Chapter Two Ella #2
It’s early days, but I’m already feeling comfortable among this new group of girls. Although I don’t know them very well yet, I like them. Gabi, especially. She’s generous and helpful, bubbly and funny, exactly the type of person I’ll need to handle this transition.
As for the rest of the girls, they seem fun too, each with their own unique personalities and stories to share. Cove, with her short dark bob and warm brown eyes, seems slightly on the shyer side. She’s a flyer, tiny and agile. But there’s something in her quiet confidence that draws me to her.
Paige, on the other hand, is a bit more outspoken. A power tumbler who wears her hair in carefully styled braids. She’s a transfer from one of the best junior colleges in the nation, and she seems like a natural leader.
It’s surprising how much I’ve picked up about them in just a short time. A couple of quick introductions back at the flat, and I already feel like I’ve got a glimpse of the team dynamics.
Now, on the dance floor, I gravitate towards the two of them.
Cove’s serene presence balances Paige’s lively energy; while the latter dances around us in circles, the former gently sways to the beat.
I’m somewhere in the middle and, despite the heartbreak I endured less than twenty-four hours ago, I find myself able to let loose around them.
I’m loving our first night together as a team.
It’s easy, given the distractions, to ignore the pain of the break-up that bubbles below the surface.
So much so that I’m not even sure how much time has passed when Gabi finally reappears from the bathroom.
“We should play a game,” she says, having grabbed a deck of cards from behind the bar. “Never Have I Ever.”
The girls all cheer as we gather around a high table, forming a semicircle while Gabi shuffles the cards. As she explains the rules of the game to me—how it’s notorious for its ability to unearth secrets—it seems like a simple way to get to know some of my new teammates.
A few innocuous rounds pass by, and soon enough, it’s my turn. I’m laughing at the girls calling out my name as I draw the card, but my heart sinks as I read the question aloud. “Never have I ever been in love.”
A lump forms in my throat as memories of Jamie flood my mind. His laugh, his smile, the way he’s looked at me since we were in secondary school together—it all feels like a punch straight to the gut.
Bone-deep exhaustion weighs on me suddenly, and the noise of the bar starts to make my head hurt.
Packing in the morning, the drive from Oxford to Heathrow, the wait before my flight.
Nine hours in the air, adjusting to the six-hour time difference—it’s a lot to process.
My body feels like it’s running on empty, my emotions magnified by fatigue and alcohol.
The girls around me are confessing, some taking sips of their drinks while others opt to pass. I try to focus on their stories, but those images of my ex linger in my mind.
Needing a break, I excuse myself and begin my journey through the crowded bar, weaving in and out of high tables and groups of people dancing.
There’s a brief moment of hesitation before I step onto the outdoor patio.
It stretches along the side of the building, illuminated by a cluster of hanging lights.
From this vantage point, I can still spot my new teammates through the open windows.
But out here, the night air is warm, and it carries the faint scent of blooming flowers. It’s much quieter than it was near the bar. There’s more space to breathe, to think , although that’s the last thing I’m looking for right now.
I lean against the railing, rubbing at my temples in an attempt to shake off the exhaustion and melancholy. And that’s when I see him: a tall man standing alone by the edge of the patio. He’s staring into the night, a beer bottle held loosely in one hand.
He has this rugged, all-American look about him: dark hair that’s slightly tousled, gray eyes framed by thick lashes, a perfect strong nose, and a tiny mole by his upper lip on the right. His T-shirt is pulled tight across his broad chest and shoulders. Muscular but lean.
Now that I’ve had a closer look, I think he might be one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen. And that’s not just the bourbon talking.
On an impulse fueled by desperation, and a little tipsiness, I waltz right up to him. He glances down at me, one brow cocked, and takes a silent sip of his beer. It’s as if he’s daring me to speak.
I open my mouth, then snap it shut, a rush of self-consciousness flooding my system. But then, bolstered by a surge of bravado, I blurt out, “You’re very tall, you know.”
He smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And you’re very forward.”
“Sometimes.”
“ And you have an accent,” he adds, tipping back another slow sip.
“Thank you for noticing.”
“Are you …”
“English?”
“English,” he parrots, a hint of amusement in his deep voice. “And what’s a girl from England doing here at Sidetrack?”
“Having a drink,” I say, trying to match his casual tone. “Or two.”
“Only natural.” His response is smooth, his accent distinctly American with a touch of a Southern drawl.
“Why are you all alone?”
He raises a thick, petulant brow. In his eyes, there’s a charged sort of interest, like he’s scanning me from head to toe without even moving his head. “You have no filter, do you?”
“Well?” I press, undeterred.
“Needed some air.”
“Ditto,” I say, not breaking eye contact.
He glances at me, a playful challenge in his eyes. “So, English girl with no name, you make a habit of approaching very tall strangers in bars?”
