9. Hudson
Chapter 9
Hudson
W hy won’t Giselle just admit the obvious attraction between us, so we can do something about it?
If I asked her out now, I’m pretty sure she would say no, and I really don’t understand why.
There’s something there, between us, I know there is – mutual attraction, sexual chemistry, whatever you want to call it – but something makes Giselle retreat back every single time.
“We still finishing off the creation of Adam on your neck?” Charlie asks me, rolling on a fresh pair of latex gloves and peering down at the tattoo that we started inking into my flesh a couple weeks back.
“Yeah, please.” I reach behind my neck to pull my t-shirt off even though it’s not exactly necessary. Charlie could work his way around tattooing my skin by just pulling the neckline down slightly, but I’d be silly not to take any opportunity I can when Giselle is sitting so close to me.
Charlie sanitises the right-hand side of my neck with a cold alcohol-soaked wipe, nodding his head to give me a warning so I can close my eyes before I can see the tattoo gun. I’m not the biggest fan of needles, although strangely enough I can watch others get inked up without a problem.
At least I know the pain will be worth it in the end.
Gooseflesh prickles across my neck at the first contact of the gun, quickly followed by the sharp sting I’ve come to be familiar with over the past couple of years I’ve been visiting Charlie’s tattoo parlour.
I hiss through my teeth when Charlie hits a particularly sensitive spot, but the feel of soft fingertips grabbing at my wrist, folding her fingers over mine to grip tightly without a word, does the job of taking the edge off.
It doesn’t take long for the thrumming sound of the tattoo gun to cease and for a square of tissue to be swiped over my skin one last time to remove the excess ink.
“All done, mate.” I crack open my eyes to peer at my neck in the mirror, my eyebrows rising as I look at the famous art piece Charlie has managed to replicate.
He holds a square of plastic wrap to my freshly cut skin, securing it with four pieces of tape and pockets the multiple thin sheets of ￡20 notes I hand over to him as payment.
Giselle keeps her lips tightly sealed, just as she has done for most of my tattooing session, but I can feel the heat of her eyes on me, on my body, as I mimic her actions and slide my shirt back on.
“Got any plans for the rest of the evening?”
I glance at Giselle out of the corner of my eye before I answer Charlie’s question. “To be decided…”
Charlie sends me a nod in silent understanding, his eyes too flicking to Giselle and then back to me. “What about next weekend? Will you be free on the Saturday?”
“I can be.”
“Next Saturday. The Stag’s Head.” Charlie reels off the name of our usual haunt. “I’ll tell Freya and the gang we’re celebrating your birthday then.”
It isn’t until we’re both halfway across the parlour floor, passing Freya’s now empty receptionist desk, that Giselle opens her mouth. “Your birthday’s next week?”
I shake my head, plucking the only winter coat beside mine, which hangs from the designated rack, and holding aloft the sleeves for Giselle to slide her arms into. The scent of whatever perfume she sprayed on her coat collar, before she walked out of her apartment this evening, even stronger now I’m standing so close behind her.
“It’s tomorrow. The big two-six.”
“You’re turning twenty-six tomorrow?” she repeats, peering over her shoulder to look at me like she’s never fucking seen me before in her life.
“Mhm. First of February, like clockwork. I’ll go for dinner round my mother’s tomorrow, and she’ll recount the story of me causing her fourteen hours of labour and a second-degree tear. After that, she’ll tell anyone who will listen that every single hour was worth it to meet her last baby boy.”
Giselle smiles at the memory I paint, turning to face me fully so our chests brush. “Is that how you celebrate every birthday?”
“Depends on what day it lands.” I shrug. “It’s a Sunday this year so I’ll be having dinner with my family… other years I’ve gone bar hopping around London, getting shit faced with my brothers. But we’re older now, one of my brother’s has a kid, another is on his way to getting hitched once he plucks up the courage to stop hiding the engagement ring he’s got stashed away in his sock drawer, and Blake… Blake’s becoming responsible all of a sudden so I’m not sure throwing shots of Jager down his throat until he pukes is his idea of fun anymore.”
A sweet giggle escapes Giselle’s pouty lips. “I haven’t been bar hopping in the longest time. One drink, two at a push, and I’m drunk enough for pieces of my memory to be missing the next morning.”
This is my chance.
I’m going to fucking take it.
You only get one shot at life, you may as well grab the thing by the balls, so that you can tell your children, or grandchildren, that you lived without any regrets.
“What would you say if I asked you to come with me.”
“Tonight?”
I nod my head.
“Bar hopping?”
“It doesn’t have to be bar hopping per se… we could just find a local pub, order a drink each, see where the night takes us…”
It’s obvious Giselle’s unsure, I can see it written all over her face and in the way she anxiously spins the gold band sitting on her middle finger.
