22. Hudson
Cats.
What assholes.
One minute, I was having a pleasantly normal wet dream that involved lots of sex, soft, dark skin, and Faith’s amazing, throaty laugh.
There were no red-headed boys climbing trees anywhere. No young bodies were being impaled to death. No bloody, terrifying, or panic-inducing trauma at all. It was awesome.
The next minute, needles of white-hot pain spiked through my dick a split second before something pounced on my nuts, blasting me awake with a shout of desperate protest.
Instinctively, I curled into the fetal position and rolled, which successfully scared away the cat that had jumped on my lap to play with the morning wood I must’ve had poking up into my blanket, but it also rolled me right off the couch I’d forgotten I was sleeping on.
I landed on the hardwood floor face-first, causing a whole slew of agony to reverberate through my skull.
“Motherfucking pain-in-the-ass son of a bitch,” I shouted, smacking the palm of my hand against the rug next to me in an effort to alleviate some of the torment.
Didn’t work.
In the midst of me clutching myself and whimpering, a voice from the bedroom doorway cried, “What in the world?”
Eyes squeezed shut, I took a moment before answering to cradle the family jewels and curl in a protective ball on the floor. When I decided I wasn’t going to die—or throw up—I settled onto my back, kept my knees bent so my feet were flat on the floor, and I finally lifted my face to focus on Faith gawking at me in her silky short-sleeve button-up nightshirt and shorts.
Sweating through the pain, I lifted an amiable hand to wave and tried to sound cheerful and upbeat as I rasped, “Hey! Hi. Morning.”
Then I thumped my head back on the floor and focused on the ceiling as I ground the heel of my foot down into the wooden planks to relieve a little more pressure when another wave of yuck flooded me.
Faith blinked at me as if I were insane. “Are you okay?”
“Not…especially,” I panted, still not ready to get up yet. “But it’ll pass.”
“What happened?”
“Cat,” I rasped, swallowing through the next ripple of unpleasantness that thankfully wasn’t as strong as the last. “Attack.”
Brow furrowing in confusion, Faith only had to watch me a few seconds longer as I continued to cover my lap before her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open.
“So I think I might’ve just lost the ability to ever father children,” I announced with a wince as I managed to sit upright and rest my back against the couch, where I then propped my arms on my bent knees and blew out a long, calming breath. “Oh, and your cat hates men.”
Faith blurted out a surprised laugh.
Scowling, I lifted my face. “You have a seriously fucked up sense of humor.”
She laughed again and clutched her belly with one hand, bending slightly, even as she lifted the other hand in my direction to excuse herself. “Sorry, I just…sorry!” Losing the ability to talk, she started to laugh again until she was able to blow out a breath and glance my way. “I suppose that’s what you get for foisting the damn thing on an unsuspecting owner.”
Eyes narrowing even more, I pointed at her. “That was a present from the heart.”
She sniffed and lifted an eyebrow as she folded her arms over her chest and propped a shoulder against the doorframe. “It was you trying to get a rise out of me.” Nodding in approval at Salem, who suddenly went racing past her into the bedroom, she added, “I should’ve named her Karma.”
“Or Killer,” I argued, only to whimper again as I pushed my way to my feet. Faith straightened from the doorway in surprise when I started to hobble wincingly toward her.
“You’re not really going after her, are you?” she demanded in alarm, looking ready to defend her pet.
“What?” I blinked at her in disbelief. “No! Now that she’s effectively slaughtered my morning wood, I gotta pee. So can I…?” I motioned past her toward the only bathroom in the apartment.
“Oh!” She stepped out of the bedroom doorway to let me pass through, only to wince sympathetically for me the closer I drew. “You sure you’re okay?”
“No,” I grumbled, only to flicker out a soft smile for her when she touched the side of my arm. “But I will be.”
In the bathroom, I checked myself for claw marks, and the little shit had actually drawn blood. Just like barely a drop of it, but still… Not cool, cat. Not cool at all.
While I was washing my hands after finishing my business, I could hear Faith’s voice in the front room, but I only caught the tail end of what she was saying after I dried my palms and opened the door.
