7. Hudson
Chapter 7
Hudson
A fter the most stressful week since I started my new job, I’m in desperate need of some down time.
In the space of a few days, I had three clients cancel on me hours before their training sessions were due to begin, two clients who needed their meal plans tweaking, and one client who had sprained their ankle going for a run and needed their training plan modified.
Add on top of that my usual workload, the constant phone calls from my older brother Grey pestering me as to when I was going to come and have dinner at his new apartment, and a tube strike which meant my usual underground transport to and from the gym wasn’t available and I had to walk four miles to work every day – there and back! – because there was no way I was spending my hard earned money on a black taxi cab.
Oh, and if that wasn’t enough, Giselle had to go and just about give me a heart attack.
The close proximity of her had almost done me in; the smell of her perfume and the whiff of whatever shampoo concoction she used to wash her hair. Fuck me. Who am I? Thinking about the scent of a girl’s hair? I need to get a grip.
If that hadn’t been enough, the sight of her in her tight leggings, the way they moulded to her tight arse and thighs – even though I tried my hardest not too stare, I swear… let’s pretend my fingers aren’t crossed behind my back right now – just about tipped me over the edge.
I hadn’t been thinking about much when I asked her to help give Mitch a demonstration over at the weight rack, my heart tap dancing a strange pattern in my chest when Giselle hadn’t backed down from my challenge. That girl had bigger balls than I’d given her credit for.
Although, I shouldn’t have been surprised.
This was the same woman who’d threatened to call security on me when she thought I was nothing but a peeping Tom, staring through the window of her ongoing dance class to perv.
I enjoyed talking to Giselle, not that I’d had the chance to do much of that lately what with one thing or another, and she was a fucking smoke show. One of the hottest women I’d met in a fucking long time, with this… this something about her that I couldn’t quite put my finger on but wanted to explore regardless.
Of course, I was going to ask her. I’d have been stupid not to use the golden opportunity that the universe had so kindly sent my way.
All thanks to you Big Man, sitting upstairs in heaven.
Seriously, I owe you.
I’d watched with interest as she stalked over to the weightlifting rack, dipping beneath the stacked barbell, heart shaped arse inches away from my crotch before she straightened up. Just the sight of her… fuck… I wanted to form my knuckles into a fist and bite down hard.
So wrapped up in Giselle, I wasn’t paying any attention to Mitch, or his whereabouts, until Giselle had lowered her voice and all but whispered to me, “You’re not going to let him stand there and look at my arse, are you?”
My teeth had almost cracked from the way I clenched my jaw tight, a rush of red hot jealously pounding through my veins. There was no fucking way in hell I was letting him stand there and look at Giselle’s arse while she squatted. No fucking way, mate.
A handful of reps in, I noticed Giselle’s knees begin to knock. Stepping forward, I kept a close eye on her form making sure she wasn’t overextending her knees and bending past her big toes which could cause tearing and injury.
She seemed pretty steady, and her form told me she wasn’t unfamiliar with squatting with weights, which is why I surprised me so much when the barbell slipped from her shoulders and her body began to careen forward, palms uncurling to catch herself.
Natural instinct had me reaching forward to grab at Giselle’s waist, my heart flying into my throat, before she could face plant the floor, fingers digging into the smooth, fleshy space between the hem of her t-shirt and the band of her leggings.
It was sheer luck that the weighted barbell, which hit the floor with a surprising loud thunk, didn’t drop on my toes or scrape the back of Giselle’s legs.
Nudging her to a free bench space and kneeling down beside her, I reached out my hand to cup Giselle’s knee, feeling for the beat of her pulse there.
It took a moment for it to slow down, adrenaline still being released into her bloodstream, but her heart was no longer rapidly beating like a hummingbird’s wings and colour had returned to her face.
Thank fuck.
She told me she was fine, but I didn’t really believe her. Who would after she’d almost smashed her pretty face into the flooring of the gym? Did she think I couldn’t see the way her hands shook as she lifted my water bottle to her lips and took a sip?
