I shake my head. “I think that’s another reason why we clicked. Both of our fathers were absent from our lives until we made it big and they wanted something from us. Our moms were similar. They were there for us every step of the way until they found out how much better life could be when you had enough money to do your own thing.” I haven’t heard from my mom in weeks. I shake my head and let out a bitter laugh when it hits me.
“What?” he asks.
“You have this picture perfect family, and I barely have one.”
“Every family has its problems. I’d never judge you for something you can’t control.”
“I wish I had what you had. A happy home.” I stare at him, smiling at the thought. Whoever the lucky woman is that wins Hudson’s heart is going to have one hell of a good life. I’m already jealous of her.
“I was blessed with that, yes. Being a good man like my father is one of my biggest goals.”
I smile. “That’s adorable.”
He looks almost offended when he leans in to whisper to me. “Don’t refer to me as adorable again, Princess. I’m not a pretty boy or any of that shit that you’re used to. I don’t mind dirt underneath my fingernails. I don’t wear tuxedos or do that black-tie bullshit unless it’s for a wedding. I’m not adorable. I’m a fucking man.”
Chapter Twenty
Stella
I walk into the living room and collapse onto the couch in exhaustion. It’s been a long day. I need a stiff drink. I glance over at Hudson sitting in a chair and texting on his phone.
“Alright, smooth talker,” I say. “It’s time for you to live up to your promise.”
He slips his phone into his pocket, giving me his full attention. “What do you mean?”
“You promised to make up for your asshole behavior. I intend for you to honor that.”
He smirks, intrigued. “And how would you like me to do that?”
I smirk back. “Preferably naked.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “There are plenty of ways to have fun other than fucking, Princess.”
“You’re right.” I hold up my hand and start to count on my fingers as I list off my responses. “There’s licking. Sucking. Kissing.”
“With no fucking?” he cuts in. “Sounds like all of your ideas end up with a bad case of blue balls.”
He dodges a pillow when I toss it at him. “Why do you have to be so complicated?” I groan. “Don’t you want to get laid? Hasn’t it been like what, a year for you?”
“Only nine months, thank you very much, and there’s no disputing I’d enjoy getting laid. You saw my cock earlier, didn’t you?”
Damn straight I did. He was hard as a rock. I rub my thighs together while remembering his thick cock twitching in excitement. “Then why are you pulling away? It’s obvious we both want the same thing.”
He snaps his fingers. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
“You playing for the other team now or something?”
“Pussy is the only field I play in, sweetheart.” He rests his elbow on the arm of the chair. “When I say we don’t want the same thing, it’s not the same thing as far as sex. I’m not in a good place in my life right now. I’m not sure if the no-strings attached and only fun sex is the best way for me to pull myself out of it.”
I gape at him, despondent. “You’re in a bad place because of your ex?”
He drums his fingers against his chin. “She’s a part of it, yes, but not all. Cameron cheating isn’t the only bad shit that’s happened to me.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“I don’t think a therapy session would be fun for either one of us. Shit, it’d probably be a contraceptive more than anything. I’d scare you away.”
“Nothing you could say would scare me away.”
His gaze darkens. “Trust me on this one.”
His face tells me he’s finished with this conversation, so I decide to go a different route. “So no fucking. No heart-to-hearts. What’s your idea of making it up to me then? And FYI, I already have enough shoes.” That’s not technically true, but I’m trying to make a point here.
His mood changes from intense to laid back as a smile builds on his lips. “How about dinner and then maybe a game?”
The fuck? “Your idea of redemption is feeding me and then Monopoly? You’re such a tease.” He’s playing dick games, goddamnit.
“Sure is.” He smacks his leg and brings himself up from the chair. “Now what sounds good to you?”
I get up and trail him to the kitchen, pouting the entire way. “How about you surprise me?”
He opens up the fridge and starts moving things around. “Let’s see what I have to work with.” He looks back at me. “I want to give you a heads-up that this won’t be my best work, considering you don’t have that much here.”
“I’m sure it’ll be better than anything I try to throw together.” I stroll over to the wine cooler and grab one of my best bottles before pouring us both a glass. I leave his on the counter and take mine with me to go sit down at the island. “I’ll relax and enjoy the show.”
He stops what he’s doing to look up at me. “That’ll work, but only on one condition.”
“What’s that?” I have a hateful relationship with conditions. Blame it on Tillie’s condition-loving ass.
“You let me pick the game we play later.”
Is he actually for real about this whole game night thing? I narrow my eyes his way. “Seriously? I thought you were joking about that.”
He shakes his head. “The only way you’re getting out of a game is if you put on an apron and start helping.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Fine, one game.”
He grins at his defeat. “Scrabble it is.”
“What’s up with you Barnes boys and Scrabble?”
He stops to look up at me again, his brows furrowed. “You played Scrabble with Dallas?” He looks almost pissed off.
“Yes?” I answer, blinking. “And the little shit is the most competitive person I’ve ever met.”
