Flirting With Love

by Clara Stone

  “Or was it blackmail with you?”

  “I-I . . .” Then it hits me. The last possible clue that guarantees Hope’s guilt is right here.

  That two-faced, stick-her-butt-into-my-life witch.

  Blake suddenly throws her head back and laughs. Now I’m even more confused. She puts one hand on her stomach and the other over her mouth, muffling her giggles. I wish she wouldn’t. I like listening to her laugh. Good God, I’m losing manly points faster than the Patriots in 1990!

  “Oh.” She’s squinting now. “She didn’t tell you?”

  “All she told me was that I had to try this place,” I say, throwing my thumb toward the “Bob’s Burgers” sign. I’m smiling now too, because watching Blake smile, I can’t not.

  “I think we should get back at her,” Blake says, her gaze aimed toward Hope and my brothers. “For her incredible need to butt in, and for this . . .” She waves her hand over my face, as if that should have explained everything. I wonder for a moment just how my face looks.

  And then suddenly, I do want to get Hope back. Not just for this, but for every other time she’s butted into my life. Although, this time her butting in was actually not a pain in the ass. It’s nice. Blake’s nice. And maybe, this is my chance to know the girl that’s been plaguing my dreams every single fucking second since she’s come into my life.

  “I know the perfect way,” I say, an idea popping into my head. “You in?”

  She gives me a thoughtful look, the one that kind of makes me doubt myself. Maybe I shouldn’t—

  “I’m in.” Blake grins, throwing a quick look over her shoulder.

  “Okay.” I rub my hands and wet my lips. “Here’s the plan. When she comes back—”

  Blake turns back toward me, and her eyes shine bright, turning big with glee. “She’s coming.”

  God, this girl loves a prank as much as a bank robber loves the challenge of stealing from a casino.

  HOPE’S WALKING BACK with two boys in tow—they look like they’re around five and nine. The younger one is drenched from head to toe, and there are ice chips in his hair. Hope’s face is pulled into a scowl, her strides long and purposeful as she heads toward us. The breeze from the ocean is crisp and soft, blowing her brunette hair across her face, but somehow, I suspect her irritation is more for the kids following her than the wind.

  A million thoughts run through my mind as I turn back around and lean my elbows on the table. The usual giddiness that goes with planning an epic prank courses through me, and I tap my fingertips lightly against the laminate tabletop. I can’t help it. My nerves are running high. I look at Hudson. He slips me a quick, almost secretive smile before his attention turns to Hope and the boys trailing behind her.

  “So,” Hope says, joining the table, a huge-ass grin replacing her earlier scowl. I’ve been seeing that grin a lot lately. Every time we’ve hung out over the last two weeks, she gets this way, talking about Hudson and how perfect we’d be together. I didn’t think much of it. Until now. Because, truth be told, it’s not like I could forget him, or how good his lips felt against mine.

  I glance to my right, and Hudson gives me a look. As if to ask, “You ready?”

  I give a slight nod and run the back of my pointer finger under my nose, hoping to hide the childish grin slowly crawling its way onto my lips.

  “I’ll probably have to take your brothers home. They’re wearing food and ice water,” Hope says.

  “He started it,” the littlest boy declares, his lower lip trembling.

  “Just admit you can’t handle a dare, Iceman,” the older one says, picking a small piece of ice from his brother’s shoulder.

  The younger one swats at him. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Why not? You look like one.”

  Hope’s mouth sets into a thin line. “And what exactly was it you boys—”

  “You tricked me,” the younger one protests, cutting off Hope’s question. “We were both supposed to pour water on ourselves, and you didn’t.”

  “God, Heath. You’re so freaking gullible! And, as a reminder of that,” the older boy says, pointing at his brother’s chest. “I declare you, Heath Isaac Lovelly—the loser—be called Iceman from here on forth!”

  “I hate you!” Heath’s voice comes out in a shrill.

  Hope tries to play middle-man between the two, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “Heath, Harrington, I swear—”

  “Oh, this outta be good,” Hudson whispers in my ear, chuckling.

