Lastly, I’m downright pissed off at that fucking asshat, Beckham, who’s hanging all over Hudson at their table, glancing over at me every chance he gets to make sure I’m looking. If I wasn’t working right now, I’d ask him with my fist which part of ‘Hudson is my girl’ he didn’t fucking comprehend. But, I really need this job, and although coldcocking a customer wasn’t one of Brody’s three rules, something tells me it would be frowned upon.
So, instead, I have to suck it all up, plaster a smile on my face, and make drinks for the next three hours, pretending everything is hunky-fucking-dory.
“Hey, man,” Rory nudges my elbow as I wait for the blender to mix a frozen margarita, “you okay? Can I help out with something?”
“Fuck no,” I grumble, rubbing my hand across the back of my neck. “My girl decided to show up and surprise me tonight, and it just so happens that her friend from school, who’s also here, is Tasha’s cousin. Everything is pretty fucking far from okay right about now.”
He’s quiet for a minute as he scans the bar, then cocks his head when he lands on Hudson’s table. “Which Hipster Barbie is yours?”
“She’s not a fucking Barbie, but the one with the long hair,” I retort as I pour the slushed mixture in a glass. “And the other one’s her sister.”
Snickering at my touchiness, he shakes his head. “My bad, man. Don’t get your panties in a wad. I was just teasing you. She’s fucking hot, and you could totally help a brother out with an introduction to her sister at some point, but you do realize Beck is macking all up on her, and Tasha is over there talking to them, right?”
I deliver the drink to the waiting customer, who I immediately label as a dumbass for ordering a frozen drink when there’s subzero temperatures outside, but I smile and wink at her all the same while collecting my tip.
“Yeah, I see it, but what am I supposed to do about it?” I steal a glance over at the group, cringing as I see Tasha engage Hudson in conversation. “And how do you know him?”
Rory shrugs his shoulder while getting out two shot glasses, rimming them each with salt and filling them with top-shelf tequila. “He’s a regular up here, though he hasn’t been around much lately. I’m not even sure he’s old enough to drink, but he and Tasha are really close, so Brody doesn’t say shit.” Handing me a lime wedge, he tips his head down at the freshly poured shots, the only motherfucker on my side tonight. “Drink up, buttercup. Tequila makes everything better...at least temporarily.”
Throwing back the first shot, and then the second, I welcome the potent, intoxicating liquid as it rolls down the back of my throat and warms my chest. I close my eyes momentarily and take several deep, fortifying breaths, in through my nose and out through my mouth, and when I reopen them, all I see is the back of Hudson’s head walking out the front door.
By the time I pull up in front of Hudson’s house, it’s after three in the morning and I’m fucking steaming mad. At least her car is parked in the driveway. She’s ignored my texts since she left without saying goodbye—left with her sister and Beckham, I might add. Tasha smartly stayed out of my way after their sudden exit—an exit that conveniently followed her talking to Hudson—and the only good thing that happened all night, other than the four hundred I pocketed, was Rory offering to do most of the clean-up, knowing I needed to get the hell out of that place before I lost my shit.
Storming up to the window I know is hers, I accidentally tap louder than I mean to, and hope I don’t wake up anyone else in the house. I realize it’s only a few hours from when they all have to be up to get ready for work and school, and though I doubt Doug and Mel would get upset with me for showing up at this hour, I would really rather not test my theory.
At first, there’s no activity behind the blinds, but after the third time I rap my knuckles—a little more impatient each time—on the window, a light flicks on in the room, and seconds later, she’s standing in front of me with only a pane of glass separating us. Her hair still hangs down over her shoulders like earlier, hiding her tits from me, but her pale blue shirt is short enough to give me a peek at the front of her white lace panties. The sight of her is almost enough to make me forget about everything that happened in the last several hours, to rip that thin piece of fabric from between her legs and bury myself deep in her heat, reminding her who the fuck she belongs to.
Almost.
“Let me in,” I mouth, my quiet tone demanding.
She shakes her head obstinately and rolls her eyes. “Go home, Crew.”
“Hudson, please,” I warn. “Don’t do this. We need to talk.”
Penetrating me with her icy stare, she stands firm. “So talk.”
“It’s freezing out here, and I need to explain things. It’s not whatever you’re thinking. Please give me five minutes.” I’m not sure how this turned so quickly from me showing up ticked off to begging for her to let me talk, but there’s no denying the hurt look painted across her beautiful face, and it kills me to know I’m the reason for it.
Eventually, her face softens and she drops her arms to unlatch the window. Pushing it open, she backs up so I can crawl inside her bedroom, crossing her arms over her chest as she adds to the distance between us. I shed my jacket and go straight to her side, not giving her a chance to protest. Scooping her up in my arms, I sit down on her bed and place her in my lap, my arms wrapping tightly around her center.
She shivers from my cold fingers, but I need to touch her too much right now to let her go. Her body is made to fit mine, and as I exhale, most of my anger leaves with it.
“Why did you leave?” I murmur into her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume. “You didn’t say goodbye or anything. I just looked up and you were gone…with him.”
Shoving back away from me, her eyes grow wide. “With him? Are you kidding me? You realize that it’s because of you I never went out with Beckham again, right? That on the single date I had with him—my very first date ever—all I could do was think about some cocky ass guy from Texas, who had the most intriguing green eyes I’ve ever seen and hair that begged me to bury my fingers in it. Right?
“I don’t like bars. I don’t even drink,” she continues, pushing farther away from me. “I went there for you, because I so stupidly thought you may be missing me like I’ve been missing you over the past few days, and that you might actually be happy to see me. Instead, I walk in to a bar where you not only work with a bunch of half-dressed hoochies—which you’ve conveniently failed to mention—but one who openly informed me that she’s your favorite! Seriously, Crew, what the fuck am I supposed to think?!”
“Hudson…” I begin.
“No, let me finish. You wanted to talk, so this is me talking,” she whispers harshly. “I don’t do boyfriends and dating and all that crap, because I don’t have time for petty bullshit like this, but there was something different when I met you, a connection I thought you felt too. And I know we haven’t been together very long, or whatever you call this,” she motions her hand back and forth between the two of us, “and I’m not asking you to profess your love to me, or to report in, or anything else ridiculous like that, but some common courtesy would be nice. If I worked someplace where a bunch of sexy ass guys milled around, flaunting their goods, I’d give you a fucking heads-up before you showed up and felt like an idiot!”
I lift my hand and gently press my finger against her lips, trying to calm her down. Her cheeks glow an angry pink as her pulse thumps frantically underneath the pale skin of her neck, and I’ve got to admit…my dick’s getting hard watching her get all worked up. I’ve never seen mad Hudson before, and she’s fucking hot.