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LIV
Mom’s been on one all day.
It’s in the way she looks over at me. The not-so-subtle glances she sends my way when Hudson stands next to me, and I believe she’s either on to me or she’s trying to plan our demise.
Either way, it’ll all come to the same conclusion.
Self-loathing for making my boss do this and the recollection of my doing it with every order he sends my way. The pathetic panic ensued when my mother rode my ass about not having a stupid date to my sister's over-the-top wedding.
No wonder Hudson won’t touch me.
I acted like a child.
Not that it matters. Sleeping with my boss is the second worst idea I’ve had in the last week. Tack on the fact that I’m not his type and it’s another blow, further motivation to just get this done and over with quickly so I can pretend it never happened in the first place.
Fat chance when he’s your boss, Einstein.
“Take this out to your father,” Mom orders, sliding a tray full of various sandwiches with a multitude of vegetables in the center, while she wipes her hands along the front of her plaid apron. “He needs to keep his blood sugar in line.”
“Where’s the chips?”
Mom jerks her head up like I just told her she was fat or ugly. “What?”
“Chips,” I reply slowly. “You know Dad and I?—”
“I didn’t buy chips, Olive,” she chides in a low tone, because women don’t yell. “It’s unhealthy.”
Yeah, no shit, that’s what makes them so good.
Nonetheless, there’s no point in arguing with her because she’s in yet another mood today. Dad is watching baseball in the front room, something she’s been pissed off about for over an hour, though she won’t mention it.
Wives are seen, not heard.
Her rule, not his.
Regardless, it’s his birthday today. If the man wants chips—which he will—let him have the whole damn bag.
Pulling the tray off the kitchen island, I make the short distance to the living room, finding Dad kicked back in his La-Z-Boy with his feet up. Hudson is lounged out with his legs stretched on the floor in all his tattooed glory on the couch beside him, and fuck me.
The black jeans he’s wearing highlight his long legs and muscled thighs. His flat torso and chest are something not left to the imagination because I’ve seen them last night and I had to hold myself back from staring because, well, creepy.
He’s a fucking god.
Glorious in every way, and even his attitude doesn’t sway me. I like his brooding and the standoffish parts. One could even say I’m used to it.
“Here, Dad.” I set the tray down between the table sitting on either side of Hudson and him, pushing back the lamp a bit. “Lunch service with a smile.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. His blue eyes scan the wooden tray before he frowns. “Where’s the chips?”
My lips coil into a smirk because, see? “Be right back.”
I quickly make my way upstairs to ravish my suitcase, coming back a minute later with an armful of chips and the possibility of my mother’s possible wrath later.
Dad smiles at me. “Ah, my angel. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
“Never.” I pivot toward the kitchen before Hudson’s fingers wrap around my wrist and give me a gentle tug toward the couch.
“Sit down, Opie.”
