Hunter (Broken Bad Boys 1): A New Adult Bad Boy Romance (2 page)

* * *

A
loud noise
makes us both look up. A motorbike drives onto the parking lot, weaving its way past cars and groups of people. We’re not the only ones looking—everyone between the art building and the end of the parking lot is staring as the bike pulls up to the building and a guy steps off. He pulls off his helmet and unzips his leather jacket, his movements precise and proud. He runs his fingers through his bleached white hair, spiking it. Then he puts his helmet on top of his dark red bike—the helmet even matches the color—as he shrugs his jacket off, revealing a tight black t-shirt that hangs just over his snug black jeans. He grabs a lock from somewhere on his bike and bends over to attach his helmet and his bike to one of the rings in the wall.

My mouth goes dry as he stands up straight, his muscles moving under his clothing. There are few words to describe how perfectly he moves, but I know that I can definitely draw it, and I probably will. It doesn’t happen often that you run into a guy who puts Michelangelo’s David to shame.

He picks up his jacket and walks into the building, unaware, or maybe even ignoring, the looks he gets from everyone since he came onto the campus.

“That is Aitch.” Hanna pulls me from my daze.

I probably heard that wrong. Aitch doesn’t sound like a name. “Who?”

“Aitch, from Hunter,” Hanna explains, but it takes a moment for me to connect the dots. Aitch, H, Hunter, of course.

“He famous or something?”

“Infamous, maybe. He’s got a temper and dropped out last year after… after something happened.” Hanna looks uncomfortable.

“Something happened?” Something always happens, that’s kind of how life works.

“The guy’s had a stroke of bad luck in the last couple of years. That is all. And he doesn’t date.” Hanna pretend pouts and then smiles.

“You tried?” Of course she would have. What healthy girl, or guy, wouldn’t have tried?

“He was already gone before I came here, but I’ve heard the stories from classmates. It’s… bad.” Hanna doesn’t smile anymore, but looks at the building. “I haven’t seen him around town. It seems he is keeping to himself mostly. I don’t really know the details. People here like to gossip about him, but I don’t think most of what they say is true, if any of it.” Hanna looks at me. “Sorry, it’s just such a damn shame. He’s gorgeous. Many would love to get him back into the dating game. And the bike is definitely a plus.”

I nod. Yeah, the guy has that something about him. He has charisma and attraction, but his darkness is all-consuming. It’s like a shadow that makes him radiate danger in a way that attracts some, but also keeps others away from him. It’s… intriguing.

“Hey, do you have literature this afternoon?” Hanna stands up and sweeps crumbs off her jeans, then extends her hand to me.

“Yeah, don’t know where, though.” I look up at her and grab her hand, pulling myself up. The campus has changed a lot since I came here for the first time, back when Lola was looking at colleges to attend. I never considered coming here, so I didn’t bother taking a good look. The art building is still the same, so I knew what to look for, but the college has changed a lot in four years, extended in all directions.

“I’ll take you there. Do you wanna go into town while we wait? We’ve got like three hours or something left.”

Three hours, including lunch. “No, thanks. Maybe next week. I need to talk to Tamara—uh, Prof Winters—about something first. See you here in… two and a half hours?”

“Sure. Good luck. Don’t tell her that I was here.” Hanna grins, embraces me for a moment, and then steps back. “It was nice to get to know you, Lizzy-not-short-for-anything.”

“You too. Thanks for saving me back there.” I watch as Hanna walks off towards the bus stops. I never thought that I would actually meet someone here on the first day. Maybe this year won’t be so bad after all.

N
ot showing
up for my first class of the year, that will set a
great
record. I fume on the inside, but it’s all my own fault for first stressing out about going and then sleeping right through my alarm.

Well, it’s not like Tamara will care that much. She knows I took these classes last year too. But it’s always better to apologize in person than to do it over email, especially with Tamara.

I look around the hallways. The contrast between the gray exterior and the colored interior couldn’t be bigger, but somehow the campus—or the county, whoever—wouldn’t sign off on painting of the outside. Too bad. I follow the color scheme from green into blue and then purple. The drawing teachers have their offices here. Color coding, so smart for people who are supposed to be adults. I get it, it’s the art building, but sensible numbering would be better than figuring out that P21 stands for room one on the second floor in the purple part of the building, right between red and blue. The rest of the campus uses the standard numbering scheme.

I knock on the door with Tamara’s name. The door is already slightly ajar, like she’s waiting on someone. “Prof Winters?”

“Hey, H, come on in,” Tamara calls out from inside, and I step through the door. The contrast turns around in her office again, Tamara’s specialty is black and white drawings so there is very little color in the office. “I missed you in class this morning.”

I run my hand through my hair, tugging slightly. To lie or not to lie. “I couldn’t get out of bed.” Apparently, I decide to go with the truth, without much input from the sane part of my brain.

Tamara nods and points to a chair in front of her desk. “Are you sure you’re up for classes yet, then?”

