by Clara Stone
Kisses.
I groan. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t stop thinking about kissing. Kissing her. And oh, for the love of God, do I ever want to kiss her. Long, deep, and punishing. She clears her throat, and I blink. My breathing has become heavy and labored. Could I be any more obvious?
“Thanks for the lift,” she finally says, like she can’t wait to get the hell out of here. “I should go.” She reaches for the door handle.
“Wait,” I say, quickly getting out of the car. Her eyes go wide as I run toward the passenger side and open the door for her. Mom would be proud. I even extend my hand to help her. When her fingers slide into mine, I can’t help but grin like a fool.
“I can open my own doors, you know,” Blake says as she gets out of the car.
I don’t step back, making the space between us so small, I can feel the heat radiating off her skin as she stares up at me. Everything in me is screaming to kiss her. Hell, even the pout hovering on her lips is screaming it. I hear a house door slam shut behind me, jerking me out of the trance. Stepping aside, I let her go and shove my hands into my pockets. I kick a pebble awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do next.
“Blake!” A woman dressed in black pants and a solid pink shirt with ruffles on her shoulders comes rushing toward us. “Oh, thank God you’re here,” she says. “It was horrible, Blake. This man, he said his name was Trey, and—”
“Where’s Vicki?” Blake’s voice turns horrified. “Mom, where’s Vicki?”
“Inside,” her mom says.
Blake runs toward the house, not waiting another second.
“She’s fine!” she calls after her.
Consumed by the fear I had seen on Blake’s face, I follow behind her mom. I hesitate when I get to the door, unsure if I should just barge in uninvited. Blake’s hurried steps echo as she stomps up the stairs, and it takes everything in me not to chase after. My fingers dig into the doorframe. But instead of following my gut, I push back and step away, retreating to the edge of the porch. They don’t know me. I shouldn’t intrude. I take a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair, pacing back and forth before I decide to sit. Out of habit, I pull Jags’s key from my pocket and rest my elbows on my knees, twirling it between my fingers.
Remembering that the bikes are in the trunk, I set out to unload. I place them neatly by the stairs and go back to pick up her jacket. I look down at it, smiling, my other hand resting on the open trunk. She knew me well enough to offer her jacket for protecting my Jags. Shaking my head, I close the trunk and head back to the porch. I slowly take a seat on the top stair, placing the jacket next to me, and wait.
Seconds turn into minutes before I hear movement behind me. A warm body slithers down next to me, close enough I can feel her warmth. Then nothing. Silence. We sit there, not saying a word as the minutes pass.
“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” Blake says.
I look at my hands, then slowly back to her. “I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
She swallows. “Goodbye?”
I nod, offering her jacket to her. She takes it.
“Okay,” she says, her voice off, distant. “Bye.”
I clench my jaw and turn to her. “Blake—”
She presses her lips to mine. I’m caught off guard, but only for a second before I slide my hand through her hair and cup the back of her neck, pulling her to me. My heart’s racing, and my breath’s coming in shallow pants. I’ve never felt this kind of thrill. Hell, I’ve never been kissed first before. I’ve always been the initiator, not the other way around.
I tilt my head to the side and nip at her lower lip. I open my mouth, inviting her in. She doesn’t disappoint . . . until she pulls away too soon.
I don’t let go of her neck though. Her chest heaves, in rhythm with mine. “What was that for?”
“Can’t I just kiss you because I want to?” The corner of her lip curves up. “Golden boy.”
This time, I press my lips to hers, returning the favor of being caught off guard. Then I pull back, just enough so that I can see her eyes and mouth.
She bites her lip. “What was that for?”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since that first day I saw you at Cranbrook.”
She lowers her gaze, regret falling over her earlier feistiness.
I put my finger under her chin and tilt it up toward me. “Hey.”
“I don’t do this often, you know,” she says. “Kiss random guys.”
I smile, feeling smug. “Good. I don’t either. Kiss random girls, that is.”
That makes her eyes wide and bright.
