Forty-Two
Hudson
Dallas is sitting in his living room when I walk in. A bottle of whiskey hangs from his fingers. His face is drowning in regret—his eyes red-rimmed and glossy.
We stare at each other for a moment before I move further into the room and take the seat on the other side of the sectional. I stopped in the guest room to see Willow before I left my house. I wanted to tell her goodbye and assure her that I’ll talk to him. She looked like a hot mess, and I have no doubt they’re both struggling with this.
“Where’s Maven?” is my first question. Not only can we not have this discussion if she’s here, but he also can’t be drinking like this around her. “I can have Stella come get her for a while.”
He shakes his head. “She spent the night at Mom and Dad’s.” His voice shakes. “You know, don’t you?”
I rub my hand over my face when he takes a drink. “Do I know that Willow just fled our house like there’s a plague outbreak here because something happened between the two of you last night?”
“I feel like the biggest piece of shit in the world, Hudson.” His voice cracks. “It’s only been months since I lost Lucy. She was my life. My fucking life. How could I touch another woman like that? How could I fuck someone else?”
I pause as a brief silence falls between us while struggling to come up with the right words that he won’t take the wrong way.
“Eventually …” I stop and take a deep breath. “Sooner or later, you’re going to have to move on, brother.”
Was that the best thing to say? I don’t want him to feel bad for touching Willow. He did nothing wrong.
“Not that fast!” he yells. “I was hers for over a decade! You can’t throw that away in six months. Fuck! Everyone in this town is going to hate me.”
“No one is going to hate you for moving on.”
He snorts, the bottle going back to his lips.
“Do you like Willow?”
He stares down at the floor. “Nu-uh, don’t you dare start that shit. I’m not dating anyone for a long ass time. Dating isn’t what I need. It sure as hell isn’t what Maven needs.”
“You’re going to stay single and celibate for the rest of your life?”
He looks back up at me. “I haven’t decided that yet.” He gestures to the house. “I brought her in here. I took her to our bed. Jesus Christ.” He throws his arms out in frustration. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“You’re going to be a strong man for your daughter, that’s what you’re going to do, you hear me? Don’t beat yourself up over this. If it was a one-time thing, then so be it. If you like Willow and want to explore shit with her, go for it. It’s your choice, and no one is going to look down on you for your decision. There’s been plenty of women who’ve approached me about trying to get close to you, so they have no right to judge for something they’re trying to participate in.”
“I don’t even want to talk about this right now. I feel like complete shit.”
I grab the bottle from him. “This isn’t going to help.”
He frowns. “You suck.”
“You need to call Willow.”
His skin bunches around his eyes. “And say what? Sorry I freaked out when I woke up and saw you in my bed? There’s no way she doesn’t hate me right now.”
I point the bottle at him. “Make shit right. Stella will kick my ass if Willow quits.”
“You talk to him?” Stella asks.
“Yeah. He looks like shit, feels like shit, and doesn’t know what to do,” I answer.
“You might want to explain to him that you don’t talk about how big of a mistake sleeping with someone is in front of them. I almost had Willow convinced to move here. There’s no changing her mind now. She said I could either hire someone else or let her work from LA.” She plops down on our bed. “Everything was going so well. We’re building a house. I just got my dream show and need my assistant here, not states away. Not to mention, I want to be there for her. She’s gone through too much this year with men.”
“We’ll deal with whatever happens, okay?” I sit down and wrap her in my arms. “You can always visit Willow in LA until she feels comfortable coming here again. We got this.”
Forty-Three
Hudson
Two Months Later
* * *
Her shiny, ink-black hair lays in a tangle on the pillowcase, and I prop myself up with my elbow to watch her with sleepy eyes.
It’s what I do every morning. I wake up and admire the woman in my bed wondering how I managed to get so damn lucky to have her.
It’s not considered creepy doing that, is it?
It’s okay if the person you’re watching is who you’re in love with, right?
I can see that being a stalker’s justification, so yes, I guess it is creepy, but I’m not sneaking into her house and watching her sleep.
I’m watching the woman I’m proposing to next month.
I never imagined I’d be here.
I came back to the States devastated after losing the woman I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. That heartache brought me to the woman who actually deserved my heart and that title. Cameron shitting on me made me realize that no matter what obstacles are thrown my way, or how many miles separate us, my heart will always belong to Stella. I hate the lame-ass cliché—but everything does happen for a reason.
When I took the job with Stella, I thought I was hitting my rock bottom, but I was really smacking face first into the foundation of who I was and what I wanted. I opened my mind, opened my heart, and moved outside of my small-town boy marrying the small-town girl plan.
Did I think that’d lead me to falling in love with a TV star?
Fuck no.
But hey, shit happens.
Construction has started on our new home on my parents’ property, and Stella decided to keep her house in LA. We travel back and forth when she has promotional events, or if we’re in need of a quick getaway. I’ve come to realize that you can make a home anywhere when you’re with the one you love.
