Page 48 of When the Time Is Right
Licking and sucking at my skin, Hudson pressed his erection into my thigh, and fantasies I’d buried in the back of my mind of him doing that very thing when we were teenagers surfaced.
Had I wanted this all along?
“Ahh,” I panted as he gently bit my earlobe. Hearing his breathing against me sent fire up my spine.
I wanted more, and that was exactly why, with a hand against his chest, I pushed him away. It didn’t take more resistance than that before he broke our contact and took a step back.
We stared at one another, catching our heaving breaths. Hudson’s hand smoothed over his jaw and then covered his mouth. The muscles in his forearms flexed and he slowly wiped his lips.
“I have to go,” he said, his voice thick, finally breaking the silence.
And just as quickly as he’d barged into my house, he was gone.I felt like a piece of paper that had been torn into a dozen pieces, and each of those scraps represented one of the emotions I felt. Every time my mind wandered back to what had happened in my kitchen, they all scattered in the wind.
How could one kiss have fucked me up so much?
Part of me had assumed that if anything like that ever happened, it would snap me out of this unfortunate crush. Like it would confirm we were only meant to be friends. That what I had felt was just because I’d had such a long dry spell.
Never in a million years had I expected Hudson’s kiss to awaken my entire body. Seriously, I’d been kissed. I’d kissed many. But I’d never been so consumed and swept up in a moment like we’d shared. Then again, what had he ever done poorly—aside from his drunken sexual encounter with Lauren?
That thought only led me back to the what was I thinking kissing Hudson corner of my mind. He had a child with one of our friends. He was best friends with my brother. If anyone ever found out, they’d lose their ever-loving minds.
“You’re so fucking dumb, Alexis,” I repeated for the hundredth time. Scolding myself for letting it happen while deep cleaning my house had taken up most of my morning. The other part of my morning had been spent showering and brushing my teeth. Anything I could do to scrub away what I was sure had been a huge mistake.
But as the conflicting voices in my head had done since the moment it happened, I’d somehow found my way back to Why Do I Want To Do It Again Land?
I needed fresh air.
Needed to do something big to take my mind off it. Off his hands cupping my face. Off his body pressing into mine. Off the tiniest humming sound he made when I’d first kissed him back. Off the fact of how unfair it was that it had—easily—been one of the best kisses of my life. First kisses were supposed to be timid and awkward. How was it even fair that he got to be that incredible right off the bat?
Damn Hudson Bradley.
I needed a task that would give me some control. Some authority. Something monotonous with immediate results. Power washing.
Yes, I had my own, and it was a beast too. It had been a housewarming gift from—shit.
Anyway, a friend had given it to me when I’d moved in, knowing how much I loved the chore. When I was growing up, it was the one outdoor job I always volunteered for at home. My parents had a massive wooden deck in Atlanta, and the beach house usually needed a good washing about once a year too.
I was odd, but that wasn’t new.
After I gassed and fired up the machine, I pulled the bill of my cap down to shield the spray back from my eyes and got to it. My old iPod shuffle was in a plastic bag in my pocket and my heavy-duty headphones were on, playing fourteen-year-old Lex’s favorite hits.
For a few hours, I got lost in the sweet instant gratification of blowing grime off my siding to the still-iconic sounds of Nick, Joe, and Kevin Jonas. No phone calls. No real-world issues. Just me and forty-four hundred PSI of take-no-shit water pressure.
Then, as I was tugging the power washer through the grass to my backyard, I saw his black truck coming down my street.
Panic set in. Not that he hadn’t seen me look way, way worse before, but things were different now whether I was comfortable admitting it or not. Combine that with the fact that I didn’t know what to say, how to feel, or what to think about him just showing up.
And I didn’t know what he’d say. Or how he’d felt. Or really anything other than he’d bolted less than a minute after I’d broken the kiss.