I wanted to stay longer, to make sure Giselle wouldn’t faint as soon as she stood up, but my next personal training client, Louisa, was due any second and—
“Am I interrupting something?”
For fucks sake—
I closed my eyes to avoid rolling them, vaguely hearing the thinly veiled sarcasm that dripped from Louisa’s tone.
Before I knew what was really happening, Giselle was standing to her full height and thrusting my now empty water bottle back into my chest.
“Thanks for the water,” she’d said, her voice suspiciously even and devoid of any emotion. “Enjoy your training session.”
Watching Giselle flounce off, arse bouncing, I raised my hand to rub at the stubble coating my jawline and to hide the growing smile stretching across my lips.
The pretty little thing was jealous but desperately trying to hide it.
But she couldn’t fool me.
“Hudson?” Louisa had tried to regain my attention, her long nails grazing the bare flesh of my bicep.
I didn’t want to deal with her, but she was paying for my time to train her, so I had no choice but to suck it up even though everything inside me was screaming to follow Giselle.
That hour and a half training Louisa was hell; neither my heart nor my mind was in it. I couldn’t concentrate, I keep track of how many repetitions Louisa had completed, or which piece of gym equipment we should use next based on her fitness goals that she’d laid out for me the very first time we’d met.
When it was finally over, I sidestepped out of the way before Louisa could hug me goodbye and booked it down the corridor to Giselle’s dance studio.
I knocked on the solid wood, glancing down at my feet while I waited for her to rip open the door, but Giselle never answered. When I peered through the window, I found the lights weren’t on inside either.
She must have gone straight home.
Disappointment ricocheted through me, but I shook it off. It didn’t matter. I would see Giselle tomorrow and make sure she was okay.
Except, tomorrow never came.
I didn’t see Giselle at all on Thursday, nor on Friday.
It’s Saturday afternoon now and I feel more stewed up than I have in a long time.
Honestly – I’m confused. What the fuck is Giselle playing at? Is she avoiding me? Or has she taken Thursday and Friday off work because of her accident in the weightlifting area? Is she banged up and bruised?
I wish I knew, but I don’t have her number to text her, and I haven’t spotted Rosie around either to ask her for Giselle’s mobile digits.
Hopefully tonight’s tattoo session at the parlour, which I’ve had booked in for months now, will be just the thing to help me wind down because these past three weeks, hitting the gym and the bar haven’t been cutting it.
I can’t seem to get a particular girl, with jet black hair and the body of a Greek goddess, off my mind.
A silver bell jingles as I shove open the door to the familiar parlour, stomping my feet on the non-slip mat to shake off the rest of the snowy slush ingrained into the soles of my shoes. Winter has yet to lose its hold on London, so even though January is almost over, we’ve still been seeing the odd flurry of snow frothing from the above, bringing with it the dreary, seemingly never-ending cloud of February closer with each passing day.
Rubbing my hands together to create some heat, I make my way over to the front desk, and smile down at the woman watching me from over the large computer monitor.
“I still find it super weird to see you smile,” she says as way of greeting.
“Hey! I smile at people I like.”
Freya scoffs and rolls her eyes playfully behind her glasses. “So that’s like what, seven people?”
An image of Giselle flashes across my mind.
“Eight, actually.”
“Mhm. You’re early.”
“I know.”
“Well…” Freya cocks her head, peering at the pixilated screen in front of her. “Charlie is in the back getting ready for the client scheduled in before you. He won’t be done for a while. Do you wanna just wait around or…”
“I’ll wait,” I say to Freya, watching as she spins her new wedding band on her ring finger. She and Charlie have only been married a couple of months, but they were good friends for years before they revealed their feelings for each other. I’ve known them both since I was twenty-one, after I’d stumbled into this exact tattoo parlour, drunk off my arse and asked Charlie to tattoo me.
He denied of course, seeing as I was under the influence, but I wasn’t to know that until days later, when the ink of what I thought was a real tattoo of the words ‘Get Fucked’ on my shin, began to run down the shower drain.