“…Such a good girl. Yes, you are.”
“Hey,” I called sternly, hobbling through her bedroom so I could re-enter the front area. “Don’t you dare praise that bastard. She made me bleed.”
From the floor where she was crouching, Faith’s eyes flared before she zipped a glance at my junk. And once her gaze landed there, she seemed to become fixated.
“Um.” She cleared her throat, still staring at my jockey shorts. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” she rasped hoarsely. “I’d offer to kiss it better, but?—”
I cut her off with a groan of torment as I clutched myself. But seriously, was she trying to kill me? Her offer caused my dick to twitch with desire, which only inflamed my wounds to throb more painfully.
“Yeah,” she drew out slowly. “That probably wouldn’t help. So… I’m just going to go shower now, and you know, get all soapy and wet…and naked.”
“Faith!” I bit out, dying with aroused agony.
The evil woman only laughed, knowing exactly what kind of misery she’d just put me through as she lifted her eyebrows in glee and strolled merrily past. “What can I say? Sorry, not sorry!”
“So evil,” I charged with a shake of my head.
When I heard the bathroom door shut, I blew out a long breath, thinking I really should pay her back for enjoying my suffering so much.
“Well, then,” I announced to the suddenly empty room. “I may just have to…” I glanced around at all the things I’d already messed with. “Get myself into some more mischief,” I announced with a slow grin.
But a moment later, the smile fell.
I really didn’t want to pay back at her. And besides, I liked this arrangement of her things. Plus, a twinge from my balls told me a lot of lifting and moving furniture wasn’t really in the cards for me just yet.
However, I was hungry.
So cooking it was, then.
I limped to the kitchen, my brain already whirling with breakfast ideas. Waffles sounded good, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t seen a waffle maker when I’d last gone snooping. Opening the fridge in the hopes of drumming up some ideas, I lifted my brows when I saw that she’d already gone through a nice portion of the meals I’d left for her.
I’m not sure why that flattered me so much, but I started to smile until I saw leftover mint in the door that I’d gotten to make the Jennifer Aniston salad. Some of the leaves were beginning to wilt.
Thinking I needed to use them before they went bad, I grabbed the bundle along with some strawberries and milk.
Pulling her knife from the drawer where I’d last left it, I set it out in a line along with all the ingredients, measuring cups, mixing bowls, and spatulas.
There weren’t a lot of things I was very meticulous and fussy about. If I found a clean shirt in my drawer, I put it on. If someone asked to borrow my car, I tossed them the keys. If a friend needed money, I’d dig into my pocket to see how much I had. And I wouldn’t worry about how fast I got paid back, or even if I did get paid back. Hell, I’d probably forget I even lent the cash out to begin with.
Life was too short to nitpick and overanalyze everything.
Until it came to cooking. That’s when I went all Hell’s Kitchen and made sure every utensil was in its proper place.
No idea why I was that way, but there it was. My one quirk.
Fine. I’m sure I had plenty of quirks, but I saw that one as the most contradictory facet of my personality.
I had just gotten everything set into place the way I needed it and found Faith’s electric grill and plugged it in to begin heating when she exited her bedroom, already dressed for the day and wearing one of those towel-wrap things on her head.
“Feeling better?” she asked as she wandered over.
“Tons,” I answered, already over the whole cat thing as I started on the strawberries first, dicing them into bits. With a quick grin at her, I added, “You shower quick. And clean up even nicer.”
“Hm. Are you cooking? Again?” Her gaze fell to my hands when she reached the island counter on the opposite side as me. “What’re you making this—oh my God!” Lifting a hand to cover me from her vision, she squawked, “You’re still not dressed? Aren’t you worried about—I don’t know—accidentally cutting your cock off with that knife?”
I paused dicing to arch my brows her way. “If another seven millimeters of cloth is the only thing keeping me from cutting my dick off then I really need to rethink my future career choices.”
She snorted, and I went back to chopping.
A second later, she rested both elbows on the counter so she could lean over it and watch me work. “Damn. How do you do that so fast?”
The total fascination on her face did my heart good, I had to admit.