“I’m sure there’s a rule out there somewhere…”
“What rule?”
“The rule about saying no to the birthday boy. Isn’t it, like, bad luck or something?”
Giselle stares me down with narrowed eyes. A hard feat seeing as I’m inches taller than her, now she’s not wearing a sky-high pair of heels. “It’s not your birthday yet.”
“But it will be in…” I tap my phone screen to check the time. “Four hours.”
Still, she looks uncertain.
“Come on, Giselle. Please.”
She holds up one gloved finger. “One drink. That’s all your getting and only because it’s your birthday eve and nobody should be alone of their birthday eve.”
“Birthday eve?” I question, feeling my stomach flip.
“Yep.” She starts towards the door to the tattoo parlour, checking only once to make sure I’m following behind her. “My parents always made the day before my birthday just as special as the actual day. I don’t know when the tradition started, but it’s been that way for as long as I can remember. Hence, the reason… the only reason… I’m not leaving you alone for the remainder of your birthday eve.”
I can’t stop the grin building on my face, although it’s not like Giselle can see it since she’s still walking a footstep ahead of me, gifting me a phenomenal view of her arse encased in a pair of gym leggings. It’s like they’re fucking painted on or something. “Lead the way, then, Gee.”
W e end up at a pub not a too far walk away from the tattoo parlour; something I’m grateful for because the temperature tonight is definitely sitting somewhere in the minus’.
The pub we stumble upon is fairly busy inside, not surprising seeing as it’s 8 p.m. on a Saturday night and most people are out to let their hair down after a tough working week, but I manage to find Giselle and I an empty booth tucked away in the back beside the door.
Giselle slides in first, while I pull my wallet from my back pocket, inhaling the familiar scent of yeasty hops practically ingrained into the tables, bar tops and the wooden panelling which surrounds the pub.
“What do you want to drink?”
“Just a cranberry juice, please.”
“Any vodka with that?”
She shakes her head. “No, thank you, Hudson.”
I amble over to the crowded bar, slotting myself in between two giggling girls, one of who has just turned eighteen according to the silk sash draped over her shoulder.
“What can I get you, mate?” asks the flustered looking bartender, wiping his hands on a spare cloth.
“A cranberry juice and a lemonade, please.”
The bartender nods, keying my order into the touchscreen pad in front of him and reaches beneath the bar to grab two clean glasses. I tap my debit card to the small card machine, waiting for it to light up green in acceptance of payment and then snatch up our drinks.
“Thanks, mate.”
Sidestepping the pulsing crowd, I make my way back over to Giselle, placing our drinks down and then sliding into the booth beside her.
“How much do I owe you?” she asks, digging around in her handbag.
“Nothing.”
Her eyes meet mine, a half folded five-pound note clutched in her fist “Hudson—”
I shake my head vehemently. “I’m not taking your money from you, Giselle.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
With a pretty pout to her lips, Giselle tucks the note back into her purse and reaches for her cranberry juice. I want to lean forward an inch and kiss her so badly, feel those lips of hers move against mine, unhurried, while I steal a taste of her to keep.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I take a sip of my drink, the carbonated bubbles fizzing up my nose and down my throat, making my eyes water. “Like what?”
“Like… like you want to kiss me.”
I feel a knowing smile crawl across my mouth. “Maybe that’s because I do.”
Giselle stares at me, wide eyed, a pretty pink blush beginning to colour her cheeks.
I wait for that sharp tongue of hers, the one I’ve come to expect and relish in teasing, just so I can see what her comeback will be, but Giselle stays silent looking like a small deer caught in headlights.
Maybe she just needs a little push…
“Would you kiss me back?”
I catalogue the choppy inhale she takes, chest rising unsteadily, before silently and slowly, Giselle nods.
Using the palm of my hand, in guise of simply rubbing at the stubble coating my jaw, I hide the happy smile crawling across my lips. Although, I’m sure it’s fruitless. My smile feels so wide, stretching across my teeth, peeking out between my fingertips, that it’ll be impossible for Giselle not to notice.
“Good to know,” I say, dropping my hand from my jaw to graze across the bridge of her shoulders and rest one of my arms against the back of the booth.
It takes a second, but Giselle’s spine finally curves, body relaxing, leaning into the curve of my upper arm.
I take the opportunity to lean in closer, my hip pressing to the sweet curve of hers.
“What would you be doing right now if we hadn’t bumped into each at Charlie’s?”
“I’d probably be back at home, nursing a cup of chamomile and crawling into a hot bath,” Giselle answers. “What about you?”