  “—you two are this close to me pocketing your allowances,” Hope threatens. “Got it?”

  At that, Heath, the younger one, stops. But the older one, Harrington, laughs and chants, “Iceman, Iceman, Iceman.”

  I bite back a smile, watching the trio get along so easily, wishing that I had a family like them.

  “Hope, you know that never works,” Hudson says. She glowers at him, while he stares pointedly at Harrington. “Cut that shit out, Harrington.”—his breath fans over the side of my neck and I fight back a shiver—“Or I’m taking Heath to the Zoo and leaving you behind.”

  Harrington stills, a scowl on his face. “It’s not my fault the village idiot poured ice water all over himself.”

  Heath wipes his long, wet locks off his face and says, “You’re being a beef jerky poopy-head.” He scowls as he attempts to call Harrington hurtful names. It makes me giggle. He looks so cute, standing tall with his chest puffed out, trying to defy his big brother.

  “Oh, for the love of brotherly rivalry, enough, you two!” Hudson lets out a frustrated sigh, slamming the table with a loud slap. All eyes turn to us. Heat rushes to my cheeks. I feel like an intruder, witnessing a family moment between the three brothers and Hope. But all that is nothing compared to the heated blaze that shoots through me as a warm hand snakes around my waist.

  Hudson’s hand.

  I look down and see Hudson’s fingers wrapping around the fabric of my shirt. My heart’s beating a different kind of rhythm as he pulls me closer, until the right side of my body is really, really, really close to his. His chest pushes out as he takes a deep breath.

  I can’t think. I can’t hear anything. Blood rushes into my head, and I’m oblivious to everything except his touch. Hudson’s fingers squeeze the side of my waist lightly, like he wants to hold on to me and never let go.

  Breathe, Blake. Breathe.

  “Heath. Harrington.” Hudson’s voice suddenly sounds heavy.

  I don’t realize I have my eyes closed until right then, and I quickly open them. The two boys stare, one in awe, the other untrusting . . . ? My gaze travels to Hope. Her eyes are wide. She’s probably shocked as hell.

  Surrrpriiisse!

  “I want you to meet my girlfriend, Blake.” He lets go of my waist and suddenly, I feel empty from the lack of his warmth. My head swims, swirling around one particular word—girlfriend. He just introduced me as his girlfriend?

  From the corner of my eye, I catch Hope mouthing the words: “What the fuck, Hudson?” I smile. At least I’m not the only one reeling. I never thought the bubbly, cheery Hope was capable of swearing. Apparently, all it takes is a really good shock.

  “Hi, boys,” I say, leaning forward and holding my hand out.

  Harrington looks at it like I have nasty pimples oozing pus, while Heath couldn’t care less. He ignores my hand and throws himself at me, his tiny arms barely long enough to wrap around my shoulders. I stiffen momentarily, but then wrap my arms around him as a small chuckle escapes me.

  Heath pulls back and stares at me. “You’re so beautiful.” He smiles. “Like my mom,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. His smile falls and a frown takes over. But the flash of sadness is gone just as quickly as he looks to Hudson, his big hazel eyes becoming rounder—if that’s even possible. “Is she coming home with us? Because I like her. I really like her, Hudson.”

  Harrington smacks Heath on the shoulder. “That’s ‘cause you like everyone. You think all girls are p
retty.” The last piece is said like he can’t fathom the thought of girls and “pretty” coexisting.

  Hudson laughs, deep and throaty, as his brothers bicker with each other.

  “I think Blake is prettier. Like Mom.”

  The laughter dies on Hudson’s lips, and Harrington looks pissed. Heat assaults my cheeks—not sure if it’s from embarrassment, or the change in mood around me.

  “Take it back.” Harrington shoves his little brother, and I have to catch him so he doesn’t stumble and fall on his butt.

  Hope jumps in, suddenly sobered from her shock.

  “Boys!” she scolds them.

  What just happened? I sneak a glance at Hudson, who shies away from meeting my gaze. His face scrunches like he’s in pain. Does it bother him that his brother compared me to his mom?

  “Ummm . . .” I say, standing. “I should probably go.”

