Chapter 40 Adrian #2
And despite myself, and all the reservations and anxiety I have over what’s going to happen next for us, I let his excitement rub off on me, just a bit, smiling for real before I squeeze the hand that he’s still holding and go up on my toes to kiss his cheek.
“I hope so,” I whisper before I turn and leave to spend the first night without Hudson as my roommate in almost ten months.
Apparently, wooing involves a lot of chocolates.
And coffee. At least once a day, some sort of gift shows up at my desk or door.
And Hudson hasn’t pulled back from talking to me at all, it’s just more over the phone than it used to be.
When he’s been at his away games during his downtime, he’s suggested watching the same show together while we’re on the phone, or even just asks to stay on the phone with me while I’m working so that we can “hang out.” He’s still the first person I talk to every day and the last one before I fall asleep at night.
When he’s in town, he still invites me over to watch our favorite design shows, and it’s like we’re back in the early days of our friendship, on opposite sides of the couch.
Except now, when our eyes meet, Hudson looks at me like I’m special, like he feels lucky to have me sitting on the other end of his sectional.
And every time he does, it feels like a brick is removed from the walls I’ve been hiding behind, so desperate to protect myself.
Do I really need protecting from him? I know I’ll never recover if he changes his mind, but that voice of fear is getting quieter and quieter with every passing day.
With every meal his chef still prepares for me and still delivers to my house.
With every order of food from our favorite restaurant he gets us at any given opportunity.
With every time I hear his voice on the other end of my phone or see his name light up the screen.
Some days it’s hard to hear that voice of doubt at all.
I know I’d wanted to give him space, but he’s putting in so much effort to eliminate any that it’s hard to resist.
“I can’t wear this!” I say to my friends as we make our way over to the boxes from the offices where they met me.
His latest present arrived today via a very nervous equipment assistant.
I swear Hudson has no concern for rumors.
Inside the plain bag was a new-to-me, game-worn jersey from Hudson with instructions to wear it to tonight’s game.
“You have to: a player gave it to you and told you to wear it,” Beck insists seriously. “Not wearing it would be like asking for us to lose tonight. Do you want to be the reason the Werewolves don’t get the cup this year?”
My other friends are all smirking at how intense he is, or maybe at the thought of me wearing this giant jersey that’s basically Hudson staking his claim on me, but they all nod and murmur agreements.
I’ve told them all by now that we were hooking up when we lived together, but that we’re reevaluating everything now that things have changed.
Beck so kindly translated that to them all, explaining Hudson wants to date me, and I’m apparently “too hard on myself to believe him.” They’ve all been trying to convince me that his constant texting and various gifts have meant I should give in.
And obviously, I want to. But I need to know this is more than just a challenge for him to win, too. I know how competitive he can be.
Excuses? Who me?
“This is huge on me, and someone is going to say something,” I insist.
“No one said anything when you lived with the man and went to public adoption classes with him for months. Everyone in this arena is going to be in Werewolves merch tonight. You’re special to all of us, A. But you aren’t that special,” Lincoln teases.
I stick my tongue out at him playfully. Who let him be in our group anyway?
“Fine. I’ll wear it. But if they lose, or I’m in some gossip magazine tomorrow, I’m blaming all of you.”
We get to the Caldwell owner’s box without incident, and despite how crowded it is, no one in there even bats an eye at what I’m wearing.
“See, A. You’re fine,” Oakley reassures me before heading to get food.
“I hate when Lincoln is right,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
Jordan laughs. “Yeah, but unfortunately he usually is.”
The warning buzzer sounds, and we all squeeze out onto the balcony. I’m small enough that people easily let me past to claim our normal seats at the front of the box, and eventually my friends follow.
“He won’t even know that I wore it,” I grumble as they announce the starting lineup.
“I think it’s sweet,” Cody insists with his signature smile.
And apparently the jersey wasn’t the only gesture tonight.
To my absolute shock and horror, Hudson blows a fucking kiss at our box after he scores.
I’m pretty sure most people missed it, and no one would have any way of knowing that he was directing it at me, but I know. My friends see it, and they know. And it’s all any of them talk about for the rest of the night.
Luckily, I manage to stay out of the gossip columns, although there is a picture of Hudson blowing that kiss with speculation as to what “mystery fan” it was intended for.
As far as I know, no one caught on that I was actually wearing his jersey, but Hudson definitely knew, and he insisted I keep it when I asked if he wanted it back.
I’ve been wearing it around the house nonstop. But he doesn’t know that part.