“Only the ones who look a bit lonely.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and throaty. There’s a flutter in the pit of my stomach, a nervousness I can’t explain. One I haven’t felt in years. “And here I was, thinking I was enjoying the solitude.”
“Well, now you’re enjoying my company. Much better, isn’t it?”
He tilts his head, his voice a rough murmur. “Infinitely.”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, nibbling on it in an attempt to rein in the incessant fluttering. Those gray eyes track the movement, and heat surges in my core at the intensity of it all.
To cool myself down, I take a slow, measured sip of my drink. But in an embarrassing turn of events, I cough and the liquid spews out, dribbling onto my chin.
He laughs. “Well, that was sexy.”
My cheeks flush as I hastily wipe away the peach and bourbon, setting my glass on the rail beside us. So much for being bold. “You liked that, did you?” I ask, attempting to save face.
“Sure did,” he says, his voice a low rumble. His hand comes up to cup my face, and his fingers gently tilt my chin until our eyes meet. Up close, his are a striking shade of slate gray, and they seem to pierce right through me. “I’m not opposed to you getting a little … messy.”
“Then you should see my bedroom back home.”
He lets out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’d bet it’s immaculate.”
“You’d lose that bet nine times out of ten,” I say with a grin. His hand is still resting on my face, thumb brushing my skin gently. It feels good, equal parts soothing and electrifying. I raise my brows at him. “So, how messy is yours?”
What compels me to ask the loaded question, I don’t quite know. Maybe it’s the twinkle in his eyes, or the warmth of his touch, or the fact that he’s just so disarming. A Southern stranger that’s managed to captivate me in a matter of minutes.
I shouldn’t even be thinking about this. My heart is still bruised, and my guard? Well, it’s up for a reason. But maybe a little fun wouldn’t hurt. Isn’t that what Nashville is for—leaving the past behind, even if only for the next twelve months?
He clears his throat, glances at his watch, and then, “You know, I don’t do this very often, but would you want to see it for yourself?”
My heart falls into my stomach. “What, like right now?”
He nods, a sly smile on his lips. “Yeah. Like right now. I could give you a ride back to my place.”
I glance over at the bar, where Gabi and the rest of the team are still playing our game. My mind races, weighing the consequences. “I don’t know if I should.”
Part of me screams to say yes, to take a chance and see where this unexpected connection might lead. Another part of me urges caution. But as I look back into his eyes, that twinkle and warmth still drawing me in, I realize I’m not ready to let this moment slip away.
“No?” he asks, placing a gentle hand on the crook of my elbow. It’s another bold move, a physical gesture that tells me he’s genuinely interested. And I find that I quite like it, being touched by him. “You don’t strike me as the type to worry about judgment.”
“And how would you know?” I challenge. “You don’t even know my first name.”
“Do I need to?”
My jaw drops, heat flooding my cheeks. “I—I suppose not.”
My heart’s pounding now. This isn’t what I do—I don’t just leave bars with strangers, no matter how incredibly handsome they are. But then again, I’ve never had the opportunity to do so before.
Since as far back as I can remember, there’s always been Jamie. A thought that hits me like a tidal wave. But I can’t let it wash me under, not now.
The perfect man extends his hand, an unspoken invitation. I hesitate for another split second before a grin spreads across my face and I take him up on the offer.
As we walk through the small car park together, hand in hand, I pull out my phone to send a quick text to Gabi. I let her know that I’m leaving with some guy I just met. And then, for good measure, I snap a picture of his license plate.
“Could I have your ID?”
He stares at me, scrubbing a hand over his stubble. “You want a picture of that, too?”
“Safety first.”
Fishing in his coat pocket, he hands me his driver’s license. “How responsible of you.”
I take a cursory glance, sending both pictures over to my roommate. “Hudson Fox, is it?”
“The one and only.”
“Ella Davies.”
“So, you’ve decided to share your name with me after all?”
“Well, it might come in handy later. To be honest, I think I’d quite like to hear you say it.”
“Fuck.” He puffs out a heated breath, running a hand through his hair. “You aren’t tipsier than you let on, are you?”
“If I were, I would’ve joked about you inviting me back to your hole.”
He stands there for a moment, puzzled. Then, pinching the bridge of his nose, he stifles a chuckle. “My … my fox hole, right? Very clever.”
“That’s what they call me.”
“Alright then, clever girl. Let’s go.”
He holds open the passenger door, and I slide in, settling comfortably into the warm leather seats. The inside of his car smells faintly of an unfamiliar cologne. I take a deep breath and revel in it.
This is it, isn’t it? My sliver of reckless abandon, my chance to forget everything and just live for the moment. To jump into bed with a good-looking stranger. My first one-night stand to mark my first night in Nashville.
Hudson settles into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a low purr. He places a hand on my thigh, and then asks, “You sure about this? About spending the night with me?”
I nod, our eyes meeting in the dim light of the car. “Yeah. I am.”
“Good.” He pats my thigh before moving his hand and shifting into gear. “Because I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget it.”