, it’s Caspian and I’ve had a sex change. Instead I say, “This is Lucy.”
“Lucy?”
I can tell from his voice that he’s drunk. Or high. Or getting a blowjob. Or, knowing Hunter, all three.
“Yes, Hunter.”
“Where is Caspian?”
“You didn’t call Caspian. You called my phone by mistake.” Again , I mentally add. Hunter is the world’s heartthrob right now, and his tour de force band, Blonde Ambition, is taking the music world by storm. Hunter’s even been on more magazine covers than Caspian, because he doesn’t loathe the attention as much.
He’s hot as hell, but I’ve never done more than to joke about being into him. In reality, Hunter’s a train wreck. I always figured he’d be dead before thirty, but with only a few months before he hits his big birthday, he’s still alive and as fucked up as ever.
“Maybe I called you on purpose.”
“I’ve gotta go, Hunter. I’m in the middle of something.”
“You always liked me, didn’t you?”
“You’re a charmer. I love you like a brother that I wish would finally check into rehab.”
He seems to consider. “Are you around tonight?”
“No. I’m out of town.”
“I could send a helicopter.”
“I’m pretty far out of town,” I clarify.
“A jet, then.”
There’s silence. I listen to his drunken breathing. Such a waste. Hunter is beautiful and rich. When he isn’t shitfaced, the man is a total sweetheart under the tough armor of a badass. People think he’s a cock, and he is. But I’ve seen his other side — the why behind who he is — and it breaks my heart.
“Goodbye, Hunter.”
“Do you know how much richer I’m going to be when we start this thing?”
I don’t even want to know what he means. We implies Hunter and Caspian. And probably his other billionaire buddies. I’ve been hearing hints about “something big” for a while now, but it only happens when they’re drunk or high or getting a blowjob. Or all three.
“I need to go, Hunter.” My finger moves toward the End key.
“Wait!”
I put the phone back to my ear.
“You’re pretty smart, Lucy. And I’d totally fuck you.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”
“Maybe you could give me some advice. I made a mistake. A really big one.”
“Okay.” I wonder if, thanks to his inebriation, I can get away with not asking for details on this really big mistake. Based on past drunk calls from Hunter, and a few similar in-person encounters, I know that his regrets seem to center on a past indiscretion and some girl named Angela. Who that is, I don’t know. Probably one of the endless line of skanks he amuses himself with to numb a long-denied pain.
“What should I do?” he asks, failing to provide any details.
I’d need backstory to understand his incoherent question. So I say, “Sleep it off.”
Hunter mumbles something.
“Is that all, Hunter?” I ask, assuming I should wait to be formally dismissed.
“I might be coming to Inferno soon, Lucy. Can I see you?”
“That seems like a bad idea.”
“I’ve always liked you, you know.”
I repress a laugh. Hunter likes many young women. The guy practically has a harem. His current girlfriend is a stone-cold bitch named Samantha, but that just means she’s the whore at the peak of his heap. He fucks whoever he wants and she takes it because she’s his alpha, so as long as she’s first in line for the diamonds, things work out. It’s hardly a healthy relationship, but maybe it’s the best he can do, despite his money and fame and rugged good looks. He’d sleep with me in a
It’s Hunter Altman, the hotshot music producer Caspian works with.
“Hunter?”
“Caspian?”
I want to say something sarcastic, like, Yes, it’s Caspian and I’ve had a sex change. Instead I say, “This is Lucy.”
“Lucy?”
I can tell from his voice that he’s drunk. Or high. Or getting a blowjob. Or, knowing Hunter, all three.
“Yes, Hunter.”
“Where is Caspian?”
“You didn’t call Caspian. You called my phone by mistake.” Again , I mentally add. Hunter is the world’s heartthrob right now, and his tour de force band, Blonde Ambition, is taking the music world by storm. Hunter’s even been on more magazine covers than Caspian, because he doesn’t loathe the attention as much.
He’s hot as hell, but I’ve never done more than to joke about being into him. In reality, Hunter’s a train wreck. I always figured he’d be dead before thirty, but with only a few months before he hits his big birthday, he’s still alive and as fucked up as ever.
“Maybe I called you on purpose.”
“I’ve gotta go, Hunter. I’m in the middle of something.”
“You always liked me, didn’t you?”
“You’re a charmer. I love you like a brother that I wish would finally check into rehab.”
He seems to consider. “Are you around tonight?”
“No. I’m out of town.”
“I could send a helicopter.”
“I’m pretty far out of town,” I clarify.
“A jet, then.”
There’s silence. I listen to his drunken breathing. Such a waste. Hunter is beautiful and rich. When he isn’t shitfaced, the man is a total sweetheart under the tough armor of a badass. People think he’s a cock, and he is. But I’ve seen his other side — the why behind who he is — and it breaks my heart.
“Goodbye, Hunter.”
“Do you know how much richer I’m going to be when we start this thing?”
I don’t even want to know what he means. We implies Hunter and Caspian. And probably his other billionaire buddies. I’ve been hearing hints about “something big” for a while now, but it only happens when they’re drunk or high or getting a blowjob. Or all three.
“I need to go, Hunter.” My finger moves toward the End key.
“Wait!”
I put the phone back to my ear.
“You’re pretty smart, Lucy. And I’d totally fuck you.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”
“Maybe you could give me some advice. I made a mistake. A really big one.”
“Okay.” I wonder if, thanks to his inebriation, I can get away with not asking for details on this really big mistake. Based on past drunk calls from Hunter, and a few similar in-person encounters, I know that his regrets seem to center on a past indiscretion and some girl named Angela. Who that is, I don’t know. Probably one of the endless line of skanks he amuses himself with to numb a long-denied pain.
“What should I do?” he asks, failing to provide any details.
I’d need backstory to understand his incoherent question. So I say, “Sleep it off.”
Hunter mumbles something.
“Is that all, Hunter?” I ask, assuming I should wait to be formally dismissed.
“I might be coming to Inferno soon, Lucy. Can I see you?”
“That seems like a bad idea.”
“I’ve always liked you, you know.”
I repress a laugh. Hunter likes many young women. The guy practically has a harem. His current girlfriend is a stone-cold bitch named Samantha, but that just means she’s the whore at the peak of his heap. He fucks whoever he wants and she takes it because she’s his alpha, so as long as she’s first in line for the diamonds, things work out. It’s hardly a healthy relationship, but maybe it’s the best he can do, despite his money and fame and rugged good looks. He’d sleep with me in a
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