  “No!” Hope says. She quickly wraps her arms around Harrington and reaches for Heath. He folds his tiny fingers around her hand. “There’s no need. Hudson and I took separate cars. I can take the boys home, and I’m sure Hudson can drop you off . . . ?” Thankfully, Hudson is the only one that’s in the direct line of her glare.

  I look to him, wanting to know if he’s okay. I’m only six miles from home, and public transportation isn’t all that bad. I’d taken it to get here, after all. He fidgets, like he’s uncomfortable, and my heart sinks.

  “Sure, yeah. I’ll make sure she gets home.” Hudson stands, his hand once again finding its place on my hip. This time, I don’t stiffen, although my heart starts to beat faster.

  “You two are together and didn’t think to tell little ole me sooner?” Hope whisper-yells, trying to keep the boys out of earshot. “Clearly, you have a lot of explaining to do,” she says, as we walk toward her car.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Hudson mocks, helping his brothers get settled in. He buckles Heath’s seat belt, while Hope slides into the driver’s seat.

  “Be good, boys,” he says, shoving the door closed.

  Hope revs the engine.

  “I expected that from Hudson. But you, Blake?” She looks hurt.

  I feel a pinch of guilt for lying to her. Obviously, she feels invested in whatever goes on between Hudson and me. The question is why?

  We stay rooted to the spot until they disappear from our line of sight. Hudson then turns to me, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. His eyebrows bunch together.

  “I probably should have asked before I introduced you as my girlfriend,” he says. “It sounded like a good plan at the time. Especially since Hope likes to play matchmaker. I thought it’d give her the shock of her life. Clearly, it did. But . . .” He sighs, his mumbled tirade coming to an end.

  His fumbling is kinda cute. But, if I’m being honest, the girlfriend thing did take me by surprise. And I don’t know what that says about me, going along with the label without first agreeing to it. Did I want it to be true that badly?

  “I really—” he starts, but I cut him off, placing two fingers on his lips. Once I’m sure he’s not going to say anything else, I slowly pull my hand back.

  “I’m not upset,” I say.

  “But you looked so uncomfortable. And then Heath went on to compare you to . . .” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

  I wrap my arms around my waist. “It’s no biggie. Besides, I agreed to play along, remember? In any case, we should probably just tell her the next chance we get. You know, so that she doesn’t grill us to death.”

  He stares, nodding hesitantly. “I’ll tell her.” Then he quickly adds, “Want something to eat? My treat.”

  In the midst of everything, I had forgotten all about the food. “Are you kidding? I’d never come here without getting my spicy chicken sandwich.”

  I walk over to the open window of the food-truck.

  “Hey, sweet cheeks,” the guy behind the counter greets me. “The usual?”

  I nod. “You know me so well, old man.”

  Jorge chuckles, turning his back to us. “You know, sweet cheeks, I’m only a few years older than you.”

  Jorge is in his mid thirties, and is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. The first time I came here, nearly six years ago, he had waist-length chestnut hair that was unkempt and messy. These days, he’s turned a corner, pulling it back into a man bun.

  “More like two decades. And that’s ancient in teenage years,” I respond.

  Hudson comes to stand next to me, and I give him a genuine smile.

  “I’ve known Jorge since I was ten. He’s like the big brother I never had,” I explain.

  “Here you go, sweet cheeks.” Jorge places a brown bag on the metal counter. I can smell the greasy aroma of curly fries drizzled with oozing cheese, and the tangy spice of the chicken sandwich nestled among them.

  I see Hudson pull out his wallet. It’s sweet of him to offer, but I haven’t paid for food since Jorge opened the shop six years ago.

  “Jorge will rip you to pieces if you even think about paying for me,” I say, turning away from him and heading toward the beach. Hudson follows.

  “I don’t get it.”

  I shrug. “It’s simple, really. When Jorge married his wife and brought her over from Spain, I was the one who helped her figure out American society. You know, learn to read, write . . . I even introduced her to old Western movies. He told me that he could never repay me for how much I helped her and free food was the least he could do. She and I actually work at the soup kitchen together often.”