“Scrabble is the game of the Barnes family,” he explains. “We’re all competitive. We can’t be beaten.”
I chug down the rest of my glass. “I don’t know. I play a pretty mean game.”
“Looks like we know what we’re doing tonight.”
I slide out of my chair to pour me another. “A repeat of earlier?”
He shakes his head. “Seven letters, one word.”
“You suck?” I guess. Not one word, but close enough.
He laughs. “Nice try.”
“Do you not like wine?” I ask, noticing his untouched glass.
He shrugs. “It’s alright. I’m more of a beer guy.”
“I’ll have to make sure you have some in there from now on.”
He grins. “Appreciate that.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Hudson
I’m busting my ass to prepare the perfect meal for Stella.
I know my way around the kitchen, but it’s been awhile, so I’m a bit rusty. I decided on honey-glazed chicken. I have that recipe down pat. It might seem unoriginal, but it’s far from that. This shit could win awards. It actually did in Bluebeech cook-offs. I’m not saying I’m Bobby Flay or some shit, but I can throw down.
My parents insisted we learn from the both of them when growing up. My dad took us under his wing on the weekends to show us workmanship around his repair shop and how to bring home the bacon for the family, and my mom spent the weeknights teaching us how to fry the bacon. Her cooking lessons did end up paying off when Cameron and I got our own place. My ex’s idea of a home cooked meal was pouring a box of macaroni and cheese into boiling water.
Sometimes I’d get real lucky and she’d add hot dogs to the pasta.
Her specialty.
I swear I’m not making this shit up.
But I loved the chick, and when you love someone, you accept their flaws. Hell, over time you sometimes learn to love them.
So far I’m doing a lousy ass job at keeping our relationship professional. I’ve always considered myself a strong man, but the force of Stella Mendes cannot be reckoned with. I find myself allowing her to knock down my barriers with our conversations. There are parts of myself I’ve kept hidden that she seems to be knocking down the walls of.
We’re both giving.
We’re both taking.
We talk to each other in excitement, words jumping from the tips of our tongues like fire while we throw out question after question. We can’t get enough. The desire to know every detail of her life – every flaw, every quirk, every fucking thing that has to do with her has taken control of me. I’m a weak man when it comes to her.
So I give her more while convincing myself I’ll put those bricks back up later. I’ll only cave this one time.
She rolls her eyes and calls me typical when I tell her my favorite color is green. I laugh when she declares hers sparkles. Yes, according to her, that is a real color. This is decided after a five-minute debate where I’m declared the loser.
Her go-to food is tacos and guacamole. I’ll remember that the next time I cook for us. Mine is anything that pairs well with beer. She demands I clarify, and I finally cave in admitting it’s burgers and ribs.
She eventually talks me into having a glass of wine. I pour her another when dinner is finished. My mouth is watering as I load up our plates and carry them out to the patio while Stella trails behind me with the bottle of wine. One thing I’ve come to like about California is the beautiful weather, especially in the evenings. It’s not too hot. Not too cold. Perfect. Especially with a view like this, I’d never eat inside.
She starts lighting the candles on the table while I set everything down. I pull out her chair and wait for her to sit before taking the seat across from her. I grab my fork, about to dig in, when I notice I forgot something.
I slide my chair out and start to get up. “Shit, we forgot glasses.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, stopping me. She grabs the bottle and tips it up to take a drink. “I might even enjoy it better this way.”
I smirk. “I think I’m rubbing off on you, Ms. Hollywood.”
“I do agree.” She leans in with a wild grin on her face. “And I think I like it.”
“Oh really?’
“Yes.” She looks around the yard. “And thank you for making me dinner and suggesting we eat out here. I’ve never truly been able to enjoy my backyard like this. I mean, I do yoga out here occasionally, but other than that, it’s never used.”
“You mean you’re not out here all the time? You couldn’t get me to hang out anywhere else if I lived here.”
Her forehead creases together. “Technically you do live here right now.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Good point.”
“I may have to hang out here more now that I’ve experienced doing it without any stress. On the few times I have entertained, I was always too worried to enjoy it. Everything had to be perfect because I was so scared of people judging me. The cushions had to be positioned the right way. The wine had to be the most expensive. The caterer the best. It’s sad because I really didn’t care about the food because it was never that good anyway.”
“Tell me you’ve done something fun out here? Got wild? Skinny dipped?”
“I wish, but no. I’ve honestly had such a great time hanging out with you in the kitchen and out – the places I’ve never really spent time in before.” She picks up her fork but doesn’t take a bite yet. “You make me feel so comfortable – like I don’t have to try to impress you. You allow me to feel free being me. I can drink wine from the bottle and fuck cushions up, and you won’t point a finger and gossip behind my back.” She snags the cushion from the chair next to her and throws it across the yard.
Why do I feel so excited at her confession?
Why am I lighting up like a fucking firework knowing I make this chick feel good?
And why the fuck am I feeling the same way?
This California air must be fucking with me.