Up for it? Maybe not. But I can’t keep sitting around the house, it’s making me stir-crazy. I shrug. “I guess.”

“You guess? We’re being decisive again, aren’t we?”

I scratch at a spot on my jeans. Paint stain, no surprise there.

“Okay. I need to finish this email and then I’ve got to talk to you about a few things. You wanna wait here or…?”

“I’ll wait here.” I pull out a book from my bag. I might have done these classes last year, but I never did finish the reading list set for our literature classes.
The Great Gatsby
by Fitzgerald was never one of my favorites, but I know the exam question for it will be one of the easier ones.

Tamara taps away at her keys, keeping her concentration on whatever she is writing. She can be such an adult when she’s serious, though I’ve seen her with her art and art students outside of this gray box and she is a totally different person there. Someone to look up to, someone to aspire to being.

She’s saved me many times in the past. First when I was just starting out with scrap metal art and I needed to learn to have confidence in what I did. Then when I returned from high school and Joey was ill, and then again last year after the accident. She’s always been there for me, and I can’t repay her enough. Ever.

There is a soft knocking on the door, almost timid. “Tamara—uh, Prof Winters?”

I look up and a girl in a long black dress steps in. Her dark hair reaches to her waist and hides her face from view as soon as she realizes there is someone else in the room. Her style is a combination of goth and something I can’t really put my finger on, I can’t help but stare at her. Something about her keeps drawing my eye.

“Sorry, I can come back later.” Her neck flushes and she is ready to turn around.

Tamara stands up. “No. Come on in, come on in. It’s okay.” Her voice is soft, careful, as if talking to a scared kitten. “I need to speak to you both anyway. This way I don’t have to have this talk twice.” She looks at me for a moment, thinking. “Hunter, can you get us something to drink from down the hall? I’d like a tea, unsweetened and no milk, and if I remember correctly, Lizzy drinks coffee, right?”

“Ah, um. Just some water, please.” The girl Tamara just called Lizzy steps back, out of the way of the door.

I get it, I get it. I need to make myself scarce for a moment. I get up, leaving the book on the chair, and walk down the hall to the teachers’ lounge. Tamara. No ordinary student would dare to call her that, unless they knew her personally. So is she another one of Tamara’s child art prodigies? I haven’t seen her before, though that wouldn’t be strange, since I’ve been away from here for all of high school and I haven’t been going to the workshop often after my life spiraled out of control.

I grab a cup of coffee, a cup of tea and fill a paper cup at the water cooler. I dawdle at the table with food and bring three cookies back with me. We’re in a meeting with a teacher, there are hot beverages involved, so some cookies should be allowed.

I saunter back to Tamara’s office and knock on the door before stepping in, closing it behind me. “I’ve brought snacks too.” I put the cookies on the desk together with the drinks. I see the quick glance Tamara gives Lizzy. “Not good?” I turn to Lizzy too, who shrugs.

“It’s fine. Thanks.” She looks at me and tries to smile, but it never reaches her darkly lined eyes. Eyes in a beautiful pale shade of blue I’m sure I’ve seen before, but I don’t know where. It’s such a contrast with her dark style that I can’t help but stare. She reaches out to the table, making sure neither she nor the long sleeves of her dress come close to the cookies, as she picks up the cup of water. Her movements are timid, almost as if she is scared. She puts the cup to her mouth, but then sees me look and moves the cup away, keeping it in two hands instead. She pinches her perfectly lined, dark red lips together, avoiding my glances.

“So.” Tamara breaks the silence and I pick up my book to sit down again. I glance at Tamara, who nods. Okay, everything is okay. I didn’t just do something stupid, even though I feel like I did. “You both didn’t show up for this morning’s class.” She holds up her hand as Lizzy wants to interrupt. “I get it, no worries. If I had seen you then, this speech wouldn’t have been much different.” She moves some paper around on her desk and picks a couple of them up. “Do either of you have classes tomorrow afternoon?”

I shake my head. Nothing. I had hoped to spend it in my parents’ barn working on a new project, but I can do that any time I want.

“Well, that makes this easier.” Tamara hands us some papers. “As Hunter knows from last year, I normally don’t teach first-year art classes, but because of some scheduling issues, I do this year. Which puts me in an awkward position with you two. I’ve worked with you for so long that I can’t be as objective about your art as a teacher should be. So, if you don’t have any clashing commitments, I advised the board to move you two to second-year art classes. Drawing in your cases.”

“But…” Lizzy moves forward next to me.

“The teacher, Prof Cartwright, has already seen your work, and he agrees that you’re both at a sufficient level for his class.” Tamara smiles. “It’s actually a blessing in disguise. I can’t be as objective about your work as I should, and you can do a class that you love at a higher level.”

I know Prof Cartwright from last year. He was cool, and I wouldn’t mind taking classes from him again. And Tamara is right—it would be weird to be taught by her when we’ve worked so closely together before.

