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“What?” I ask.
“What’s the biggest animal you think you could take in a fight?”
Carter’s question is like switching on a lightbulb in a dark room. All the guys are perking up, their brains chewing over the question.
Rhys’ face pulls tight with thought. “Would I be delusional to say that I think I could take a crocodile?”
“Yes,” Lane answers without missing a beat.
“People do crocodile wrestling, right? It can’t be that hard.”
“What about a giraffe?” I ponder. “I think I could take a giraffe. If I had to. They’re so damn cute I wouldn’t want to. But, like, if some giraffe with a bad attitude left me no choice.”
“Are you kidding?” Hudson counters. “How? Just punching its knees? It would kick you into next week.”
“Giraffes are slow, right? I’ll run around and tire it out. Then, when he drops his head, I’d take my shot.”
“I don’t think giraffes are slow,” Jamie says. “I don’t know where you’re getting that from.”
When the conversation shifts back to Rhys’ chances of taking on a crocodile, Hudson pulls me to the side.
“So,” he says, nodding slowly, sizing me up with his gaze. “You and Olivia.”
Just hearing her name is enough to bring a big, toothy grin to my face. “Yep. Me and Olivia.”
Shit, if hearing Olivia’s name is enough to make me smile, I don’t have the words to explain what saying me and Olivia does to me. My chest is fluttering like the wings of a bird flying off a branch on a warm summer morning. It feels like a fucking dream.
“You better treat her right, Tuck.” There’s an edge of warning in his voice. “I don’t need my friend hurting my girlfriend’s friend and making things all fucked up.”
My stomach tightens at the idea of anyone thinking I’d hurt Olivia. “I wouldn’t. Don’t you know that? I’m fucking crazy about her.”
His eyes elevator up and down me. “Yeah. I know. I don’t think you would. But I had to say it. I like her. She’s a nice girl, and she’s good to my cat. So, I just had to let you know that you better treat her right.”
Hudson’s a big softy, so I can’t hold this little warning talk against him.
“I have a great idea to show you just how right I treat her,” I say, feeling a spark of excitement.
Hudson tilts his head skeptically, his eyes narrowing. “Please tell me you don’t have some weird sexual thing in mind.”
I throw back my head with a guffaw. “Nope. Even better. Double date.”
A distinctly unexcited look takes residence on Hudson’s face. “Double date.” He says the words like he’s chewing them—and doesn’t like the taste.
“Not just a double date. A karaoke double date.”
Now Hudson’s expression is one of mortification. “Tuck, you know there’s no way I’d ever be caught dead on a karaoke stage.”
38
OLIVIA
Tuck and Hudson are neck-deep in the absolute worst karaoke duet I’ve ever heard.
What’s truly fascinating is how both of them are terrible singers for very different reasons.
Hudson’s actually got a good singing voice. Or, at least, he would, if he weren’t so half-hearted and self-conscious about singing with a whole bar of eyes on him. He sings on key, but his timing is totally off.
Tuck, on the other hand, can’t carry a tune. His voice might be smooth golden honey when he’s talking with his gravelly southern drawl, but his singing is hopelessly off-key. On the other hand, he’s totally enthusiastic and his timing is perfect.
