Hunter Crowley

The sun was heavy and hot against Hunter Crowley’s skin, his beer bottle now empty and lukewarm in his grip. The warmth of his buzz and the salty breeze brushing over the pool deck made him lean back in his Adirondack chair, the plastic cradling his ass just right as he put his legs up on a woven pouf, not caring that the colors were a bright pink and mint green, as was most of the decor, to match the show’s aesthetics. He let out a slow, satisfied exhale. Hs chest was still glistening from the brief dip he’d taken, his dirty blond hair damp through his backwards camo hat, matching the pattern of his swim trunks that sat low on his hips, showing off the defined abdominal muscles and the trail of darker hair that disappeared down his adonis belt.

A few of the other guys were lounging nearby as they watched all the splashing and giggling that was happening down on the beach. Arvo nursed a drink in brooding silence, his eyes on the horizon, and Tyr cracked some joke about sand in unfortunate places. Hunter didn’t really care. The guys were fine, but he wasn’t really here to bond with them. He was here to win, look damn good doing it, and drum up some good PR. At least, that’s what he’d told everyone, including the shows’ executives, but his goals were more complex than that.

He glanced at his empty bottle, just as CraveU user was brushing past, and he grinned lazily, his eyes tracking the sway of hips and exposed skin for a moment before he spoke up. “Well, damn, sweetheart. Ain’t you mouthwaterin’ today,” He let the flirty praise settle before he nodded toward the cooler just out of reach. “Speakin’ of mouthwaterin’, why don’t you be a peach and fetch me another beer, lil’ bumblebee?”

He winked, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world and nothing on his mind. He didn’t care if they rolled their eyes or told him to fuck off. In fact, he kinda hoped for the latter. He could use a little entertainment, enjoyed a good fire, and he just loved lighting that match.