by Brenda Novak
“What do you think of that little hottie?” Devon jerked his head toward a buxom blonde gyrating against some skinny, well-dressed dude.
“Not bad,” Hudson said. But he wasn’t all that impressed by the blonde. He was far more intrigued by the woman he’d been surreptitiously watching since he arrived. Slender, with black hair swept up and away from an oval face, she wasn’t as pretty as some of the other women he’d seen tonight, but she wasn’t nearly as plastic, either. She seemed oddly wholesome, given the setting. The poise with which she held herself told him she deserved more attention than she was receiving. At times, she even seemed slightly bewildered, as if she didn’t understand all the frenetic activity around her, let alone thrive on it. She’d just ordered three shots and downed them all—without anyone cheering her on or clapping to encourage her, which wasn’t how most party girls did it. Then, while her friends were still off dancing, she’d gotten rid of the evidence and ordered something that looked like a peach margarita.
“Man, I’d like to get me some of that,” Devon was saying about the blonde.
“Go talk to her.” Hudson hoped to be left alone, so he could study the mystery woman at the table nearby without interruption or distraction.
“Can I tell her I’m with you?” Since Devon laughed as he spoke, Hudson knew he was joking, but he made his position clear, anyway.
“No. Don’t tell anyone I’m here. That would mean I’d have to leave, and I’m enjoying myself at the moment.”
“You are? You didn’t even want to come.”
“I’m glad I did.”
“You’re not doing anything except having a drink...”
At least he was having a drink around other people, could have some fun vicariously. “That’s good enough,” he said. “For now.”
“Man, you could change that so easily. All you’d have to do is crook your finger, and you could have any woman in here.”
Probably not any woman, but more than his fair share. That was part of the problem. Hudson never knew if the women he met were interested in him or his celebrity. “Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Devon’s expression said he was far from convinced. “Are you kidding me, man? I’d give anything to be you. I’d have a different model in my bed every night.”
Hudson didn’t live that way. He hadn’t slept with anyone since his girlfriend broke up with him nearly two years ago. He hadn’t planned on remaining celibate for such an extended period; he just hadn’t found anyone to replace Melody. Not only did he prefer to avoid certain risks, like getting scammed, he didn’t believe it was ethical to set someone up for disappointment. People like him, who struggled to fall in love, should come with a warning label. That was the reason he and Melody had gone their separate ways after seven years. She’d come to the conclusion that he’d never be willing to hand over his heart—could never trust enough to let go of it—and she wasn’t interested in anything less. She wanted to marry, settle down and have a family.
He respected her for cutting him off and had realized since then that she was right. He’d stuck with her as long as he had because she was comfortable and safe, not because he felt any great passion.
Still, it was difficult not to call her, especially when he needed the comfort, softness and sexual release a woman could provide. Only his desire to protect her from getting hurt again, since the breakup had been so hard on her, kept him from relapsing.
“I refuse to be that big a fool,” he told Devon.
Teague’s little brother leaned closer. “What’d you say?”
“Nothing.” Devon wouldn’t understand Hudson’s reluctance to churn through women even if he tried to explain it. Part of it was Devon’s age. At twenty-four, nothing sounded better than sex with as many girls as possible. Hudson had felt the same way eight years ago. Only his peculiar background, and that trust issue, had kept him from acting on his baser impulses. Also, he’d achieved early success through college football at UCLA and already had something to protect when he was twenty-four.
“So why don’t you approach her?” Hudson pressed, gesturing toward the blonde.
Devon took another sip of his drink. “Think I should?”
The song had ended and she was walking off toward a table on her own. “What do you have to lose? She might shut you down, but then you’ll move on to someone else, right?”
Freshly empowered, Devon put down his glass and slid out of the booth. “Good point. Okay. Here I go.”
As soon as he left, Hudson donned the sunglasses he kept in his shirt pocket—he was already wearing a ball cap—and called over the waitress.
Fortunately, she was so busy she barely looked at him, so the disguise seemed unnecessary, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“What can I get for you?”
“That woman over there—what’s she drinking?” He pointed at the lone figure he found so intriguing. He didn’t have to worry about her seeing the gesture, since she had yet to look over at him.
The waitress cast a glance in the direction he’d indicated. “I’d guess a peach margarita.”
Just as he’d thought. “She needs a fresh one. Will you take care of it?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” He handed her a twenty. “Keep the change.”
Copyright © 2017 by Brenda Novak, Inc.
ISBN-13: 9781460398883
Right Where We Belong
Copyright © 2017 by Brenda Novak, Inc.
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