“If you can fill out the paperwork and get it to the administration office as soon as possible, that would be great. Prof Cartwright has agreed that you can start following his classes tomorrow, as long as you get your paperwork ready in the next weeks.” Tamara hands us some more papers. “And those you will need too, so they know at administration that Prof Cartwright and I have already figured everything out. Questions?”

“Is this really okay? I never finished first-year classes.” Lizzy moves in her chair, and as I look at her, her brows are knit tightly together. Right now, the only look on her I’ve seen is one of worry. I’d love to see her smile, see if her eyes will sparkle like I think they will.

“It’s totally okay. And it’s better for you.” Tamara smiles at her encouragingly.

“But I was looking forward to your classes.” Lizzy fidgets and I want to reach out to her, but she flinches when she sees me move. Ouch.

“Ah, yes. Well, that brings me to the second reason I wanted to see you two.”

Another reason? I look at Tamara, slightly confused, but she smiles broadly.

“I’d like to open my new workshop to you two. Not as students of this college but as artists who may need a place to work on their own art. It’s not the same as when you were young—there won’t be set times when you come in or when you leave, but there will be a lot of space to work on whatever you’d like. I know that some people need a place away from home and away from campus to really focus on their honest art.” Tamara looks at us expectantly.

“Can I think about this?” I try to imagine what I could be doing on my own art in the workshop. Most of my work is with metal and is just too big or hot to do anywhere but a specialized place. But then again… maybe a change of pace and location might get me out of the funk I’ve been in ever since last year.

“Of course. It’s an open invitation.” Tamara looks at Lizzy. “What do you think?”

“But… I like to listen to music when I work, and I move a lot, and… and… I don’t know yet.” Lizzy fidgets with the papers in her hands, her leg under her long skirt jumping up and down.

“That is okay. Let me know what you think and I’ll give you a copy of the key so you can get in on your own. There are some other students who also come and go. They work with a mixture of mediums, so there is likely to be someone at any moment of the day. If you want to check it out before you agree, you can always see if there is someone there already or come find me.” Tamara sits back with her cup of tea, which has probably cooled off by now. “Now we’ve taken care of that, how are you finding your classmates?”

I glance at Lizzy, hoping that she went to student orientation last week and has something to share, but the sheepish look I get back confirms my fear. We’ve got no clue who our classmates are.

* * *

“
H
?” Lizzy follows me out of the art building.

I turn around. How does she know that name already? Tamara has only called me Hunter in front of her, right?

“Is it not okay to call you that?” Lizzy loops the edge of one of her sleeves through her fingers as she evades my eyes.

I let my breath go. “It’s fine. You just surprised me.” I reach out to her fidgeting hands, but she quickly pulls them back. No touching. “What did you want to ask?”

“Do you know where the main hall is? I’ve got one of my classes soon, and I think my guide is already there.”

Her guide? A friend or something else? Though I guess that if she really had a lot of friends, we wouldn’t have spent three hours in Tamara’s office talking about art. Right? “I need to be there too. You can come with me.”

Lizzy nods and then looks at me for a second. “Thanks.”

I start walking, Lizzy following closely behind me. “How do you know Tamara?” I try to walk next to her, but she keeps walking slightly behind me.

“She used to teach me when I was young.” So I was right, she is one of Tamara’s child prodigies.

“Yeah? Me too. When did she teach you?” Maybe I’ve seen her at the workshop before, and that’s why I remember her eyes.

“Middle school and into high school.”

“She just taught me in middle school. I went away for high school. What is your skill?”

“Drawing and painting. Yours?”

“Drawing and metal scrap art, mostly. I sometimes dabble in some painting too.”

“Scrap art?” Lizzy now walks next to me, curious.

“I use metal and other leftover or discarded things to create art. It’s fun, but the costs can run high.”

“Do you have pictures?”

I pull out my phone and show some installations that I’ve created.

“I’ve seen that one. It’s right outside town.” Lizzy points at one of the pictures.

“That one is in my parents’ yard.” I show her another one. “You must have seen this one too.” I’m proud of it—it’s one of my earlier works.

“That used to be in the hallway to the workshop.” Lizzy looks at me. “That’s yours?”

I nod, and when I look up I realize we’re almost at the building. I walk slower, glad to share enthusiasm with someone about my art. I don’t want to break the moment. Lizzy just lights up when she talks about it, it’s mesmerizing to watch.

Lizzy looks up too, her smile faltering and her step slowing. A wall is pulled up between us right before my eyes. “Thank you for bringing me here. I’ll see you tomorrow in Prof Cartwright’s class?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

Lizzy nods and I look after her as she walks off. Interesting girl. I pull a packet of smokes from my bag and light one as I walk to a smoking area close by. She is so timid, but I saw a small spark when she looked at the installations I made. Only that happy girl is hidden, hidden behind layers of… pain. The word comes to me, and I realize that is what I’ve seen. She is hurting on the inside too, hurting so deep that she doesn’t know how to climb out, though maybe she only can through art. Like me.