“Don’t tell me you’re surprised.” I fake gasp. I know I give everyone the wrong idea about me, making myself seem more like a player, but in truth, I’ve only had a handful of off-the-charts make-out sessions. I’ve never gone all out with anyone. I’ve come close, but never close enough to lose my virginity.
“I think it’s best that you leave now,” she says, jumping to her feet and extending her hand to me. It isn’t a request.
After a momentary shock, I laugh, slipping my hand into hers and getting to my feet. “Are you seriously kicking me out?”
“Get out, Hudson,” she says, but her eyes smile as she lets go of my hand.
I grab it at the last second and pull her to me. Her eyes grow wide and curious, like she isn’t sure what I’m going to do.
I kiss her again. And this time, she wraps her arms around my neck as I wrap mine around her waist, pulling her entire front against me.
“Thank you,” I mumble against her lips, after I’ve thoroughly tasted her for another minute.
“For what?” she asks, looking up with those incredible brown eyes.
“For giving me the privilege of kissing you.”
A small blush splashes over her cheeks. “Well, in that case, thanks for everything,” Blake says. “Not just the kiss, but also for not asking any questions.”
I press my lips together and take a step back, feeling regret even before I let go. “You know,” I say, one corner of my lip curling up. “Maybe just one more kiss, for old times’ sake.”
She laughs, stirring something deep inside me. “Not gonna happen again, golden boy. Consider that last kiss the final one.”
“Oh, you don’t mean that, firecracker.” I’m all smiles.
She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”
She’s something I’ve never experienced with anyone else. Funny, compassionate, and daring. But most of all, she didn’t apologize for kissing me, like most girls would have. I like her, and I want to know her. I want to know what makes Blake, Blake.
“I’ll see you soon,” I promise.
I head toward my car and pull open the driver’s side door. I look up, my hand lazily draped over the doorframe, my right foot on the rim of the car. Blake gives me a small wave just as she shuts the door behind her. I stare for another moment, thinking about our kiss, her lips moving against mine, confident and certain.
I groan. “Get it together, Hudson,” I murmur. “Don’t be a pansy.”
Great, now I’m talking to myself. Blowing out a deep sigh, I give one last look at Blake’s front door before slipping into my car.
Shoving the key into the ignition, I start Jags and pull away from the curb, heading home.
THE GREEN CURTAINS against our delivery room door slide open, startling me awake. I look at Blake, who’s still asleep, then to the person who entered. “Lorelai,” I whisper. I get out of the chair and walk around Blake’s bed toward her.
Lorelai tiptoes into the room, looking at her daughter. Baby Sparkler finally stopped kicking, giving Blake time to take a power nap. She’d closed her eyes not fifteen minutes ago.
“You’re early,” I say, giving Lorelai a hug.
“I couldn’t get here fast enough.” She pulls back and smiles at me, then glances again at her daughter, “How is she doing?”
“Good.” I o
ffer to take her white, knee-length blazer. “The doctor was here about an hour ago and did another check. Looks like she still has ways to go. But the baby quieted down enough that Blake decided to get a few minutes of shut eye.”
She nods. “Blake thinks it’s a girl.”
We’ve had this conversation before—I refuse to call our baby by a gender until we know for sure. Blake and I decided we wanted to be surprised. “I’d be ecstatic if we have a baby girl. But . . .” I sigh. “I don’t want to fall in love with the idea of a girl, and then have it turn out to be a boy . . .” It’s hard for people to understand how much I want a girl, that I’m afraid wishing for it might jinx it somehow. So I’ve been very neutral. I refuse to let myself get caught up in it.
Lorelai takes the spot I was in, on the chair next to Blake, and holds her daughter’s hand. “You look a little tired. Why don’t you take a break? I’ll be here with her. And if anything changes, I’ll send the entire hospital running after you.”
I chuckle. “Thanks, Lorelai. Really. For everything. Blake and I always talk about being half the parent you were raising her.”
