21. Faith
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I called to Hudson as I stepped into my bedroom.
“Take your time,” he answered.
At my dresser, I pulled out a much more presentable nightshirt and shorts than what I’d had on earlier. Then I glanced over my shoulder toward the doorway that led into the rest of the apartment, abundantly aware that he was out there, and I decided to keep wearing the white panties he liked. You know, just in case.
In the bathroom, I rushed to change, my breathing picking up and a giddy anxiety thrumming through my bloodstream. But Hudson Ivey was in my apartment. And he was going to stay the night. This was just beyond reality for me.
As soon as I had my pajamas on, I opened the door out of habit. I hadn’t been a fan of enclosed spaces since a group of school kids had locked me in a closet; the teacher hadn’t found me until three hours later. I idly rubbed my thumb over the scar I had on my forearm from that particular event and then pulled out the drawer that contained my toothbrush and paste.
When a shadow passed over my hand, I gasped and lurched back, clutching my electric toothbrush to my chest.
In the doorway, Hudson jarred to a surprised halt and lifted both hands. “Whoa, hey,” he cautioned with a husky chuckle. “It’s just me. I heard the door open and thought you were done. My bad.”
I blinked at him and then glanced down at the rest of him. And… “What’re you wearing?”
He glanced at the jockey shorts as well, then lifted his face again with a grin. “Not much.”
I kept clutching my chest, hoping I didn’t have a heart attack. But after daydreaming about a guy you figured was completely out of your grasp for as long as I had, suddenly having him standing in nothing but underwear in your bedroom… Well, it was a shock to the system.
Hudson groaned and sent me a pathetic whine. “God, please don’t tell me I have to put my pants back on. I hate sleeping in jeans.”
I shook my head for a few seconds before I was able to answer, “N-no. You don’t have to wear any more clothes than this on my account. Definitely not.”
My answer only made him laugh. “God, you’re fun.”
My face flamed hot in mortification. Spotting a toothbrush that was still wrapped in plastic in my drawer, I plunged my hand in and pulled it out.
“Here.” I thrust it forward. “I have this extra from the dentist’s office if you want to use it.”
“Sure.” He brightened and readily accepted the toothbrush. “Thank you.” Resting his shoulder on the doorframe, he unwrapped it from its sleeve, and I tried to ignore him as I rinsed off my toothbrush and then started to apply some paste to it.
By the time I finished, Hudson had stepped forward to dampen his own toothbrush under the water I had running in the faucet. And he lifted his dripping bristles toward me, silently asking for some toothpaste as well.
I glanced at his face, then complied, applying some minty freshness to his bristles for him.
He said nothing the entire time I worked, and my heart was lodged too firmly in my throat to say a single word.
Once we were both ready to begin, I flipped on my little motor, he leaned back against the doorframe, and there, we watched each other for the next two minutes as we brushed our teeth together.
It was oddly intimate. Maybe one of the most intimate things I’d ever done.
Near the end, in the last thirty seconds, Salem appeared in the doorway and wound her body between Hudson’s bare legs, which drew my attention down to his hairy calves. Her black tail brushed against his knee with a flickering caress, and he lifted his foot to stroke her spine with his toes as she meandered her way to the closed seat of the toilet and jumped up to perch herself there so she could watch us from green eyes.
It was all so domestic and cozy as if we’d always done this. Yet forty-eight hours ago, I was just learning this guy’s name, and the cat didn’t even exist in my world.
I kind of didn’t want the moment to end.
But alas, it did. And we rinsed before putting our toothbrushes away.
With a refreshed sigh, Hudson clapped his hands together and smiled his clean teeth at me. “Alright,” he said. “What’s next? Body lotion? Face cream? Hair products?”
I shook my head, amused by the eagerness vibrating from him. “What makes you think anything is left?”
“Because you strike me as a more kind of girl.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Next, we cleanse.”