“Hopefully that hundred thousand I’m paying for culinary school helped contribute,” I joked as I picked up the chopping block to scrape half the strawberries into one bowl and the last of them into another.
Faith rolled her eyes as she rested her chin on her hands to keep watching me.
When I started on the mint next, her brow furrowed. “What’re you making, anyway?”
“Two different things,” I answered, concentrating on keeping my rhythm going with each chop so I didn’t dice off a finger…or my dick—that would be embarrassing. “Strawberry pancakes, to begin with.”
When she groaned in delight and clutched her stomach, I winked over at her. “And just to put the rest of the strawberries and mint to use before they go bad, I was going to pour them into freezer trays with some water and make fancy ice cubes out of them.
“Oh, what a good idea.” Brightening, she sat up straighter to watch as I mixed the mint with the second bowl of berries. “Why did I never think to do that?”
I shrugged and sent her a little grin. “Maybe you aren’t spending a hundred thou on culinary school.”
Faith scoffed. “It’d probably do me better than the hundred and fifty I’m going to owe for a business administration degree.”
“Business?” I wrinkled my nose. “Eww. You’re all about the boring, money-making life, huh?”
“That’s right, baby.” Holding up her hands, Faith smoothed her fingertips together to rub pretend cash between them. “Show me the cash.”
With a chuckle, I shook my head and returned my attention to my work. “My buddy Parker’s in the same field of study. You ever had any classes with him?”
She seemed more interested in watching me cover the mint and berries with water and pour them into ice cube trays than talking about Parker, though. “If I did, I don’t remember him.”
A smug smile lit my face. But damn, it was nice to be noticed above Parker. He always seemed to gain the most attention from the ladies, so I had to say, I liked gaining this woman’s notice.
“Are you one of those people who doesn’t measure ingredients?” Faith asked as I slid the tray into her freezer. “I don’t understand those people. I measure everything exactly as the recipe calls for, and I still oversalt shit or something, I swear.”
I sent her an amused glance as I moved over to start on the pancake batter next. “Well, that’s an easy fix. If it happens again, just add something sweet, like honey or sugar, to balance out the saltiness.”
Faith blinked at me once before uttering, “You’re shitting me?”
I laughed. “I shit you not, ma’am. There are all kinds of little hacks like that to help save a meal.”
“Like what?” she demanded, completely intrigued.
Soaking up the attention, I squinted. “Let’s see… Vinegar or citrus juice can help out a dish that’s too rich or fatty. Different types of vinegar will also liven up an otherwise dull-tasting dish by bringing the other flavors to life. Worcestershire sauce gives food a savory flavor, molasses adds tang, and dropping a dab of cold butter right before serving a tomato-based sauce gives it a richer?—”
“Wait, wait.” Faith reached for a pen and one of her famous sticky notes. “I feel like I should write this down.”
I laughed again, charmed by her enthusiasm because she really did seem genuinely interested in what I was saying. “Or take a video,” I suggested, half-joking. “It’ll last longer.”
“Ooh!” Eyes brightening with excitement, she asked, “You wouldn’t mind?”
“What?” I turned to face her fully and lifted my hand as if in challenge. “Do you not think this body was made for the big screen?”
She whimpered a little as she ran her gaze over me, her attention pausing longest on my boxer briefs. Then she said, “In that case,” as she popped off the stool, “I’ll be right back.”
As she raced away toward the bedroom, I blinked after her. But she was such an interesting thing. Just when I thought I had her figured out, she surprised me. It was a total delight.
When she reappeared, she looked so giddy and excited, toting her phone and opening an app as she hurried back, that something warmed in my chest.
I liked her, I realized, and I mean, I liked all of her. I liked the uptight, tidy, anal side that demanded order and perfection and needed everything in its proper place. I liked her sassy, back-talking side, her brainy, researching side, and her sweet, caring side, plus her teasing, mischievous side. But Lord have mercy, I think her happy, smiling side with that open, husky laugh just might be my favorite. She was so multi-faceted.
“Okay,” she announced as she climbed onto a stool on the opposite side of the bar as me and wiggled her tush to settle in. Then she lifted the phone and aimed it at me. “And…go.”