“Oh, hush you. My momma once told me that to worry is to be the best. Because you only worry when you care for something so deeply, you’ll do everything in your power to see it through. And I have no doubt that you and Blake will do everything you can to support and love this child.”
I nod, feeling grateful for this little talk with her. Lorelai, like her daughter, is a level-headed woman. Not much tips her off balance, and the love she showers her daughter with is something I crave from my own mother. Something I lost long ago.
“If—”
“I promise to notify you. Now go. Get.” She shoos me.
Shaking my head, I do as she says. Before I leave the Labor and Delivery ward, though, I head to the nurses station. “Hi,” I say, placing my elbows on the counter and leaning in.
“How can I help you, Dr. Lovelly?” the nurse asks, smiling.
“My wife is in room 434. I just need to step out for a second. Can you please call me if she wakes up or things change? My mother-in-law is in there with her.”
“You bet. Can you leave—”
I slide my business card toward her and tilt the corner of my mouth in a sly grin. “My contact numbers—cell, pager, and office.”
“You’re prepared.”
“Never can be too careful when it comes to the wife.” I nod a thank you and walk away.
I head toward the stairway, needing to get my legs moving. I take the steps two at a time, heading up to my office on the seventh floor.
“Dr. Lovelly,” a nurse greets as I walk out of the stairwell.
I nod. “Afternoon, Lisa. How’s your day been?”
“It’s been . . .” She flutters her lashes. “Lovelly.”
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh at her attempt to flirt with me. Everyone knows that I’d never put anything before my favorite girl. Never.
I greet my assistant before heading into my office and pulling out my phone to make a quick call to the florist. I place an order for Blake’s favorite floral arrangement—a mixture of sunflowers and white daisies—to be delivered to the maternity ward.
The secret to our marriage is the unexpected surprise. To show Blake how much I appreciate her, I’ll go home with a bouquet of flowers, or tickets to the theater. Hell, sometimes I just bring home take-out, and we spend the night playing board games. I do it all just to see the joy in her expression. So, on a day like today, when I’m becoming a father because of her, how can I not fill the entirety of the room she’ll be moved to with everything she loves?
I head into the attached bathroom and place my cell on the counter, turning on the speaker and hitting the voicemail button. A couple of messages come up about the impending board meeting and the prep work we need to do prior to it.
Nothing new.
I splash cold water on my face, grabbing the towel hanging on my right to dry off as Heath’s voice fills the room.
“Hey, Hudson,” he says. “Just wanted to let you know we’re on our way. Don’t have our niece until Uncky Heath makes it back.” He grunts and muffled voices fill the air. “And also, tell her that Auntie Ace is bringing her a trunk full of stuff. We miss—”
The phone cuts off and a long beep comes afterward. I chuckle to myself. Apparently, he thinks we’re having a girl too. Sure, Blake’s always had good intuition when it comes to people, but this . . . I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t want to get my hopes up, in case it’s a boy.
But God, if it is a girl . . . I hope she’s strong and independent, and has the heart of a diamond like the Voss women. And I have no doubt, she’ll be the prettiest girl . . . Fuck. I’m gonna have to stock up on shotguns before she dates.
“Next message,” the friendly voice announces.
“Stupid reception,” Heath growls. “Anyhow, if you get a chance, call Harrington. He sounds off, Hudson. I can’t pinpoint exactly what, but I know something is going on. And . . . and I’m worried about him.” He sighs, heavily, and his voice goes low. “I think he’s drinking again. I’m really worried,” he repeats. “Is he even coming today? ‘Cause . . . I don’t know, man.” Another sigh. “Anyway . . . see you in a few hours.”
I dry my face with the hand towel and, setting it aside, press my palms into the edge of the countertop. I stare at the phone, then pick it up, scrolling through its history.
Harrington hasn’t contacted me in nearly two weeks. Which is unusual for him. We’ve always talked every two or three days. Being gone this long isn’t normal.
I walk back into my office, slump into my chair, and dial his number. It goes directly to voicemail.