“Sweet.” He popped out of the doorway to join me fully in the bathroom as I pulled my face cleanser from another drawer. Hauling himself up to sit on the cleared vanity space next to the sink, he watched as I began to remove the cleanser’s lid. But my progress slowed as my gaze grew fixated on his bare torso.
I’d been right. He actually had pecs, and muscles rippled in his abdomen. I mean, he wasn’t obscenely shredded or anything like that. He was just pleasantly toned.
Faithy liked.
A lot.
When I forgot where I was in my nightly routine, he paused in the carefree swinging of his legs to ask, “What?”
I cleared my throat. “Nothing. So now we’re rinsing with warm water.”
As I talked him through the process, he listened avidly and asked a lot of questions, most of which made me laugh and somehow dragged the process out until it took three times longer than usual. But, oh, it was worth it.
At one point, when I was just applying lotion, however, he asked, “So what made you believe in ghosts?”
I zipped a startled glance his way. “I never said I did.”
He lifted one shoulder and an eyebrow. “Yet you seemed awfully willing to talk about them with me.”
With a scoff, I argued, “Only because you pressed the subject. Besides, everything we discussed is merely conjecture. I mean, the whole possession theory is completely whack; you probably just have a brain tumor.”
He lifted his brows. “That’s magically been in remission for nearly seven years without being treated? Yeah, I don’t think so, darlin’.”
That was right. This was the second time he’d gotten pressure headaches. A prickle of cold dread coated my skin when I further remembered that the last round had caused him to hurt himself.
This wasn’t some harmless nuisance bothering him; it was a life-threatening situation.
Clearing my throat and trying not to think about that, I flailed out a hand. “Well, you said you didn’t know the girl that you think triggered all this back then, so the possession idea is just as implausible.”
“Actually…” He lifted an eyebrow and tipped his head. “I think my friends might’ve already answered who triggered it the first time.”
When I asked, “Who?” he exhaled.
“Okay, so I was banging this girl around that time who was all new-agey and shit—she worked in the very shop below us, by the way—the chick who took my virginity. Remember?”
Scowling, I moodily muttered, “I remember.”
“Right. Anyway, we think maybe she could’ve been a medium too.”
I groaned. “Why do all your stories seem to revolve around some girl you’ve slept with?”
Hudson shrugged. “What can I say? I’m incredibly easy.”
I scowled harder, mumbling, “Except with me, apparently.”
“Hey,” he pointed sternly. “I would’ve already had you a dozen different ways by now if it wasn’t for one little obstacle that…” He paused with a wince and then added, “Make that two obstacles hanging over my head because not only am I already taken, but now I’m not so sure I like the idea of being in an unintended threesome every fucking time I have sex.”
“Ah. Good thinking,” I said, only to shrug. “Unless your buddy Brett’s the one with all the talent, and Hudson’s actually a really lousy lover.”
Hudson blinked at me blankly before shaking his head slowly. “Don’t—don’t even joke about that, Stalker. I mean, why would you even say such a thing?” He pressed an impassioned hand to his heart. “I didn’t just fuck my way through years and years of women and learn all those different techniques and positions just to turn out to be a…” He made a face as if he was tasting something sour before he ended with, “Lousy lover. God. The horror.”
“Maybe,” I went on, beginning to grin because teasing him was just too delicious, especially when he played along like he was. “Hudson’s still a virgin, and Brett’s the one with all the experience.”
“Bite your tongue, woman,” he ordered as he slid off the vanity countertop to slink closer, his presence warming me from the inside out. And that look in his eyes. Damn, it made my panties go damp.
“If my hands weren’t so tied, they’d be all over you right now, showing you just how awful of a lover I really am.”
His warning didn’t intimidate me, though. If anything, it made the deepest parts of my stomach clench and my breasts tighten.
Not wanting him to see how much he affected me, I swatted at his chest and rolled my eyes. “Oh, Brett. You tease.”
Hudson jerked as if I’d just thrown a bucket of ice-cold water on him. And I froze, realizing how insensitive that joke really was. I mean, Brett had actually been his friend. Losing him when he was just a kid must’ve been pretty traumatic.
