Hudson (21 page)

I held her foot in my hands while she scrambled to get away. “Just a minute ago, you were willing to put your mouth on me, and now you can’t even touch me with your foot?”

She put her hands up in surrender. “I was joking. I wouldn’t suck you, Hudson. Or fuck you. Ever. It would be…weird.”

“Very weird.” I let go of her foot, and she casually pulled her legs up under her again. “And it would mess up this.” I gestured back and forth from her to me.

She smiled. “Agreed. And this is nice.”

“I do like this.” We didn’t talk about
this
often. Or at all actually. We’d let our relationship evolve without commentary, but this felt like it needed to be said. Especially after her strange sexual innuendo. I had no intention of going there with her, but
this
—what we did have—it meant something to me. And that was interesting in itself—that any relationship I had meant something to me was unusual.

Still, if things got strange, if Celia tried to be something more than what we had, I’d be able to walk away. And I would walk away. Without looking back. Funny, then, how the idea bothered me.

It was more than I wanted to contemplate at the time. I stood and stretched, feigning a yawn. “Are you staying?”

Celia often stayed over at the loft with me, sharing my king-size bed like two school kids having a sleepover. It was never an issue, but this night I hoped she would say no. Some distance after our conversation might be needed.

But she didn’t seem to agree. “I’m staying,” she said. “Do I have any clothes still here? I couldn’t find any in the closet, and I usually have some items.”

“I hid all your things in case Monica stayed over. They’re not that hard to find. Back of the armoire, in the closet. If she snooped, she would have found them.”

“Smart.”

Celia found some of her yoga pants and a tank and went into the bathroom to change. I wondered at that as I stripped from my clothes. She usually dressed and undressed in front of me. Perhaps she also noted a lingering strangeness from our discussion. I certainly did. Normally, I’d be sleeping in boxers. Tonight I’d chosen sweats and a T-shirt.

I was already in bed when she slipped in on the other side. Without speaking, I leaned over and clicked off the lamp. I stayed on my side, facing away from her, and waited for sleep to take me over.

We lay like that for several minutes in the dark. I could tell from her breathing that she was also still awake, so it didn’t completely surprise me when she spoke.

“Do you think you’ll ever stop playing?” Her voice was smaller than usual. Thin and unsure.

Or it was just the dark messing with my senses.

I lifted my head so I could talk over my shoulder. “The game?” There was nothing else she could mean, though. “No. I’ll always play.” It wasn’t a question I’d ever even considered asking. The experiments were part of me. Even when I didn’t try, I was constantly manipulating the wills of those around me and gauging their reactions. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice.”

Though I didn’t know if she could see it in the dark, I shrugged, not agreeing but not wanting to debate it further. “What about you?”

“It’s good for now.” She cleared her throat. “But I could see myself quitting one day.”

Her answer bothered me. I didn’t like that she’d thought about quitting. I didn’t like that she believed it was a possibility for her.

I rolled to my back so I could look at her and found her also laying on her back. “You’re fooling yourself. You could never quit. You love it too much.” Perhaps I was speaking for myself. But I wanted those words to be true for her. Needed them to be true for her.

She turned her head to face me. “I do love it. Parts of it, anyway.”

Parts of it.
Yes, there were parts that were better than others. My favorite part was correctly guessing how a person would react to a situation. I’d gotten so good at reading people that I rarely failed to predict the outcome of the schemes we created. But even as I could anticipate results, each experiment taught me something new about human emotion—about the things I didn’t feel. I grew more and more interested in studying further. And more and more alienated from the world around me.

Except not from Celia.

The experiments had brought me closer to her. We were friends now in the way we’d always been meant to be. It occurred to me, though, that I didn’t know what it was that Celia liked about the game. I’d always assumed she’d liked it all, and I’d never thought to ask her.

So I asked her now. “Which parts?”

“Hmm,” she pretended to think about it, though I was sure she already had an answer. “The pain,” she said finally. “I like seeing people in pain.”