“You’ve reached King Harrington. I’m obviously not here hoping, wishing, or waiting for your call. But since you have nothing to do but worship me, leave a message. If you’re important enough, I’ll call you back. If not, take the fucking hint. Have a delightful day, mate.”
Shaking my head, I leave a friendly message for him: “Call me back, asswipe.”
I then throw my phone on my desk and lean back against my chair. I link my fingers together and place my hands over my desk calendar.
What the hell is going on, little brother?
“I’M COMING. I’M coming,” I yell, shuffling my feet toward the door.
The urgent knocking is driving me crazy. This is so not how I wanted to wake up this morning. Someone better have lost an arm, and a head. If not, they will. Soon.
“Wha—” I start to say as I jerk the door open. I raise my gaze to the person responsible for my alertness at this ungodly hour, and my jaw drops. “Hope?”
She looks surprised. What did she expect, for me not to open the door? I start to say as much, but then . . . I don’t know why, but an image of Hudson pops into my head, followed by a flood of concern. Is he okay?
“What’s wrong? Is it Hudson?” Because why else would Hope be here, on the beat-up side of town, where rich kids like her don’t dare come?
But that doesn’t make sense, either. Why would Hope come to me if something was wrong with Hudson? As that realization hits me, I feel stupid. Sure, I kissed Hudson nearly two weeks ago, and he’d kissed me twice. But that means nothing. It’s not like he called me, or even stopped by after that.
“What? Hudson? He’s fine,” Hope says, stepping inside without asking.
I move out of the way and mumble, “Come on in.” Not that I could tell her to leave, now that she’s here. “Give me a sec.” I run up the stairs, grab some clothes, and head into the bathroom to freshen up. It isn’t until I slip on my jeans that I realize there’s a huge rip across my butt cheek.
Crap.
Prying off the twenty-dollar, thrift-store-bought, new-to-me jeans, I head back into my room in search of another pair. I lean down to pick up the first piece of denim I see at the bottom of my tiny closet.
“Nice rack!”
I hit the back of my head on the bar above as
I jerk up, startled by Hope’s voice. “Son-of-a—”
I rub my hand over the sore spot and manage to duck out of my closet without harming myself further. Hope’s staring at the trophies I have from the old days. Days when I had a father that didn’t run off on us, back when I was thirteen. Soon after, Mom found out he’d wiped her clean—her life-long savings and her 401k. God only knows how he’d done that.
I, personally, hated having any memories of those days—especially when it came to those trophies. He’d been at every one of my chess and debate tournaments. So they held the painful memory of a man that had faked interest in my life. But Mom insisted I keep them.
“They’re your achievements, baby,” she said. “Not his. Don’t let what happened with your dad taint your hard work. He was an asshole—”
“Mom—”
She held up her hand to silence me. “It’s not a swear word. It’s a fact, and probably the name his mom should have given him.” She caressed my cheek. “Every one of these trophies, you deserved, baby. You earned them, all on your own.”
She’d smiled ever so proudly. And I had let it go. For her. Because she wanted her daughter’s life not to be affected by a drunk, gambling-addicted, manwhore of a father.
“No wonder you slaughtered us,” Hope says, twirling. “You know, the entire debate team got extra ‘volunteer’ work to make up for that loss. It was a total bummer, especially since losing was never an option for them. Or for Hudson.”
Hudson. I know I shouldn’t want to, but hearing his name . . . . No, I’m so not going there. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get dressed.” I wave my hand toward the door, impatiently.
She shrugs, picking up a framed photo of Mom and me from the carnival last year. I wait to see if she’ll leave, but instead, Hope drops onto my bed and gets comfortable. I guess she really doesn’t mind a naked—okay, half-naked—girl.
“This is a cute picture of you guys,” she says as I zip up my pants. “What’s your favorite ride?”
I disappear into my closet and pull out a short, white lace, spaghetti-strapped top.
“Mine’s the Ferris Wheel,” she continues. “But Hudson loves the carousel. He has this thing about getting on the chimp.”