15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Trey
“Where do they have you headed this time?” Mandy asks, taking a sip of her champagne.
I absentmindedly stir my Manhattan, which she’d pawned off on me because she said the bartender doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s not my go-to drink, but I can’t complain. A free drink is a free drink, and it’s not that bad. She’s just picky.
Well, pickier than usual, but that’s a given at these stupid fucking retreats that they send us on twice a year.
“Actually, the boss has me headed to Minnesota for a convention.”
Mandy groans. “Fuck, I hate cons. They are full of Lookie-Lou’s and sleazy promoters.”
I laugh. “Yes, well, it’s networking, Mandy. The whole point is to engage potential teams and clients.”
She waves me off. “Nutri-Go needs engagement. Power Play doesn’t do that shit.”
“No, they just send you to swanky retreats like this one to roast their best competitors.”
She shoves me.
“Who said you were the best?” she says slyly.
“You know what, you’re cut off. No more champagne for you.”
I grab her flute and she laughs.
“Asshole.” She grabs the glass from me, and I don’t fight her one bit.
“Brat,” I say with a laugh of my own. She gives me a knowing glare. “What?”
She sips her drink. “Nothing. You just seem… different.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “Pretty sure I’m still the same old Trey Kelly who’s been selling sunshine outside of Satan’s butthole for the last damn near decade.”
She rolls her eyes. “Uh huh. I’m just saying you seem… less… whiny.”
“Whiny?” I say as I reach for her glass again and she pulls it out of my reach, giggling.
“That’s a good thing,” she adds. “Whoever’s got you all twitterpated must be pretty amazing.”
I freeze at her insinuation just as my phone vibrates in my pocket. I don’t think twice about checking it. A faint smirk forms on my face when I see the notification.
Huds
You busy?
“So… what part of Minnesota?” she asks as I stare at Hudson’s text.
“Minneapolis,” I say, quickly tapping out a response as I do my best to shield my phone from her without being obvious about it.
I swear she’s got a sixth sense about this kind of thing.
Not that Hudson and I have a thing . I mean, we are friends. College friends who used to play on the same team. Long-distance friends who text each other almost every day.
Friends who have felt each other’s dicks.
Me
Yeah, at lunch with a…
I think about what to say. It’s not that I’m afraid to tell him Mandy and I are friends, but I know things are delicate where Hudson and his family are concerned. Which is why I haven’t told Mandy about our rekindled friendship. Maybe one day it’ll come up, but today isn’t that day.
Or maybe I just want to keep Hudson and our friendship to myself for a little while. Until I can figure out what to say.
I settle on colleague. It’s not a lie. Mandy is technically a colleague, or my work wife, sort of.
The Bonnie to my Corporate Clyde in the eyes of the sports nutrition industry.
Huds
Boring
I let out a chuckle, imagining him sitting at his desk, bored out of his mind.
He only texts me when he’s bored. Or so he says.
Still I get a handful of texts every day asking what I’m up to or getting a string of Reels to watch.
Sometimes I wonder what he does all day if he has so much time to text me.
I barely have time to breathe between flights and events and admin shit.
Not that I’m complaining. It’s nice to have someone check in with me. I look forward to those texts more than I’ll admit.
And, to be fair, he usually texts me at the same time during the day. Maybe breaks?
“You know, Hudson’s only about an hour from Minneapolis,” Mandy says, pulling my attention from my phone.
“Huh?”
“Hudson. You know, your bro bestie or whatever. My anti-social step-brother.”
“Right,” I say, licking my lips as I take a sip of my gifted Manhattan. “I knew that.”
Mandy smirks at me.
“But…” Her eyes glint with mischief. I know that look.
Fuck.
She’s plotting something, and I’m not sure I want to know what it is, especially if it involves Hudson.
I haven’t told her much of anything about our last get-together that was nearly three months ago, now.
She knows we hung out, but that’s all I can afford to tell her when I can barely process what happened myself.
I think about that night at the hotel a lot. All the time, actually.
But neither of us have brought it up since. We haven’t mentioned a single word about it.
Sometimes it feels like it never happened at all, and I think I keep going over it in my mind to remind myself it really did.
Because what if it was just a dream? Something I made up while half asleep?
Sometimes I think I should stop thinking about it so much.