Her answer baffled me. I liked seeing an outcome of an experiment, and very often it was pain, but when it wasn’t, I was just as satisfied. This desire of hers intrigued me as much as any other person’s desires.

I turned toward her, propping my head up with my hand. “Why?”

“I don’t know, really. I can’t explain it.”

“Try.”

She was quiet for a while, but eventually she spoke. “It makes my own pain feel diminished somehow.”

I laughed. “What pain can you possibly have?”

“Hey, even spoiled little rich girls can have things that hurt them.” She paused again, but I waited. I knew how the dark could draw things out that hid in the light. Wasn’t that where Celia and I always met? In dark rooms? In dark situations?

Seconds ticked by in silence, but eventually she did give more. “Don’t ask me what my pain is specifically, though. I haven’t felt anything in so long that I don’t remember. But it’s there somewhere—I know it. Waiting for me. And every time someone else cries and falls apart, it gets smaller. I keep thinking if I just hurt enough people, break enough hearts, then eventually it will all go away. And I won’t have to play anymore. I can go back to feeling.”

Her monologue was slow and burdened. As though it was hard to say, or like it was the first time she’d ever thought the words. I wasn’t even sure if she was finished speaking or not, but her last statement begged for response. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I remember what it’s like to be in love.” She pulled the covers up to her chin, tucking herself away. Hiding.

But she exposed herself once more. “I’d like to feel that again, I think. Someday.”

“Again, I ask, why the fuck would you want to do that?”

“You’ve never been in love, Hudson. You couldn’t understand.” She turned to her side, her back to me. “Goodnight.”

It was clear the conversation was over, so I didn’t push her. Besides, I didn’t want to continue it, not really. Though I was very much interested in whatever it was that kept that hope of love burning inside of her. Even now, after all the time she’d spent with me—how could she possibly still feel that pull? I was dying to understand.

But there were other thoughts that were swimming through my head that I didn’t want to explore. Like, why now? Where did this come from? Was it connected to our playful banter earlier on the couch? Was Celia still carrying a torch that I had effectively ignored?

If I had to make a guess, I’d say that she wasn’t so much still enamored with me but with the emotion in general. Both ideas were perplexing, but I couldn’t believe that I’d missed signs of her affection for so long.

There was something else that kept me awake long after Celia had slipped into rhythmic breathing at my side. If she really did stop playing the game eventually, where would that leave me? Alone again. It had never bothered me before, but now…

Now, I’d grown accustomed to Celia’s companionship. The experiment had evolved with her help, and I’d found considerably more joy in it since she’d joined. If she didn’t continue to play, we’d have no bond between us anymore. Our friendship would fall away. And for reasons I couldn’t explain, that wasn’t something I could live with.

So I wouldn’t let it happen. We’d keep playing, and she’d see how ridiculous it was to want a happy ending. There weren’t happy endings. Not really. There were only those who got that and the fools who didn’t. Celia and I would not be the fools.

Chapter Eighteen

After

We’re quiet as we drive to the restaurant for my mother’s birthday. Alayna’s nervous—I’m sure that’s the reason for her silence. Mothers in general are intimidating, I hear. My mother beats them all.

I’m nervous as well, for more than one reason. First, I’m worried about subjecting Alayna to this evening with Sophia. It’s partly why I hadn’t told her about tonight. Alayna was supposed to be working, so I used that as an excuse not to bring it up. Then her plans were canceled, and I had to make a decision. She thinks she wormed her way into an invite, but, honestly, I wanted her with me. I always want her with me.

Now I’m left with a bigger problem. Celia. I’m certain she’ll be there. Her family has joined us for my mother’s birthday dinners for as long as I can remember, so the scenario isn’t unlikely. And that brings up so many potential issues. Alayna, for one, may not be happy if Celia is present. I’ve promised her I won’t spend time with Celia without her. It hadn’t even occurred to me that this evening would break that promise until I realized Alayna would be with me.

