Blindsight

“Thank God you didn’t have far to go,” I laughed and smoothed the hem of my dress when he put me down a minute later outside of a local diner. The smell of frying foods filled my nostrils and left my stomach grumbling for carbs and protein.

“A Sam’s and two deluxe in the back!” Hunter called and held two fingers up to the oversized man behind the counter. He gave a slow nod as Hunter bee-lined for a corner booth covered in red vinyl, the table black and white checks with chipped corners.

“I love this place.” Hunter fiddled with a napkin at the table after unbuttoning the silky lapel of his suit.

“They seem to know you.”

“I’ve been coming since I was a kid. Grew up in this neighborhood. My step-dad brought me here a lot, always doing business meetings.” He shrugged and then nodded to the waiter when he set down two glasses of water.

“He brought you along for business meetings?” I asked, anxious to learn more about Hunter’s family.

“Once in a while. This place was sort of a safe zone for me. I was bullied a lot.” He rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I can’t picture you being bullied,” I commented, a little surprised at the admission from the brawny man across from me.

“You can’t now, but let’s just say I wasn’t one of those peaked-in-high-school kids. Scrawny and wiry with facial hair that never seemed to quite fill in, that was me.” He quirked a grin and I saw the twinkle of the little boy that had finally gotten his revenge. “But once I graduated, I was determined to bulk up, never get bullied again, so I enlisted in the Army, worked out when I wasn’t patrolling, and came home like this.” He chuckled and rubbed at the now full stubble along his jaw.

“I bet you were adorable.” I giggled as I put together the picture of the muscled, tattooed gorgeous man before me and the scrawny teen he claimed he’d been. I crossed my legs, my foot brushing against the smooth fabric of his pants, and without words he slipped off my heel and rubbed at the arch of my foot.

He continued, lost in his story, stating the facts in an unwavering voice. “My mom was murdered by her boyfriend when I was fourteen. But he had a good lawyer and got off with third-degree,” he divulged, and I couldn’t keep my eyebrows from dashing up into my hairline before he continued. “She’d only been with him a few months, high on anything they could get their hands on most of the time, and he drank on top of it. It was rough. He was rough on both of us. He split her lip one morning when he woke up with a hangover and I was watching TV too loud. Left her with a bloody face, and as I cried, he turned and slapped me so hard I flew into a glass coffee table. It shattered. Anti-shatter glass wasn’t around in those days.” He paused. “I’ve got scars from it.” He rubbed at his knuckles. “The day I turned sixteen, I used a fake ID to get tattoos to cover them. They haunted me. I had to turn them into something meaningful,” he finished as I traced the roughened knuckles and bronzed skin covered in ink and raised flesh.

“What do the Roman numerals mean?” I said as I looked at them, anxious to decipher the depths this man carried in his heart.

“The day she died.”

“And that was meant to replace it with a happier memory?” I asked, confused and heartbroken for him.

“It wasn’t so much about creating a happier memory as it was a lesson. Learning from the past.” I tilted my head, urging him on without words. “She was an addict, she hid it well, but there were always empty pill bottles and dusty white credit cards with maxed limits lying around the house. That’s why she couldn’t leave him. Too poor, too addicted, too broken.”

“It’s hard to leave. Manipulation, guilt…and abusive men prey on broken women,” I said, all too familiar with my own childhood story of verbal abuse and emotional neglect.

“I blamed her for so many years. The stuff I saw on the streets wasn’t great, but in a lot of ways, it was better than how I’d grown up the first fourteen years. I’m glad I got out alive.” He trailed off quietly.

“So did you live with a family member?” I probed a little further, sensing his urge to chat.

“No one to take me.” He shrugged. “Well, there was someone looking out for me, but I learned pretty quickly that everyone has selfish interests.” His eyes darted away then, and his elegant fingers began tapping out a nervous rhythm on the Formica, another expression of the boundless energy contained within him that had no outlet when he wasn’t shooting.

I smiled and calmed his tapping knuckles on the table with my own. I twined my fingers in his, softly, briefly, but the co

Hunter settled then, his eyes cast to mine and a slow grin lifted one side of his face. That grin, that one that left my stomach twisting and my thighs shaking. He stilled his movements on the arch of my foot and rested my calf across his thigh.

“You are a terrible flirt,” I finally blurted, the only thing ru

Hunter’s eyes arched in surprise before we both fell into a fit of laughter. “I have to say, I have not heard that one before,” he said as his fingers ran their magic over my arch. “You remind me of my mom.”

“Why?”

“She called everyone on their bullshit.” His grin widened. “That was my favorite part about her.”

“So you come by the straight-talk honestly?” I smiled and ran my pale fingertips between his marked ones.

“I guess.” That easy grin fell across his face and at once the mood lifted, the conversation diverted. I wanted to know more, so much more. I wanted to ask about the phone calls, his family, the tattoos. And I was desperate to read the road map of his scars.

Our first course arrived then, which turned out to be a martini glass brimming with ice cream and fudge and sprinkles of pistachio. I would imagine it was my wide eyes peering at it from different angles that had Hunter filling the warm space with his decadent laughter. “So much for that diet,” I said when Hunter scooped a large piece and forced it across the table. “And I thought you didn’t do simple carbs?” I arched an eyebrow.

His laugh heated my insides with pleasure. “Lose a single pound and I’ll tan your hide. Now eat.” He indicated with a spoon and I parted my lips, swallowing the creamy hand-churned dessert. “Fucking fantastic, right?” He gri

“Fucking fantastic.” I nodded. “I’m not sure how I feel about dessert before di

“Not before, with. We’re having dessert and di

“Got it, Clu,” the waiter called.

I chuckled and shook my head. “Clu?” I took another delicious scoop of the ice cream.

“Old nickname.” He intercepted my second spoonful of the sugary sundae. The waiter appeared a moment later with a plate of fried rings.

“Weird nickname.”

“Aren’t they all?” He shrugged my comment off again. “Try the cheeseburger, fucking amazing,” he said before taking a bite of the burger. I gri

An hour later, after dining on cheeseburgers, fries, onion rings, and a Sam’s deluxe sundae, Hunter hailed us a cab, rattling off his address. I guess I was his tonight. I shifted in my seat, anxious to get back to his house, back to being just us.