They’ve started filming her new show, which results to her being gone as long as fifteen hours a day. Since it’s not too far out of town, I get to bring her dinner and watch her work sometimes.
It’s one of my favorite parts of my day.
My lips curve up when her eyes shutter open and then narrow my way.
She yawns. “I told you I hate it when you watch me sleep.”
I smirk. “It makes my day knowing I can be put through anything and no matter what, I still come home to something so damn beautiful. I let you have my side of the closet. Let me enjoy my few seconds of staring without you making a fuss.”
She rolls her eyes. “That sounds even creepier.” She yawns again. “You all packed?”
I nod, and she snuggles into me, whining.
“I’m going to miss you.”
I kiss the top of her head and drag myself out of bed. “I’m going to miss you more.”
“I just don’t want them to start again,” she whispers, concern etched on her face.
“I haven’t had them in months, Hollywood. If they do, I’ll call you.”
I’ve only had a few flashbacks and nightmares since we’ve been back together, and those are when she’s working late or out of town. Stella is the light to my darkness.
She pouts her lips. “You promise?”
“Promise. I think this retreat will not only help others, but it’ll benefit me as well.”
“I’m so proud of you for making it happen. You’re such a sexy badass.”
I got some of the guys in my old battalion together, and we started a group that helps soldiers dealing with PTSD. Our first retreat is this weekend in North Carolina, close to where most of us trained. I’ve been busting my ass this past month to ensure everything will be perfect.
Stella licks her lips when I grab my clothes. “Is it weird how much seeing you naked turns me on?”
&nbs
p; “Just as weird as it is me watching you sleep.”
“Good thing we found each other.” She wiggles around in the sheets and pats the space next to her. “Surely, us creeps have a few minutes to say goodbye to each other properly?”
“You know damn well it’ll last more than a few minutes, and as much as I’d love to get some morning sex, I can’t. Dallas will be here in about ten minutes.” My dick twitches as I pull on my boxer briefs and grab my jeans. “You had me up all night, woman. Your stamina is unbelievable.”
Even though Dallas isn’t a Marine, he helped me plan this, so I wanted him to be there.
She laughs. “I had to get three day’s worth of sex in.” Her head tilts to the side when something hits her. “Why is Dallas on his way here? I thought we were picking him up and then I was dropping you guys off because he didn’t want to leave his truck at the airport?”
“Change of plans,” I say, not looking at her.
“And that change is?” she asks suspiciously.
“Dallas had to pull out because Maven is sick.”
“What?” she screeches, “The only reason I could convince Willow to come to town this weekend is that I told her Dallas would be gone. She’s going to think I lied.”
“It’ll be okay.”
She scoffs. “You better say goodbye to me now because it won’t be okay. She’s going to murder me if she has to face your brother.”
“She probably won’t even see him. If she does, tell her shit changed last minute.”
“I’ll fly out there.”
I’ve never brought up Willow to Dallas since that morning. It’s a she-who-shall-not-be-named situation.
I grab my duffle bag. “I’ll text you when I get there, and we’ll Face Time before bed.”
She raises a brow. “Are you okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” We have a nightly ritual where if one of us is going to bed before the other is home, or if we’re out of town, we Face Time, so we can tell each other good night. It’s cheesy, I know, but I fucking love it.
“You’re going to be in a cabin with twenty other men.”
“And?” I walk back to the bed where she’s sitting up on her knees and swipe her tangled hair from her face. “I don’t care who’s around. I’ll always take your call.”
She blushes, her lips edging up in the corners. “I love you, Hudson Barnes. More than you can ever imagine.”
I touch my mouth to hers. “I love you, Stella Mendes. The best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I kiss her one last time before pulling away. She smacks my ass, laughing, and tells me to have fun.
My nightmares are gone.
My dreams are real.
Stella Mendes is mine.
I’m hers.
My life couldn’t get any fucking better.
Excerpt of Just One Night
Charity Ferrell
Prologue
Willow
“What the fuck have I done?”
I’ve never had a one-night stand, but I’m positive those aren’t the first words you want to hear the morning after.
I twist in the warm yet unfamiliar sheets and can taste last night’s whiskey in my mouth.
I lick my lips—wrong move—and regret it when the flavor of him hits my tongue.
Him.
The man pacing in front of me with his head tipped down while wearing only boxer briefs that show off his bulge.
I’ve lost count of the number of times the word fuck has fallen from his mouth.
I don’t know what to say.
Don’t know what to do.
“How the fuck could I have done this?” he continues.
My heart rams into my rib cage, just as hell-bent on escaping this situation as I am.
I’m stupid.
So damn stupid.
I drag the sheet up until it hits my chin, and he runs a hand through his thick bedhead hair, tugging at the roots the same way I did last night when he went down on me. He doesn’t know I am awake and can hear him, but that doesn’t make the wound any less severe.