I should tell her now. But I can’t bring myself to say it because I’m hoping to God that it isn’t an issue, that Celia doesn’t come tonight. Not because Alayna will be upset, but because I don’t want to see Celia. At all.

Even the thought of it causes sweat to bead across my brow.

As the limo pulls up to the curb, I wipe my forehead and laugh inwardly at myself. I’m a man who’s generally self-assured and confident, and now, at the thought of my petite, demure childhood friend, I’m frightened. It’s my own fault. I should have contacted her before now. It’s been three days since I completely left the experiment, and I’ve yet to tell Celia. I’ve avoided it, not knowing what to say. All my focus has been on Alayna, making her part of my world, inviting her to live with me—it feels like a lifetime since Celia drove me to the airport in the Hamptons and I told her I was done. I’m not that man anymore. I’m completely new.

Stepping out of the car, I casually glance around for sight of her before reaching back to help Alayna out. Celia’s nowhere to be seen, and it shouldn’t matter if she was. She likely won’t be surprised to see us. She knows I haven’t broken things off since she showed up at my penthouse while Alayna was there. The game was supposed to have ended before that. But she can only guess what the circumstances are to have made me change the plans. I’m sure she suspects something’s different—I’ve never had a woman at my house before. Not one I was in a relationship with. Not even one I was pretending to have a relationship with. It’s a change in my pattern that Celia will not have missed.

Yes, there’s a lot to be said to Celia, a lot that’s past due. When I finally do tell her the truth, she’ll retaliate. It’s not a question.

I gesture to Alayna to go ahead of me while I make arrangements with Jordan for our pickup. A last minute urge to flee seizes me. I could call Alayna back, take her somewhere else, enjoy the evening with her to myself. My mother will throw a fit and drink more than usual, or maybe exactly as much as usual, which is already too much. But I won’t care because I’ll be far away from all of it.

Our problems wouldn’t be solved, though. Simply postponed. Which is why I decide to continue with this horror of an evening. It will be worse because Alayna is with me, but I’m strangely comforted knowing she’ll be beside me through it all.

I step into the lobby after her and look at my watch. We’re a few minutes late. This shouldn’t be a problem. I called my mother earlier to let her know I was bringing Alayna, so the table should already be prepared for us. In the elevator up to our floor, I take her hand. I need to touch her even if it’s only in this simple capacity. It gives me strength. It reminds me my power lies in her.

The tension in my neck and shoulders tightens as we ascend. I realize that I don’t know what Alayna will do when she discovers Celia is here,
if
she’s here. Maybe it won’t be a big deal. But if it is…? Will Alayna be tight-lipped and cold? Will she lash out? What will I say when she questions me about it? The truth is safest, but what exactly is that?

More than once I lean toward Alayna with the intent of telling her that Celia may be here. Each time I stop myself. Finally, I start praying for the improbable.
Don’t let her be here. Tomorrow, I’ll contact her. I’ll start making things right with her.
Though I have no idea how.

Much too soon, long before I’m prepared, we are led by the host to my family’s table. Everyone’s there—Chandler, my parents, Mira and Adam, the Werners. Celia.

My stomach drops.

I know the moment Alayna spots her. She releases my hand and looks at me with pain-stricken features. “I thought you said this was family only,” she mumbles. And she bolts.

Well, that wasn’t a reaction I’d expected.

I nod to my family, catching my mother’s scowl as I make an apology. “She left something in the car. Excuse us a moment.” Then I follow after my date. While she may just need a moment to calm down, she has to know she can’t run from me. I will always come after her.

She takes the stairs. I pause at the door, trying to discover if she’s gone up or down. Her shoes echo on the concrete, but when I peer over the rail, I don’t see her below me. So I head to the roof.

At the top of the stairs, I open the heavy door and spot her rushing past the lounge area to the far edge of the space. There’s not many people here—a couple absorbed in each other on a couch, a small party conversing around an unlit fire pit. Not wanting to make a scene, I slow my pursuit. Alayna’s trapped in my sight. I can’t lose her.

