Page 69 of All the Ugly Things
To my utter surprise, as soon as I clickedSend, the beep squawked above our door and Hudson strolled in.
“Hey.” I closed my laptop. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
Funny, in the days since I lived in the same building as him, I saw him less than in two weeks prior.
He smirked, moving straight to the stool across from me instead of down the bar.
“Miss me?”
“Hardly.”
He drummed his hands on the counter and helped himself to a menu from the stack close to me. While he scanned the menu, he said, “Someone accused me of being a stalker. Didn’t want to press my luck.” Setting the menu down, his head tilted to the side. His eyes still had that hint of sadness but his mouth was smiling. “Thought I’d give you space to get settled.”
“Oh. Okay.”
That was…niceof him. About as nice as his bare arms, with those veins that wrapped around his forearms and stuck out at the backs of his hands. Nice hands, with strong fingers, well-groomed. It matched the rest of him, broad shoulders and chiseled jaw.
Dear God. I was turning into Angie.
“So are you?”
“Huh?” Had he still been talking?
“Settled.”
Oh. Right. No. He hadn’t talked, I’d just drifted off, probably to an awkward silence while I admired his body.Awesome.
“Well, the move was long and difficult and strenuous, so it took a while and required lots of rest afterward.”
“Have you always been a smartass?” He shook his head, chuckling.
“No.” I was too busy staying out of the way or hiding Josh’s transgressions. “It must be a recently acquired skill.”
Three men stumbled in, greeted by the broken and loud-pitched squawk from our bell. On busy nights, it took all my self-control not to rip it off its perilous perch. But the annoying sound was better and safer than being surprised.
“Excuse me.”
I took menus to the group of men who made themselves comfortable at a booth near the front door. They were loud, perhaps slightly drunk by some of their breaths as they laughed. Not obnoxiously so. Mostly high on an easy life and the excitement of weekend revelry in front of them.
Angie’s words about the strip clubs being a rite of passage for her brother and his friends came to mind as I greeted them, took their drink orders.
One of them with dark brown, wavy hair leaned back in the booth and slid a lazy smile in my direction, draping his arm along the back and behind one of the drunker guys.
“Thank you and ignore these idiots. That guy there” —he pointed to the one kitty-corner from him— “is twenty-one tonight.”
“Not a problem. I’ll be back for your orders soon.”
Back behind the counter, I filled their drinks and set them on a tray, all while Hudson kept his eyes on them.
“They’re harmless,” I told him. Why I felt the need to assure him didn’t sit well with me.
Although, neither did having someone looking out for me.
“They’re drunk.”
“Most customers who come in here are.”
I ignored him, and his narrowed glare he kept on the table, delivering their drinks.