I laugh. “Sorry to bust your bubble, but you’re wrong. When you go to bed at night, I sneak into my bedroom and call my friends to gossip about your horrible tea-making skills.”
She snorts. “I’m so sure.”
Our food is getting cold, but I don’t care. I want this conversation. “This has been an exciting night for me, too.”
“Right,” she draws out, flipping her hair behind her shoulder. “Says the guy who’s spent his life protecting people and shooting firearms. You do all kinds of crazy stuff. Your brother has told me plenty of stories about the two of you causing trouble. I doubt making me food and watching me get drunk is a highlight of your life.”
“I’m not saying it’s the most entertaining thing I’ve done, but I’ve never enjoyed getting to know someone as much as I have with you. And to be honest, I’ve never been happy about someone proving me wrong.”
“Proving you wrong how?”
“About you. I was a judgmental dickhead when I first got here.”
“At least you have the balls to admit it.”
“I never said I couldn’t be wrong.” I can write a list of all the shit I’ve done wrong just today. The first would be stopping our little rendezvous earlier and hunting down a damn condom.
She holds up her hand and wiggles her fingers. “Lesson of the day: never judge a bitch by her manicure. Trust me; I can do some damage with these bad boys. The sharper the nail, the worse the attitude.”
“I don’t doubt that.” And maybe I’ll get the chance to test those nails on my back sometime. Our conversation is interrupted by the sound of her stomach grumbling. I point my fork at her plate. “You take the first bite.”
“Why?” She narrows her eyes at me. “You trying to poison me?”
I throw my head back. “Jesus, no. It’s rude of the chef to take the first bite.”
“Alright, but just FYI, if I’m taking the bite to my death, I stuck a note somewhere in my room that says if I die, you did it.”
“Damn, you’re untrusting. Now taste my food before I take it as an insult.”
She cuts off a piece of her chicken, takes a bite, and then immediately goes in for another. She moans, chewing it up slowly, and then swallows it down. I shift around in my chair, feeling myself get excited. I never knew watching someone eating could turn me on so much.
Maybe because she’s eating my meat.
Fuck, that was lame.
“Holy hell,” she shouts. “This is unbelievable. You weren’t kidding about your kitchen skills. Your breakfast was good, but this dinner is incredible. I’ll forever be asking you to cook for me. Consider that your new j-o-b.”
I hold my hand up. “Whoa there, don’t be getting too excited. This won’t happen that often.” I go in for my first bite while she takes her third. She wasn’t exaggerating to make me feel good, either. Even with some of the ingredients missing, this might be the best damn chicken I’ve ever made.
I’m slower in clearing my plate than she is because I can’t stop watching her. My cooking is good, but it’s not the best part of this meal.
It’s her. The company. The conversation.
I’m losing myself in her world yet winning at the same time.
My time here will forever stay with me. Our connection will be at my side for the rest of my life. This will all remain with me when I take my flight back to Iowa and live my life, remembering my time in LA as only a pit stop for me.
I’m fucking myself from the start.
I won’t forget her sipping on wine so dark it stains her lips to the perfect crimson red, or how she has to take breaths in-between laughs when s
he’s excited or laughing at one of my lame jokes. No matter what happens, I’ll forever remember my time in California with the girl who was out of my league. I’ll always have that what if in the back of my mind.
What if we weren’t living in two opposite worlds?
What if I was willing to give up everything and move here?
What if she was willing to do the same?
“I have a confession to make.”
I take my last bite and look up at Stella. “Go on.”
She sips on her wine looking guilty. “I’m not exactly a Scrabble master.”
I set my napkin down next to me and slide my chair out from under the table. “That’s my cue to go. I don’t hang out with Scrabble imposters.” I gesture to the wine bottle in her hand. “I’m okay with you chugging from that bottle, but lying about Scrabble is where I draw the line.”
She rolls her eyes. “I knew you’d be highly disappointed. I’d never even played Scrabble before your brother.”
“Did you not have a childhood?”
“If by childhood you mean having my mom drag me from audition to audition and forcing me to get my hair lightened so I didn’t look too Mexican, then yes, I had the perfect childhood.”
My stomach drops at her answer. “Shit, I’m sorry.” My intention was not to be a wet blanket on this night. Her response pisses me off. My parents made us work around the house and do chores but never stopped us from going out and having fun. We ran around the yard barefoot and did shit you’d see in those Jackass movies.
“It’s fine. I eventually had my fun when I started making my own money.”
“I take it Scrabble wasn’t at the top of that bucket list?” I ask, feigning shock.
“Can’t say it was. I tried getting Willow to play it with me once, but that girl is the queen of short attention span. We lasted two rounds in before she decided that we needed to catch up on what The Teen Moms were up to.”
“Priorities.”
“You know it. Therefore, game nights never became a thing for me.”
“Surely you have friends other than her?” She used to hang out in the clubs with people all the time, at least that’s what Lucy told me when Dallas first took the job. She was nervous he’d fall under the seduction of the women around him.
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