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I wipe the tear away and open my eyes; when I do, I notice that the seat next to me is no longer empty.
I turn to see Hudson looking at me, his eyes vivid, concern etched on his angular face.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice low and urgent. “Who did this to you?”
Instantly, the pressure in my chest that threatened to turn into a sob deflates. The hot prickling behind my eyes vanishes. The feelings of hurt and betrayal that were just eating me up wash away like a word written in the sand when the tide sweeps over it.
Hudson’s gaze still holds me. He leans closer, entering the charged space between our seats. “Summer, what’s wrong?” he asks; his voice is raspy with urgency, like nothing else in the world matters to him right now.
I blink myself out of the trance his deep, blue-grey eyes hold me in. “Nothing,” I answer, fibbing. “Just …” I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
His lush lips press straight and tight together, and his eyes narrow. He’s not buying it.
“I just … had an unpleasant conversation is all,” I say, trying to sound casual, like it’s no big deal. “With my ex.”
At that word, his nostrils flare, his jaw muscles pop, and something fiery sparks in his pale blue eyes.
“Ex,” he says, like he’s tasting the word—and the way his face twitches tells me that he doesn’t like the taste at all.
“We just had a disagreement about something. It’s nothing.”
“Hm.” The sound is a low growl, with an edge of skepticism.
His icy blue gaze tracks to the trail of wetness that runs from my inner left eye halfway down my cheek where I wiped away the tear. Protectiveness flares in his eyes.
“I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile.
His own lips carve in the opposite direction, dipping into a frown. He can tell that my smile is forced, that it doesn’t reach my eyes.
“Okay,” he finally concedes, turning his head to the front of the room. “But if you ever need me to beat this ex of yours up, just let me know.”
A laugh sputters out of me, and suddenly the sadness that had sunk deep into my chest flies away. Once again, Hudson actually making a joke catches me so off guard, and he delivers it so dryly.
I mean, he was joking, right?
Before I can reply, Dr. Ferrara arrives and launches into his lecture. I try to pay attention, but my mind keeps getting pulled in a different direction. Surprisingly, not back to the interaction I just had with Sean—but to the way Hudson looked at me.
The concern in his eyes. More than concern: care. Genuine care. Even though he hardly knows me.
A scenario flashes in my mind: Hudson looking at me with that care in his eyes, and not just care, but possessiveness.
Him wrapping his shoulder around me like I belong to him, pulling me close for everyone to see—for Sean to see.
Sean getting the message, and not even daring to try and win me back after seeing who he’d be trying to take me from.
Ridiculous. I try to push the thought out of my mind.
But if Hudson’s offering to beat up people for me—even if he was obviously just joking, which he must have been—maybe he’d …
This time I shake my head, hoping the silly idea dislodges from my brain.
I just need to keep being firm with Sean. He’ll accept reality eventually, and there will be no need to involve my grumpy goalie English partner in any kind of ridiculous romcom-worthy charade.
Still, that idea of Hudson wrapping his arm around me, pulling me close against his hard, solid body, making it clear to everyone looking that I’m his …
It’s an image that’s not so easy to get out of my head.
It feels like a week has passed when I finally get home.
