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Yet Hudson is the only person outside of my small circle that makes me feel anything other than lost and insignificant at all times.
I’m trying to wrap up the last of my online classes so that I can start taking the ones where I actually need to be in class.
My dreams of full independence, and being my own boss on a food truck, are all I think about outside of the man who just hunted me down at my parents’ house.
“Did you come all the way over here to tell me that?” I ask, noticing the shadowy, jagged edges of his jaw.
“I think we both know why I stalked your ass all the way over here.”
“To fuck me.” It’s not a question but a statement. And Hudson is quick to recant that statement.
“To spend time with you on your birthday.”
My heart flutters happily while my brain waves a few red flags around with a warning siren blaring in my head that the ship is going to go down if I don’t chill.
If I don’t do what’s right for me.
You’re not going to be at Rapture Ink forever.
Yeah, but he just told me the other day that he didn’t want to hurt me. That he’s not looking to the future but right now.
And I know how to receive that just fine.
I’m just not taking the actions to make sure he doesn’t. Nor do I want to remember a birthday where we just broke things off because he’s not willing to commit.
And I’m not ready to say goodbye.
“So you wanted to ruin my other birthdays?”
Hudson tsks before leaning forward. The smell of leather and whiskey fills my nostrils as I try to remain steady and calm.
I swear, he can take the shittiest thing and make me want it.
“If you want me to fuck off, Opie, just say the word,” he grinds out. “I care enough to keep you exclusive to me. I thought we’d slowly get to that point.”
“What point?”
“The one where we figure this shit out.”
Another red flag.
The mighty Hudson Stoll doesn’t know what he wants or how to get there.
“You said you didn’t want a relationship,” I remind him placidly. “And I’m not willing to wait around while you figure it out.” I swallow before tacking on, “And I don’t want one.”
“Girls like you always want one,” he argues lightly, slowly kneading my ass. “But I’m starting to think that maybe I should just lock your fucking ass down so I don’t have to worry about another Ryan Reynolds or whoever the fuck is in that house trying to slide on in. It’ll give me every opportunity to beat their ass and remind you who you belong to.”
“Are you off some sort of medication?” It flees from my mouth quicker than I can stop it, but what in the hell?
Is he bipolar?
Did hell just freeze over? Because this man specifically showed me that he wasn’t down for a woman.
A long-term woman.
“No,” he drones off my confusion. “But I had a fiancée that fucked me over, was carrying my child, then died. Hence why I’m not skipping and hopping to the next female who wants to ride my dick.”
Fuck.