That I’m just tormenting myself over something that doesn’t mean anything. Hudson said it didn’t have to, anyway.
Clearly, he doesn’t care.
It was just sex, right? It’s not like I haven’t done the same with plenty of women.
Yeah. Plenty of women. Not your friends, and certainly not guys.
But the problem isn’t that it happened.
It’s that I kind of want it to happen again. But would Hudson want that?
Was it a one-time thing? I don’t know—maybe. Part of me wants to bring it up, but every time I think about it, I can’t figure out what I want to say, so I say nothing and we just talk about work and stupid shit. Like friends do.
I don’t want things to be weird with us. Right now, it’s not weird. In fact, it almost feels like we’re right back where we were all those years ago, so if bringing up the fact I let my best friend get me off once and had the best orgasm of my fucking life is going to ruin it, I won’t bring it up.
If this is what Hudson wants from me, it’s what I’m going to give him.
Because that’s what good friends do, right?
“You’re probably better off visiting him at the office, though,” Mandy says with a shrug, pulling me from my distracted thoughts.
“At the… Target Center?” I blink, trying to remember where he said he worked. I know he works for the Wolves, some techy position. Math and numbers.
Mandy nods. “Yeah. He’s less likely to escape that way,” she says with a small chuckle. “Not that many exits.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I say, contemplating the idea, but also hating the idea that he may want to escape me. I quickly tap in the address for the Target Center, pinpointing the distance from my hotel, where the convention is at. Fifteen minutes, probably twenty-five-ish with traffic…
It’s close, that’s for sure, and it would be nice to see each other again…
“I wouldn’t give him a heads up, either.”
I look at her in question.
“I wasn’t—”
Mandy brushes me off as she drinks the rest of her champagne.
“The less chances he has to think about it, the better,” she says as she checks her watch.
“Trust me, as someone who gets avoided all the damn time, I know his tricks.” She puts down the empty glass and adds, “Guess I better head out now or I’ll miss my flight.
Was nice catching up though.” She gives me a soft smile and I can’t help but return it.
I wave goodbye before I tap out a text to Hudson.
Me
Not all of us can have cool jobs like you, Hudson.
Huds
I know :-)
I shake my head, a smile forming on my face as I think about Mandy’s tip.
Surprising Hudson could entirely backfire.
He could be pissed if I show up unannounced at his job, where he’s not expecting me, but…
Maybe it’ll be a relief. I guess there’s only one way to find out.
When I pull up to the parking lot it’s nearing 3:00 pm.
Of course, my room at the Hilton wasn’t ready when I got in, but one of the perks of being in the penthouse suite is that I get private concierge service, which includes them taking my luggage up for me.
Not to mention, Nutri-Go is one of Hilton’s vendors, so that added bonus of keyless entry means I can come and go as I please and don’t have to physically check in.
I’ve gone over this scenario a couple times in my head, mostly on the way here so I wouldn’t chicken out at the last minute.
Which I did consider. About five or six times.
I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous about meeting up with someone who wasn’t a big-name client like Mike Barrett.
And honestly? I don’t know why I’m nervous to begin with.
It’s just Hudson. It’s not like he’s a stranger.
He’s my best friend, and I’m just stopping by to say hi.
And maybe ask him if he wants to hang out later. We can get dinner, find a bookstore to hit up, or a bar to get a drink, or…
We could hang out in my hotel room. Maybe put on a movie and get distracted. It wouldn’t be the worst idea, I don’t think, but I guess I won’t know until I ask, right?
I go over my plan once more in my brain. I pull out my phone and text Chloe—my boss’s secretary. I’d text my boss, but he hates dealing with trivial shit, as he likes to say. And securing passes and scheduling meetings are definitely trivial things for a guy who runs a billion-dollar company.
Me
Just arrived at TC.
Chloe
Your Press Pass should be available at the front desk. You know what to do.
Me
Thanks.
I don’t dislike Chloe, but I can never tell via text if she’s annoyed with me, which is aggravating sometimes. Especially when I’m on edge. Like right now.
Technically, I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary.
This is my job and I do this shit all the time.
But I also know this is different because I don’t usually lie to my boss’s secretary to get a press pass, which means I most certainly will have to send someone a gift basket of snacks if I pull this off.