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Hudson: If it involves your body, then…
Caroline: Ha ha. Big test Monday. May need a rain check…
Oh, fuck no. She’s not getting out of this.
Hudson: If that’s your way of trying to cancel on me, try again. I want to see you.
Bring your textbook and I’ll help you… study.
Caroline: Something tells me your version of “studying” does not involve a textbook.
Hudson: Maybe not, but it definitely involves a lesson.
Caroline: As long as it counts toward my grade. *winky face*
Fuck.
Once I get home, I spend the rest of the day picking up my house and attempting to figure out how to cook. Turns out most people can’t learn how to do that in less than three hours. But I’m an overachiever, and maybe there’s a little part of me that wants to impress Caroline with a meal that I cooked.
I had to call my sister, and now she’s currently giving me ten versions of the third degree to find out why I’m taking a sudden interest in cooking.
“You can lie all you want and say that you’re meal prepping, but I know you have a date. Why else would you want to make spaghetti? That is not something you would eat, Hudson. You spend like twenty hours a week in the gym,” Hailey says.
“That’s a ridiculous exaggeration, and you know it. Plus… I like Italian food. I love that place up the road with the meatballs.”
She laughs. “Exactly. Takeout. Whatever, we’re discussing this more at family dinner Sunday. You will be there, right?”
To sit through an hour of interrogation from her and mom?
Can’t wait.
Thankfully, she drops the questions and guides me through making my mom’s homemade sauce, which I do actually happen to fucking love, even if I try to eat clean during the season.
There’s no way I can keep my body lean if I’m shoveling spaghetti and garlic bread into my mouth on the daily.
I leave the sauce on the stove on low when I leave to pick her up, thankful as fuck I didn’t have to fight her on not taking the damn Uber.
When I pull down sorority row, I see the house she lives at lit the fuck up all the way down the street. Apparently, there’s a party. Cars line the entire street, causing me to have to park down the road. I send her a quick text, and a few minutes later, she appears, opening the passenger door with a sweet smile.
Fuck, she’s so damn pretty.
She’s got her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, with a pair of black square frames on her face, her bag thrown over her shoulder. She’s got on a white tank top that’s tucked into the front of a pair of blue jean shorts and a thin pink cardigan over her shoulders.
She looks cute as fuck, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never been attracted tocutein my life, until I met her.
“Hey,” she breathes, sliding into the seat and shutting the door behind her.
I take her bag and put it into the back seat, and before she can say another word, I slide my hand along the back of her neck and pull her to me, my lips moving over hers in a sultry kiss. She whimpers against me, and I shudder.
One sound—that’s how much it could take to be my undoing.
I pull back, tearing my lips from hers, even though it’s the last fucking thing I want to do.
“I’ve been waiting all fucking day to do that.”
Her eyes are heavy-lidded, her gaze raking over me in a way that makes me want to do a hundred on the interstate just to get her home.
“Well, hello to you too, Romeo.”