Recently, my usual routine of hitting the gym and then frequenting a couple of bars hasn’t been cutting it. I’m restless, but in a way I can’t explain. In fact, sitting here with Giselle is the closest thing I’ve felt to being calm, head less fuzzy, body full of less adrenaline than I have at all in the past couple of weeks.
I shrug. “Around.”
Giselle huffs a giggle through her nose, but it sounds forced, not at all like the contagious sound of her usual joyous laugh. “Around town?”
Her question feels like a trap laid out to ensnare me. I highly doubt she wants me to admit that my actions with women are the very reason my friends and brothers call me a ‘playboy’. Nor do I think it’s right to lie to her and pretend I’m a saint.
Shaking my head, I swallow down another mouthful of fizzy lemonade. “I haven’t felt like going out much recently.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s been someone else on my mind,” I say truthfully, watching intently for her reaction.
“Hm.” Giselle’s index finger traces the circular rim of her glass. “Do I know her?”
I nod.
“Is she pretty?”
“Very.”
“Does she work at the gym?”
“She does.”
“Can she put her legs behind her head?”
Fucking hell…
My cock pulses in my trousers, thickening against my thigh, the blood from my brain pooling down south at a rapid rate.
“I’m not sure yet,” I say slowly, taking my chance and pinching a strand of Giselle’s hair between my thumb and forefinger. It’s temptingly soft. “But I’d like to find out.”
“Well…” Giselle sighs. “I’m sure if I can ask nicely, I can get Mrs Platt’s number for you, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even own a mobile, so you’ll have to call her landline and—”
Dropping the lock of Giselle’s hair, I move to pinch her waist. “You’re a fucking brat, you know that?”
She speaks around the paper straw lodged between her front teeth. “I’ve been told that a few times.”
My stomach flips, heart hammering against my ribcage.
I watch the way her eyes flick to my right eye, down to my lips and then back up to my left iris.
“So…” Giselle drags out. “You like this girl?”
“I do.”
“You’re attracted to her?”
I nod silently.
“What are you planning on doing about it, then? After I give you Mrs Platt’s number, of course.”
“I’m hoping to steal a kiss from her,” I say. “We can call it her birthday present to me.”
“Mhm… just a kiss?”
“Unless she wants something more.”
When Giselle breaks eye contact with me, staring out at the growing throng of people crowded inside the pub, I know I’ve taken it a step too far. She’s spooked about something. Sex? Sex with me? Being kissed? Has she never been kissed before? Is she a virgin?
“Giselle—”
Her eyes flick back to mine, the thumb in her lap twisting, twisting, twisting the plain gold band sitting on her middle finger.
Giselle’s next words are so low and quiet that I’m forced to dip my head and close my eyes in an attempt to dull my other senses and hear her better.
“What did you say, Gee?”
“And if I’m not ready…” she repeats. “Then what?”
I pull back to peer into her face.
“I can wait. Simple.”
Still, Giselle doesn’t look too sure. “And all the other girls in your contact list?”
“What about them?”
“Wouldn’t you rather sleep with one of them?” she questions. “Why—”
“I like you, Giselle. I’m attracted to you . It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.”
It’s in that split second that Giselle’s entire face changes.
“I-I can’t do this,” she chokes, fingers fumbling with her phone and handbag. “Excuse me.”
Wait.
What the fuck?
What is happening?
“Giselle?”
“Excuse me,” she repeats, standing as best as she can in the cramped booth, waiting for me to let her out.
Moving on autopilot, I stand to my full height, and step out of the booth. Giselle’s tight body glides past mine as she grips the strap of her handbag threaded over her shoulder and bows her head, her focus on the carpeted floor of the pub rather than looking me in the eye.
I want to reach out to her, to stop her from moving away from me. I want to ask her what the hell is going on, make her tell me what I said that was so wrong, but she’s already walking towards the pub doors as fast as her feet will carry her.
“Giselle,” I try again, confused as hell, reaching for her hand. One minute we we’re fine – better than fine! Flirting and touching and—
The next, she’s almost running away from me and into the freezing evening beyond. I don’t want to let her go, it’s not safe. I don’t even know whereabouts her apartment is, how long it’ll take her to get home, will she get a black cab? Walk? Catch one of the late running buses?
The idea of Giselle standing at a bus stop, in the dark, nothing but the golden coloured light pouring from the streetlamps to light her path, to show the unfamiliar faces of people passing by turns my stomach unpleasantly. But what can I do? I can’t tell her not too; she won’t fucking listen to me.
“Please, Hudson,” she throws over her shoulder, shaking me off as I fall in step, just a hairsbreadth behind her. “Don’t—don’t follow me.”