I laughed. “I cannot believe you honestly just ran and got your phone. What am I supposed to do now? Give you some kind of cooking show? The Naked Chef?”
“I mean, we can’t call it that, obvi,” she said, lifting up on her stool enough to get a clear shot of my underwear. “Unless you’re willing to lose the jockey shorts.”
When she teasingly waggled her eyebrows as if to tempt me to perform a strip show for her, I laughed again.
“Come on,” she encouraged a moment later, while I was still shaking my head in an effort to adjust to this new side of her. “Impromptu cooking show! I mean, you have everything already lined out so perfectly like you’re ready to give some serious instructions. How about just giving it a try?”
I shrugged. “Alright.” Willing to hop into character, I arched an eyebrow for her camera and introduced myself. “Hudson Ivey here, and we’re about to dive into the world of strawberry pancakes in our first edition of…” Pausing for dramatic effect, I pursed my lips and hitched up one eyebrow before saying, “The Steamy Dish.”
When Faith slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a giggle, I arched my brows. “What? Don’t like it?”
“No, no…” She waved me on. “I love it. Don’t stop.”
So I didn’t. I threw myself into the movements, explaining every step of the process and answering questions whenever Faith asked them. Since I was missing so much of my clothing, I laid the sexual innuendos on thick, which made my audience-of-one roll with amusement more than once.
She flirted back, too.
When I caught her moving the camera down to my backside instead of focusing on the perfectly golden pancakes I was tossing onto a plate, I cleared my throat and motioned her attention back up again. “Um, excuse me. Eyes up here, darlin’. My ass isn’t the one cooking.”
“Oh, really?” Faith argued with a lift of her eyebrows. “Then why is it smokin’?”
I sputtered out a snort and pointed a warning at her. “Keep that up, and I’m going to cook you breakfast every damn morning.”
With a flutter of her lashes, she begged, “Promise?”
“Gah, you’re dangerous.” Shaking my head, I finished tossing the last pancake onto a side dish before I prepared her plate just so. Then I turned off the griddle and carried the finished results over. “Alright. Time for a taste test.”
Faith veered her phone to my chest and licked her lips. “Thank God.”
“The food,” I corrected. “Not me.”
She tsked. “Spoilsport.” Then, she transferred her phone to one hand and zoomed in on the finished product, verbally praising it before she picked up a fork with her free hand and managed to portion off a piece for herself, claiming, “I almost hate to cut into this. It looks too pretty to eat.”
“You better eat it,” I warned. “It’s meant to be enjoyed by all the senses.”
“Well, alright, then. Here goes.” As the camera’s focus remained on the plate, she lifted the pancake to her mouth and parted her lips.
The fork slid between her teeth.
I swallowed thickly, unable to look away as she closed her mouth around the tines and moaned. Then she added a whimper onto the end while she slowly pulled the utensil free. “Oh God,” she said with a full mouth, pressing the back of her hand to her lips. “Oh my God.”
“Good?” I asked, nodding in approval over her reaction.
Her lashes parted, and she looked at me as if she was seeing me for the first time. Then she nudged the plate in my direction. “Try some for yourself.”
So I did. Picking up my own fork, I ate off the same plate as her. “Mm.” My eyebrows lifted. “That really is good.”
“No shit,” she countered, yanking the plate back to herself before diving in for more. “Best damn pancakes I ever had.”
“Gee shucks, ma’am.” I waved out a fake, bashful hand. “You’re gonna make me blush.”
With a snort, she said from a full mouth, “Why do I have a feeling you’ve never blushed once in your life?”
“Probably because I haven’t,” I agreed as I tried to stab another bite of pancake, only to end up jamming my fork into the countertop instead because Faith jerked the food right out from under my clutches.
“Hey,” I cried, glancing up in surprise. “I cooked it.”
Faith merely lifted severe eyebrows. “Get your own plate.”