His head rises when I jump out of bed and start scrambling for my clothes. The sheet drops from my body at the same time I frantically pull my dress over my head.
I have to get out of here.
Our eyes meet as I yank my panties up my legs. Apology and torture spill across his clenching jaw. The tears are coming, warning me to look away so that he won’t see my humiliation, but I can’t. I stare and silently beg him to change the outcome of this morning. The string to our stare down is cut by the sound of my name, a mere whisper falling from his loose lips.
I dart out of the bedroom, snag my purse I drunkenly threw over the arm of the couch, and rush toward the front door, not even bothering to search for my heels.
I refuse to glance back, but I hear him. No, I feel him behind me.
“Willow, please,” he pleads to my back with a strained voice while I fight with the lock.
I slam my fist against it. When did they start making these things so damn difficult?
“Don’t cry.” He blows out a stressed breath. “Just give me a fucking minute, okay?”
Relief hits me when the lock finally cooperates, and I slam the glass door in his face at the same time he repeats my name. I nearly trip on my feet when I jump down the porch steps.
I pause when I make it to the last one.
One more.
Against my will, I turn around for one last glance.
He’s staring at me in agony with the door handle gripped in his hand. For a split second, I’m stupid enough to think he’ll fix this. Stupid enough to believe he’ll say something, do something to make this right.
But he doesn’t.
He drops the handle, spreads both palms against the glass, and bows his head.
That’s my cue to get the hell out of here.
Fuck him.
Fuck whiskey.
Fuck my stupid decisions.
This is what I get for sleeping with a man mourning his dead wife.
Chapter 1
Willow
Three Months LATER
* * *
I should’ve never answered his call.
“Have you been smoking crack?” I screech into the phone. “I’m telling Stella to break up with you. I can’t have my best friend screwing a dude who does crack.” I’m deleting him from my Contacts as soon as the call ends. I can’t associate myself with someone this batshit crazy.
Hudson sucks in what sounds like an irritated breath. “No, Willow, I’m not smoking crack. It’ll be the icing on the cake if you show. She misses you.”
“You know I can’t come back there.” My throat tightens, the memory of that night crashing through my mind like a horror movie that keeps you up late at night. Hell, he does keep me up at night.
“It’s not like you’re fucking blacklisted. You’ve chosen not to come back. I emailed you your flight information. See you in a few days.”
The line goes dead.
Asswad.
I grip my phone, ready to call him back and tell him to shove that ticket up his ass, but I can’t.
I can’t because he’s proposing to my boss/best friend at her surprise birthday party. Stella deserves this—deserves love, happiness, and her best friend in attendance for one of the most important nights of her life. So, I’ll put my hate of the small town aside and risk seeing him—the jackass whose bed I fled from after our very drunken and very regrettable one-night stand.
He’ll be in attendance, given it’s his brother doing the proposing, which means I have to put my big-girl panties on, keep them on, and refrain from smashing a wine glass over his head.
All while keeping the biggest secret of my life.
While staying sober.
This will be interesting.
Some people believe in soul mates.
I believe in champagne and cupcakes.
The problem tonight is that I can only binge on one
of the above, and it’s not the one I prefer.
I get a whiff of Stella’s signature rose perfume before she cages me in for a hug. I squeeze her tight, a silent sorry that I’ve been a sucky friend, and we’re both nearly gasping for breath by the time we release each other.
Damn, I’ve missed my best friend and how I could always confide in her without judgment. That’s changed now. My secret will destroy her relationship.
“I can’t believe you came,” she cries out with a red-lipped smile. “How did Hudson convince you? Buy you a mini pony? Promise to kick Dallas in the balls?”
I laugh. “Two horses actually. And I didn’t consider the second option, so thanks for the idea. I’ll add it to my list of demands next time.”
I snag her manicured hand to admire the glistening princess cut diamond sitting beautifully on her finger. It’s perfection and so Stella—nothing too exuberant or obnoxious but still flashy.
“I have to give it to the corn-fed, small-town boy,” I go on. “He did a kick-ass job in the ring department.”
She stares down at her finger, her smile now nearly taking over her entire face. “He did, didn’t he?”
Hudson threw her a great party. He invited the few family members she talks to, his family, and everyone on the cast and crew of her show. There’s food galore, confetti sprinkled all over the white-tableclothed tables, and a Happy Birthday banner hangs in front of the empty DJ booth.
Stella is not only my boss, but also childhood star turned Hollywood’s princess. I’m her assistant. That’s how I met Mr. Wrong One-Night Stand. We worked together for years until he quit to move back home, and Hudson took his job.
Hudson couldn’t give Stella mansions or fancy cars, but he did shower her with enough love and happiness to make up for it. She moved from LA to Blue Beech, Iowa, after convincing a producer to shoot her new show here. I tried to resign, but she wasn’t having it and agreed to let me do all my work from my apartment in LA.
Just a Fling Page 22