God, I was an ass.
But he seemed to recover quickly enough.
The moment I opened my mouth to gush out an apology, he lifted a finger. “Maybe you’re right. Hudson must be running the show in here because that felt all kinds of wrong. Unless…” He tipped his head thoughtfully. “Brett’s gotten so used to being called by my name that hearing his own sounds foreign to him now.”
“I don’t believe that,” I said, lifting my hand to his face. “I know I’m touching Hudson right now.” And I barely dusted the surface of his cheek with my fingertips.
Hudson groaned and closed his eyes. As he leaned out a hand to brace it against the wall behind me, basically trapping me there, he bowed his head and released a long breath.
And since his hair was right there in my face, taunting me, I touched that next, my fingers trembling slightly in anticipation as they slowly dove into the rich, silken locks.
He sucked in a surprised breath before muttering, “Fuck it,” and gripped my hips.
A second later, he’d lifted me and then plopped me down on the edge of the sink so he could wedge his underwear-clad hips between my thighs and press in close.
Looking up into my eyes, he cupped the back of my head with one sturdy hand, angling me how he wanted me even as he leaned in to align our mouths.
“Yes?” he asked, his gaze intent and seeking, almost demanding acceptance more than he was requesting it.
I nodded once. “Yes.”
With a shudder, he lowered his gaze to my lips and started to sink in, a kiss imminent.
Only for a phone to ring from the front room.
Hudson paused, then hissed a curse. And I knew that was it. The kiss was not going to happen.
I started to whimper in protest even before he pulled away. Then, I gripped the side of his arm, begging him to stay.
He glanced into my eyes, regret and apology thick in his gaze before he gently covered my fingers and removed my hand from his flesh. Then he turned and left the bathroom.
I took a moment to press a fist against my stomach and catch my breath. But after that moment, I hopped off the vanity and followed him to the door of my bedroom, where I paused and leaned a shoulder to watch him fish through his pants he had piled on the floor next to the couch. Once he had his phone in hand, he dismissed the call, murmuring, “And to airplane mode you go.”
After he disconnected it from service, he tossed it back on top of his pants.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if that had been Genesis. But the best way to ruin the mood right now would be to mention her, and ruining the mood was the last thing I wanted to do.
Except I could already tell from the look in Hudson’s eyes that it was over anyway.
He motioned to the couch lamely. “I, uh, I think I’m just going to hit the hay now.”
I nodded through my disappointment. “Okay.”
And he started to nod along with me. “Alright,” he added. “Goodnight, then.”
When he waved to me, I waved back, and he plopped down onto the couch, landing on his back.
But that left his front on full display, and my gaze shot right to his lap without my permission.
Whimpering, I clutched the doorframe because, dear Lord, he was packing a bulge under those jockey shorts big enough to satisfy me for the rest of my natural life.
He lifted one knee to hide it, though, and then he tried to reposition my throw pillows under his head to get comfortable.
“Oh! I’ll get you another pillow.” I pulled away from the doorway. “And a blanket.”
“Appreciate it.”
Turning away, I hurried into my room and returned to the doorway a few seconds later, where I didn’t dare go into the living room area with him but chucked the blanket and pillow his way.
He caught them both, telling me, “Thanks.”
I nodded and stiffly turned away, where I turned off my bedroom lights and trudged reluctantly to my mattress. After I crawled under the covers, I watched my doorway. But he never appeared. Instead, the lights in there turned off moments later.
I sighed, dejected.
About two seconds after I closed my eyes, his voice called from the living room, “Hey, Faith?”
My eyes shot open, thinking—hoping… “Yeah?” I answered.
But instead of asking to join me, he said, “Have you really been interested in me for two years?”
“Goodnight, Hudson,” I said forcefully.
“So…that means yes, right?” When I pressed my hand to my eyes, dying of humiliation, he sighed happily and sang, “Sweet. ’Night, Stalker.”