“But yours is all fancy and decorated and already prepared with butter and syrup, and I want to eat now.” I fluttered my lashes beguilingly. “Don’t you want the intimacy of sharing a plate with me?” When she only shook her head and wrapped her forearm around her breakfast to protect it, I huffed in disappointment. “And here, I thought you loved me.”
She blinked at me in surprise as if I’d just struck a nerve, so I playfully said, “Fine, fine. I’ll eat off my own plate…by myself.”
As I good-naturedly turned away and prepared my breakfast, I hummed under my breath as I worked. But Faith was still strangely quiet behind me. I was about to ask if she was okay until I turned around and found her videotaping me again.
Jerking to a surprised stop with the full plate in my hands, I lifted my eyebrows. “We’re still rolling? The cooking show’s over, darlin’.”
“Yeah, but…” She shrugged helplessly as if it was physically impossible for her to put her phone down. “Now, it’s time to get to know the chef.”
“Oh, is it?” I murmured, one corner of my lips hitching up in amusement as I set down my plate directly across from hers on the counter. “What exactly do you want to know about me?”
She shrugged and bit her lip, looking suddenly shy. Then she asked, “Have you always wanted to be a chef?”
“Actually, no.” Dropping my attention to my breakfast, I cut off a bite with my fork, dunked it into some syrup, and popped it into my mouth.
Faith seemed amused when I lifted my attention back to her. She rolled her free hand, inviting me to continue. “Would you like to elaborate?”
“Oh! Sure.” I finished swallowing and finally started in with a whole, long spiel. “I always have cooked, I guess. When you get a mom who’s blitzed half the time and a dad who moved across the state to escape you, you learn to make yourself food or starve, right?”
When Faith pulled her face back, clearly not prepared to hear that, I helped myself to another bite. “And let me tell you,” I said. “With the limited options there were in our kitchen, I wasn’t afraid to experiment to see just how good or bad ketchup tasted on a saltine.”
“Ugh.” Faith wrinkled her nose in disgust, but I only shrugged.
“Wasn’t the worst thing I ever ate. But I did like peanut butter on saltines better.”
With a confused shake of the head, she uttered, “Who wouldn’t?”
“Anyway, long story short, after my big whoopsies moment when I was fourteen…”
Faith lifted her eyebrows in question before she seemed to realize what I meant. With a wince, she touched one of her wrists, and I nodded. “Exactly. After that, Thane…” Focusing on her, I asked, “You remember Thane, right? From my birthday party at Calamity’s?”
Her brow furrowed a moment before she said, “You mean, Nathaniel from East Daniel?”
When I blinked, clearly baffled, she ducked her face with some embarrassment. “Sorry. I just remember how his name rhymed with his address when he showed me his driver’s license at the restaurant to prove he was over twenty-one.”
I tipped my head curiously, only to nod in amusement. “Hey, yeah. They really do rhyme, don’t they? How bizarre.” Then I pointed my fork at her. “But word of warning: I wouldn’t call him Nathaniel if you actually expect him to answer. Anyway, he’s the one who basically forced me to move in with him and his parents after my wrist cutting. My mom still had custody of me, of course. But she didn’t give a flying fuck where I stayed every night, just as long as I didn’t bother her. So I had a pretty regular upbringing from that point on. Mama Chaunce and Pastor Zeke made sure I was fed and clothed. They encouraged me to stay in school and keep my ass away from drugs.”
“Wait. Pastor Zeke? Thane’s dad is a preacher?”
“True story,” I swore. “And Mama Chaunce works in a beauty parlor. They’re the best damn people I know.”
“That’s sweet,” Faith said, hugging herself a little as if she was actually jealous of me for receiving some parental love and guidance. Then, she smiled vaguely. “I’m glad you found people.”
I nodded slowly, curious about that almost sad look in her eyes. But I figured I could circle back around to that later. For now, I merely said, “Yep,” and continued on with my culinary origin story. “So I kind of fell off the cooking wagon for a couple of years until I started college and moved into a place of my own. Couldn’t really afford to eat out every day, so I scraped together enough meals to get by. Until—as I believe I’ve told you already—I stayed the night with this girl who was a culinary major. And when I saw her making Eggs Benedict the next morning, I was intrigued. I demanded to be shown how she’d done it. And it brought back the fun times I’d had experimenting with odd ingredients when I was a kid. So I gave culinary school a try. And I’ve been with it ever since.”
