Page 47 of Bridesmaid By Chance
I lift my phone and unlock the screen. I read the text out loud to her.
Hudson: Then why did I see you sleeping several times throughout the night with your mouth open and drool on your pillow?
Stacey lets out a howl of a laugh as the insult pulses through me.
“I was not drooling,” I say as I text him back.
Sloane: Staring lovingly, I see. Hope you got your fill.
“Oh my God, I can’t breathe,” Stacey says, still laughing.
“It’s not funny.”
“Uh…it’s so fucking funny,” she says, gripping her stomach.
My phone dings with a message.
Hudson: For a lifetime.
And he says I’m the one with the attitude.
Sloane: If you got your fill, then no need to meet for dinner.
Hudson: Miss dinner and hand me back the check.
“Gah!” I gasp, staring down at the text.
“What?” Stacey asks while wiping her eyes.
“He’s being rude to me.”
“Rude? Or is he calling you on your bullshit?”
“Rude,” I say with a lift of my chin. “Absolutely rude.”
“Hello, Husband,” I say, arms crossed, staring at Hudson, who is wearing a forest-green suit and white button-up shirt. A far cry from the ugly brown that makes him look like a potato. Nope, this is tailored to fit every curve and contour of his tall, broad body.
“Why are you saying hello? We drove over together.”
“Yes, but you’re finally acknowledging me.”
“I was driving,” he says.
“But conversation never hurt anyone. I see you’re just carrying over your rudeness from earlier.”
He opens the door to the restaurant and presses his hand to my lower back, guiding me inside.
“How was I rude?”
“Uh, your text messages.”
He offers his name to the hostess, and she immediately guides us through the restaurant as he leans his head next to mine and whispers, “Don’t play with fire if you can’t handle the burn, Sloane.”
And then he pulls out my chair for me when we reach the table. I stare at him for a few seconds, studying those dangerous eyes before I take a seat and he scoots me in.
Unfortunately, he’s right. I played with fire this morning and got burned.
Learned a lesson though, that’s for damn sure. He might be a silent one, but he can be quick.