When I’m close to her, I stop. Her back is to me, taking deep breaths. Her body rises and falls with each new lungful of air. I want to reach for her, but I’m tentative. Though I’m ready to move everything in my life to be with her, our whole arrangement is new to me. I’m making mistakes already, and I’m desperate not to make more.

I should have told her.

Now I have to say something, so I settle on the only thing that comes to mind. “The Werners are practically family.”

She doesn’t turn toward me. “Right. Uh-huh.”

“What, do you think I didn’t tell you on purpose?” Okay, I didn’t tell her on purpose, but not for the reasons she thinks. I’m in defense mode, and my phrasing tends to get manipulative when I am.

She chortles. “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

“Actually, I do.”

She spins toward me. “No, you don’t.”

I watch her as she backs away from me, stopping when she meets the wall. She should be angry at me. Aggressive, not retreating. There’s more to this than simply jealousy, but I don’t understand what.

And I
want
to understand. “Trust me when I tell you I do.”

“Hudson, you can’t say that when you don’t know what I want to say.” Her voice is strained, as if she’s holding back. “It’s not good. In fact, you need to leave me alone. Or I’m going to blame you for things. Things I’m probably overreacting about, and you’re going to be offended. And I’m going to lose you.”

The light goes on, and I feel like an idiot. She’s told me that she makes things bigger than they are, and here she is, afraid that that’s what she’s doing. She’s not, of course. I deserve her accusations, misguided as they may be. I deserve blame.

But, asshole that I am, I don’t tell her that. It will push her away, and I need—she needs—to be pulled in. So I do everything I can to make her see that her issues don’t scare me. Make her see that I’m not going anywhere. “You aren’t going to lose me.” I take a step toward her to prove it.

Her face is anguished, disbelieving. “You haven’t seen this side of me, Hudson. You don’t know.”

I don’t know what she’s like, what she can be like. I’ve seen glimpses of her obsessive tendencies, but nothing substantial. She’s been so strong, hiding her weaknesses from me.

I’m selfish because, even though I won’t show her all my darkness, I want to witness hers. “Then I need to stay. I need to see every side of you.”

Because I’ll love her through it all.

She shakes her head and bites her sexy red-painted lip, and I can tell she’s fighting tears.

But she’s also considering. I see it in her eyes. So I press her. “Go ahead. Ask me.”

“It won’t be asking; it will be accusing.” Her voice is smaller, and I can tell her resolve is weakening. It won’t take much to coax her thoughts out of her.

Am I a bully because I’m pressing her like this? Am I a masochist because I’m eager to hear what she has to say? Her accusations won’t be accurate, but I deserve to be questioned and grilled. I deserve to have to fight for her.

That’s not why I push her. I push her because I can’t live without her, and that means all of her, even this. “Do it,” I say. “I want to hear it. I need to know what you’re thinking. Trust me.”

She lets go. “You didn’t invite me tonight because you knew she’d be here.” It’s barely a whisper.

I nod in understanding. It’s not the reason I didn’t invite her, but if I’d known this morning that Alayna didn’t have to work this evening, I don’t know if I would have invited her then, either. And Celia would be the reason.

That admission would lead to things I don’t want to talk about, things I don’t want to face, and so I say, “That’s not true. I told you why I didn’t invite you. And I did invite you in the end. You’re here.”

“But you didn’t want to at first.” Though she won’t meet my eyes, her posture is stronger. “That’s probably why you had to doll me up. To show up Celia, whatever your game with her is. It wasn’t about your mother at all.”

This punches me in the gut. “You’re right.”

Her head whips up.

“You’re right that it wasn’t about my mother. It was about you. I wanted everyone to see how beautiful you are. How beautiful the woman who loves me is.” It’s hard for me to even say these words because I know that she really does love me and I don’t deserve it.