  I drop my butt on the sand with a grunt and pry open the bag. “Mmm . . .” I bury my head in the bag and inhale. This. This is Heaven on earth. Fried food at its best. Never gets old. Plucking out a curly fry, I devour it in a single bite. And then dive in for more.

  “So, how in the world did Hope get you to come here?” Hudson asks.

  “She paged me about two hours ago, asking me to meet her. And I didn’t think anything of it. She can’t seem to get enough of this place since I introduced her to it.” I pull out my chicken sandwich and unwrap it from its foil. Holding it in both hands, I take a huge bite, chewing my food slowly.

  His eyebrows are furrowed. “She has your number?”

  I’m confused. I thought he knew, since they were best friends and all. I nod, kind of.

  “Oh,” he says and turns his attention toward the waves.

  I don’t know why, but the way he says that word makes me sad. Did he not want Hope to hang out with me? Maybe he doesn’t like me, after all. But then, why would he call me his girlfriend, even for the sake of a prank?

  “Look,” I say, putting my food down. “I can’t stop her from coming over and spending time with me. I’m sure you know just how persistent she can be. But if us hanging out bothers you, I’ll try my best to avoid her. ”

  “What? No!” Hudson clearly looks alarmed. “I don’t care about that. Well, I do. But not in the way you think.”

  “Then why the frown, golden boy?”

  “I’m just . . . I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I guess I’m just surprised you and Hope are talking, and well . . . I hoped . . .” He pauses and everything in me is screaming, “Spit it out!”

  “You hoped . . . ?” My palms start to sweat. I don’t know what I expect him to say, but I’m dying to find out.

  “That I’d be the one you were talking to on the phone.”

  THERE. I SAID it. I put myself out there. Like a lame, pathetic, crush-filled bastard. God, could I be any more pathetic? The last time I saw her, I kissed her, but then didn’t have the nerve to contact her, stupidly walking away without her number, and now that she’s here, I’m whining about not being the person she talks to? What the fuck.

  A few seconds of silence pass, and I’m kicking myself for not thinking twice before spouting off that ridiculous line.

  “. . . the one you were talking to on the phone.”

  That sounded so desperate.

  “I didn’t think . . .” She pauses, the
n gives a lopsided shrug. “I don’t know,” she says, her voice small.

  “Blake . . .” I’m unsure how to approach this. I’ve never been tongue-tied when asking a girl out. But here I am, twisted up in all kinds of ways, unable to speak. “Maybe . . . maybe if we exchange numbers, we could talk in the future?”

  Blake turns her head toward me, clearly at a loss for what to say. “Ummm . . .”

  I don’t give her the chance to l say no. “What’s your number?”

  She looks up and waits a very long second before telling me her pager number. I save it to my cell phone and call, sending her a message.

  “There. Now you have my number too. Call me for anything. Even if it’s just to talk or get away.”

  She presses a couple buttons on the pager and looks up again, her eyes connecting with mine, studying me like she’s unsure if I’m being funny or serious.

  “I’m more than happy to plot a prank or two in there, if you like.”

  The corner of her lip twitches.

  “But in all seriousness, call me. For anything. I’m here.” Then I rub my hands together, feeling nerves hit me again. “That night . . . after I left, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know.”

  She cocks her head to the side, a single eyebrow arched high.

  “I mean . . .” Shit. True, I still dream about that kiss, and I still wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t stopped and I’d been able to think clearly. Maybe I would have remembered to ask for her number then. “What I mean is that I was concerned about you and Vicki, especially after the way you ran into the house. So . . . yeah . . .” I run my hand over my neck. God, this is awkward.

  “Oh,” she says.

  “I was worried.” Among other things. “But I’m also more than happy to talk about how I’m the best kiss you’ve ever had.” There you go, Hudson! Step away from the awkward. Charm her.

  Her cheeks redden. She secures a strand of hair behind her ear and looks down. Like she wants me to watch, but is shy about it. The side of her lip quirks just a tiny bit, and I know I’m one hundred percent right.

  “I could remind you, if you’ve forgotten how amazing it was,” I say, smirking.