Spreading my arms wide, I finished with, “Which brings us to where we are today.”
“You really like cooking, then?” Faith asked me, sounding captivated.
“I do,” I murmured with a nod.
“Well, then.” Finally putting her phone down and finishing the video she’d made, she cleared her throat, then picked up her fork again. “All I have to say is thank you for not making me Eggs Benedict this morning.”
I grinned. “Ha! I knew you were the jealous type.”
Merely shrugging, neither denying nor confirming, she took a bite of pancake. So I took a bite too. And we stayed that way, across the counter, facing each other, her perched on a stool while I remained standing and leaning against the bar, as we continued our breakfast together.
Between bites, I asked, “When’s your first final today?”
“Nine.”
I glanced at the time and straightened. “Shit. I better get this place cleaned up, then, so I can get out of your hair.”
“You don’t have to worry about it.” She waved my efforts aside as I began to pick up dirty dishes. “I can do that since you cooked.”
“I cooked to thank you for putting me up for the night,” I argued. “Not to give you more work to do. So it’s only right that I clean.”
“Well…” She bit her lip as if she wanted to disagree.
But I pointed at her, commanding, “Don’t argue. Just enjoy your breakfast.”
So she did.
As I began to rinse out pans, her phone dinged with a notification. “Just a reminder,” she told me when I glanced over curiously. With a slight flush, she rolled her eyes. “I make lists of things to bring to school each day and set them as a reminder.”
I lifted my brows, impressed. “Like an electronic Post-it note. Smart.”
She seemed embarrassed by my praise and shrugged.
“Which reminds me,” I added. “I should probably take my phone off airplane mode now.”
I heaved out a heavy breath as I went to fetch it from my pile of clothes on the floor next to the couch. “Here goes nothing.”
Faith lifted a curious eyebrow. “Why? What’s going to happen when you reconnect?”
“Just…” My phone rang before I could answer. Lifting my eyebrows her way, I said, “This.” Then I pressed the receiver to my ear and said, “Yo.”
“I swear to God,” Thane immediately started in, forgetting any kind of greeting whatsoever. “If you’re not in jail, the hospital, or stranded naked on the side of some road right now, I think I may just kill you.”
I lifted my eyebrows over the heat in his voice. “Dude.” Glancing down at my current state of undress, I nodded, impressed by his powers of deduction before I asked, “Why would I be naked on the side of the road?”
“I don’t fucking know!” he exploded. “Why didn’t you mention you needed a place to stay when you called last night?”
I put him on speakerphone as I returned to the kitchen so I could clean as I talked and because Faith seemed awfully curious by my side of the conversation. “You were on a date, man,” I told my buddy. “I wasn’t going to impede on your first chance to get laid this decade.”
“Dammit, Hudson. You gave us a heart attack. Where the hell are you? Why didn’t you answer all night? We thought you were lying dead in an alley dumpster somewhere.”
I winced. “Well, shit. I’m sorry. But no. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I just… I put my phone on airplane mode, is all. Nothing to worry about here.”
“Airplane mode? Why the fuck would you do that? You said you weren’t going to pull away from us this time. You fucking promised. Dammit. We’ve been driving around all night, looking for you. Where are you?”
“I’m fine,” I promised him. “Swear to God. I?—”
“Where,” Thane growled, “are you?”
I glanced over at Faith and sighed. “You know Jezebel’s Nest, that voodoo place on the?—”
As Faith sat up in alarm, Thane cut in, saying, “I know it. So you’re there? Right now?”
“Yeah. In the apartment above it, actually. I?—”
“Fine,” he barked. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Oh, that’s not…” But he’d already hung up on me.
Knowing I was in trouble, I cast an apologetic wince to Faith.
Without saying a word, she lifted condemning eyebrows at me for basically drawing more people to her apartment without her permission.
An uneasy laugh spilled from my throat before I scratched the back of my neck and admitted, “Well…shit.”