Worse, she doesn’t understand how much her affection means to me.

“Celia. You wanted to show Celia, you mean.”

I shake my head, not knowing how to get through to her.

“She’s here, Hudson!” she shouts. “She’s here with free rein, and I had to beg to be here. And you told me you wouldn’t see her without me. What is she to you?”

“Nothing. An old friend.” An enemy, maybe, depending on how things play out.

“Bullshit.” Her voice cracks. “Otherwise you would have told me about this dinner from the beginning. You were hiding it from me.” She points an accusing finger at me. “Because you knew she would be here too.”

“I didn’t know.” I close my eyes and take a breath. Will I always have to live like this? Skirting the truth? Dodging the past?

My only hope is to give as much honesty as I can. “I suspected,” I admit. “But she’s not here because of me. Her mother is my mother’s best friend. You know that.”

“Fuck that. She’s twenty-eight years old. She’s old enough to not go to every goddamn function with her mother. She’s here for you.”

There’s truth to this. Though our relationship hasn’t ever been romantic—not really—we’ve clung to each other like two orphaned hatchlings, birds of a feather. Our circles always entwined. If it were her mother’s birthday, I’d be there. I’d called it friendship. Now I see it for what it really is—habit. And obligation. And fear.

That ends now. It doesn’t matter if Celia’s here for me. It only matters who
I’m
here with. “And I’m here with you,” I tell Alayna. It’s raw. It’s honest. It’s the most important thing I’ve said to anyone in quite some time.

“She’s still in love with you.” Her jealousy and fears are evidence of her claim on me.

It turns me on.

“And I’m with you.” I can’t stand our distance anymore. Not literally or figuratively. I need her. I need her to obsess about me, to love me so deeply that it rocks her world, because it’s how I love her. I cross to her, bracing my arms on either side of her. “I’m with you.”

Her hands reach for my jacket as I move closer. I press into her, and she responds by leaning into me. She notices my erection, and her eyes spark with questioning want.

“I’m hard for you and only you. It’s you that I adore.” I kiss along her neck. She moans, and my cock jumps.

This isn’t about me, though. This conversation is about her—about soothing her, pleasing her, showing her that she owns me in every way.

I crash my lips to hers, stroking and caressing her mouth with my tongue. I kiss her in a way that I know will make her wet. Make her drip with her desire.

“I’m with you,” I say again when I break the kiss. I repeat it to her over and over like a mantra, like a soundtrack to the love scene we’re performing. A love scene that’s about to get fucking hot.

I gather the skirt of her dress up and tuck it into her panties, slipping my fingers inside. The smell of her cunt drifts up, and my dick turns to stone. The faint laughter in the background reminds me that there are people nearby, but I can’t stop myself. In fact, their nearness fuels my lust.

Alayna doesn’t seem bothered by them either. I rub against her clit, massaging her in the ways I’ve learned she likes. Her hips buck into my hand.

“That’s it,” I coax her between kisses, my fingers working her. “Relax. Let me be with you.”

My hand moves down her pussy, and I slide two fingers into her hole. She’s warm and tight and wet. The sounds she makes as I fuck her with my fingers—whimpers and breathy little moans—drives me mad. My cock is throbbing, begging for release.

But I have more to say. More I need to tell her. I drop to my knees and pull her panties to her ankles. I leisurely drag my tongue down the length of her cunt. “It’s you that I’m about to go down on,” I tell her. “It’s you I’m going to make come with my mouth, so that when we go back down there and you start to feel insecure, you will still be wet and you’ll remember my lips were on you and no one else.”

My words alone make her squirm. Now I’m going to make her writhe.

I lift her foot from her panties and toss her leg over my shoulder. Then I go down on her in earnest. I suck and lick and nip at her clit, thrusting three fingers into her hole. I bend a finger, rubbing against the spot that I know will make her come. And she does. She rocks forward as she gushes over my hand, into my mouth. God, she tastes so good.