Page 15 of When the Time Is Right
I pushed up off the floor, wiping my hands on my shorts before shoving one in his direction. “You do realize it’s not necessary for her to announce your arrival like a damn sultan every time you get here, right?”
Normally, he would have brought it in for a back pat, but after eyeing my sweaty T-shirt, he kept it to a brisk handshake. “It’s been three years, Hudson. I’ve gone through the entire cast of The Office, Parks and Rec, Harry Potter, and now, next week’s Dr. Calvin Khal Drogo Lawson, MD will round out Game of Thrones. Why does she still ask my name every time I get here?”
“Probably the same reason you told her your name was Dr. Calvin Dumbledore Lawson, MD the first time you met.”
“Yeah, but that was funny. This is…odd. She’s, like, eighty. What if she has dementia?” He scratched his head. “Oh shit, you aren’t letting her do your payroll, are you?”
No. I wasn’t letting her do my payroll. And only part of that was because she was in fact eighty-four and not as sharp as she’d once been, according to her. Libby Patterson was something of the Hud Construction grandmother. She knitted booties and a blanket each time one of the crew had a baby, and she kept a spiral-bound planner with every single employee’s birthday handwritten inside. Not a day passed when she wasn’t shuffling out into the equipment bay to give one of her “loves” a special celebratory hard candy. To be honest, filing, keeping up with birthdays, answering the phones, and announcing Cal over the intercom were the brunt of her duties, but she was part of the Hud family, so she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Nah, she just does my taxes. Good news, I got a refund last year.”
His mouth fell open. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
For one of the smartest men I’d ever met, Cal was also the most gullible. Being an orthopedic surgeon, his brain worked in logic and reason. He was funny as hell, but his humor was so damn literal that sarcasm sometimes floated right over his head. I was sure that growing up with Lex’s smart mouth had to have been an absolute hell for him, but somehow, they got along.
I walked around my desk and sank into my chair. “Yes, of course I’m shitting you. Now, tell me all about losing your virginity in Bermuda.”
Grinning, he settled into one of the chairs on the other side of the desk and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. “Says the workaholic at the office on a Saturday who hasn’t been laid in so long I’m relatively sure his hymen has grown back at this point.”
“Spoken like a true medical professional.”
Intertwining his fingers, he rested them on his stomach. “They don’t call me Dr. Targaryen for nothing. So, listen, I distinctly remember telling you Vanessa registered us at Pottery Barn, yet somehow, when we opened wedding presents last night, I found a card that contained a design for a hundred-thousand-dollar swimming pool. Care to explain?”
I mirrored his posture, resting my joined hands on my abs. “Well, first, my guys dig a hole in the ground in your backyard. Then they lay a steel rebar frame, rough-in the plumbing, spray in a concrete shell, and then…” I shrugged. “You know what, it’s all very technical. All you need to know is it will be done in about a month, and I took the liberty of adding a diving board to the plans. It’s going to cost you a fortune in homeowners insurance, but Jack will love it.” I smiled. “You’re welcome by the way.”
He blinked at me for several seconds. I’d known Cal long enough to be able to see the gears turning in his head. Vanessa was probably at home, already scheduling pool parties with her girlfriends, and he was sitting in my office, debating if he could live with himself for accepting such an exorbitant gift from his best friend in the name of happy wife, happy life. Deep down, he wanted it though because Cal would do damn near anything to make Vanessa happy.
He’d come around. Eventually.
I was prepared for him and had played out our argument in my head long before I’d pulled the trigger on the pool.
Lurching to his feet, he started to pace. “There is no damn way I’m letting you buy us a pool as a wedding gift. Or any kind of gift, for that matter. And what the hell is wrong with you for trying? I know business is going well right now, but you have a kid, Hudson.”
“Yeah. A kid who will be swimming in your pool all the damn time. Honestly, this isn’t a hardship.”
My computer chimed with an incoming email notification, but I did my best to ignore it.
