Page 66 of Wrecking Us
Hudson’s always been a good-looking guy, but when did he get… hot?
When did that happen?
“What?” he asks as we pull up to a stop sign. It’s only then I realize that I’ve completely spaced out and have been staring at him long enough I forgot what we were talking about. My cheeks heat, because not only did I space out, but he caught me staring at him like a weirdo.
Fuck.
I clear my throat. “Nothing.”
Nothing but another secret to add to the pile.
Hudson gives me a weird look, and I tense, almost worried he can somehow read my mind, which is insane.
I shift in my seat, shaking my head. “Just forget it, okay?”
Hudson grunts as he focuses on the road, taking off once more. I turn my face toward the window, nonchalantly adjusting my dick which seems to have a mind of its own these days.
“Wow,” is all I can say as I take in the white shutters and the wrap-around porch. “You live here?”
Hudson shrugs. “Obviously.”
“I mean… it’s just—”
He pulls my suitcase out of the trunk of his car.
“Too much?” Hudson says, and I don’t miss the disdain in his voice. “For one person.”
It’s big, sure, but it isn’t ostentatious. It’s… roomy. Cozy. I can imagine coming home to a place like this. It’s a far cry from my condo in Miami on the beach that I rarely see. The neighborhood is quiet, all that can be heard is the faint sounds of birds tweeting and kids laughing off in the distance, but otherwise it’s peaceful.
I shake my head. “No. I was going to say it’s perfect.”
And it is. Everything about it is.I turn to look at him with a grin. “It’s soyou.”
His gaze softens, and I swear I see his cheeks flush. I move to grab my suitcase, but he doesn’t let me take it.
Arguing is pointless, and maybe I like it a little. It’s nice to have someone do something for me because they want to, not because they have to—because they’re paid.
The inside of the house is just as beautiful as I knew it would be. Everything is shiny and bright, like it’s brand new, but I know he’s had the place for awhile.
He holds my gaze for a moment before he steps forward, leaving my suitcase by the couch. He stops in front of me, and I’m acutely aware of how close he is. How good he smells.
How utterlyhothe looks in his navy blue Under Armour sweatpants and matching sweatshirt. He slides his hands into his pockets, some hair falling out of place. Carefully, he pushes it back with one hand. His gaze drifts to my mouth, where it hovers far too long. I lean down just an inch, my gaze dipping to his mouth, and then it happens. Hudson leans up and kisses me. It’s fast. Too fast, if I’m being honest. He pulls away, his gaze filling with panic as he clears his throat.
“Sorry,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. He looks back up at me, his voice dark and raspier than usual. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.”
“It’s not,” I say, but I think it is. Though maybe it’s notweirdin the sense that he did it, but weird in the sense that I think Iwantedhim to. But I don’t tell him that. Instead, I say, “I think you meanthank you,” and I kiss him again, but it’s not quick. It’s slow, but easy.
I’m too aware of howeasyit is. How soft his lips are. How my dick is responding even though I’m tryingnotto pay attention to it. I told myself I wasn’t going to do this.
And yet, here I am, in the middle of his kitchen, slipping my tongue into his mouth.
Fuck.
When I pull away, he looks up at me with confusion, and it takes me a minute to remember what we were talking about.
“It’s Thanksgiving, you’re supposed to bethankful,not sorry,” I say, my heart racing so loud I think he can hear it.
He laughs, really laughs. It’s smooth and deep and warm. But I think that’s just Hudson.