I walked back into the parlour, laughing, the very same day and asked to make a proper appointment for a real tattoo this time. After Charlie had finished belly laughing, he booked me into the system and invited me for a pint in the pub down the road. We’ve been firm friends ever since. I met Freya through Charlie too, although he did almost take my face off when I tried to flirt with her. I got the message loud and clear then that Freya was off limits unless I wanted a fist to the face.
The two of them went through a little bit of a rocky patch at the start of their relationship – figuring out how to transition from being friends to something more – but they made it work with an engagement and then their wedding closely following suit.
“Do you want a cup of tea while you wait?” Freya asks me, her fingertips flying over the keyboard.
“Yeah, if you don’t mind, I—”
“Great. The kettle and teabags are where they always are. Cups are on the draining board. I’ll have two sugars and a splash of milk, please.”
“Has anyone ever told you how bossy you are?” I ask while my feet carry me over to boil the kettle. Just because I think she’s bossy doesn’t mean I’m going to argue with Freya.
“No,” she replies sarcastically. “Never.”
Grabbing two clean mugs from the draining board in the small kitchen situation at the back of the parlour, I set about making Freya and I a cup of warm tea each.
She nods to me in thanks as I place hers on the front desk beside her, steam wisping from the surface and then wander off to have a look around the place. Charlie is forever putting up new designs and art to show off his talent, so I like to look around and see if anything catches my attention, anything I want to work into my own ink.
I expected the tattoo shop to be busier this time on a Saturday, but there’s nobody else except me and—
The doorbell chimes brightly to signal a customer, stealing my attention.
I glance over my shoulder to find a familiar figure standing at the check-in desk, her shock of glossy black hair cascading down one shoulder as she leans down to sign her name on the touchscreen pad.
What are the fucking odds…
I take a step forward, while Giselle straightens up, her startling sky-blue eyes meeting mine as if she can feel the heat of my gaze.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” I say in greeting, stepping up until we’re almost chest to chest.
Freya’s eyes flick to mine in surprise, her mouth opening to say something, but it’s Giselle who beats her to it.
“Do you have a thing for watching people through open doorways and windows? Like a voyeur?”
Freya just about chokes on her spit, coughing loudly.
Following her as she takes a seat on the old leather sofa – one of only two pieces of furniture in the waiting room – I settle in next to her, thigh to thigh.
“Just for you, Gee.”
She pauses, eyes taking in every inch of me. “Well, take a picture it’ll last longer.”
The mental image of taking photos of Giselle while on her knees, sucking me off, strands of that glossy hair of hers wrapped around my fist, fill my brain, making all of the blood in my body rush south rapidly.
I just know she’d look so fucking pretty with her full lips stretched wide to take me down her sweet little throat.
She’d look really fucking pretty taking me from behind too, her apple shaped arse bouncing off my hips as I make her work for it, work for me to fuck her like she needs it, work for my cum—
A sharp thwack on my upper arm startles my thoughts from being in the gutter.
“It’s never going to happen.”
I can feel the weighted stare of Freya burning into the side of my face, probably in confusion as to what the fuck is going on right now, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Giselle.
“But you’ve thought about it,” I say, doing what I do best – take a risk – and hoping for the pay off.
Her chest rises unsteadily, the beauty mark under Giselle’s eye twitching, her mouth opening and then closing, before opening again. “Shut up, Hudson.”
I can’t hide my smirk, nor the smile that threatens to overtake my face. I can’t help it. When I’m around Giselle my lips seem to have a mind of their own.
She wants me I know it. I can practically taste it.
Good.
Because I want her.
“Have you or haven’t you, Giselle?”
This time she’s quicker to answer. “I haven’t.”
She’s lying. I can tell. Her eye is twitching again, her thumb spinning the simple gold band round and round her middle finger.
I shrug, taking a swig of my sweet tea.
I don’t miss the way she follows the bob of my throat as I swallow.
“If you say so.”