25. Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Finnley
I’m in my room when he and Paige come home. I stand at the door; ear pressed against it like some kind of weirdo. I hear their footsteps on the stairs, her closing her bedroom door behind her and then the faint sound of the shower kicking on in Hudson’s room. I take my chance to sneak downstairs. I’m being ridiculous, but I can’t help it. I don’t know what to say to him. In the kitchen, there are grocery bags on the counter and the oven is preheating.
Standing at the kitchen sink, I feel him before I see him. That’s been happening a lot lately, and I can’t explain it. It’s as if his body has a pull on mine, like a tractor beam from one of those cheesy Star Trek movies Wrenley’s granddad used to watch when we were kids.
He dumps something on a baking sheet behind me and sticks it in the oven. “You’re ignoring me,” he says, before leaning on the sink next to me, arms crossed over his bare chest.
I almost groan. Is this man trying to kill me ?
He smells incredible, all woodsy and fresh. From the corner of my eye, I can see his hair is damp from the shower. Somehow, I manage to not let my eyes trail over all that bare skin.
I clear my throat, feeling my cheeks heat when he drops his hands to the counter, curling his fingertips around it. The movement makes the veins in his arms stand out and my mind flashes on an image of him gripping his cock. That “V” right above the waistband of his gray fucking sweatpants taunts me. By some miracle, I force my eyes to not drop any lower and blink away.
“I’m not.”
He huffs out a breath. “Well, you’re not talking to me.”
“I don’t have anything to say.” I shrug, sure he can hear my heart pounding in my ears. It’s like my pulse can’t help but kick up around him. He’s standing so close that his elbow brushes my bare arm, making me shiver.
I see him tilt his head in my periphery. “You always have something to say.” When I don’t look up from the pan I’ve been scrubbing the Teflon off for the last five minutes, he asks, “Are you pissed at me?
My scrubbing increases. Pissed? No. Turned on? One-million percent. Annoyed that I’m turned on? Absolutely. I shouldn’t be panting over my best friend.
“Why would I be pissed at you?”
He shrugs. “Because you’re not talking to me.
I huff out a miserable breath when Wren’s words come flooding back to me. “We really are in a relationship.” I mumble under my breath.
“What?”
I can feel his gaze on the side of my head, but I don’t look at him. “Nothing.”
His voice is soft. “Look at me, please.”
I turn my head, then quickly blink back to the cleanest pan I’ve ever washed. “I don’t have anything to say to you. ”
“See, only people who are pissed say that.” My eyes flick to his and he smirks, amusement glinting in his hazel eyes. “So, are you?”
God, it’s like he’s turned into a fifteen-year-old boy all of a sudden with the way he’s hounding me.
I throw the now mangled sponge into the sink and glare at him, shoving my bedraggled hair out of my eyes with a wrist. “Yes. No. I don’t know!”
I yank a hand towel out of the drawer, wiping my hands dry before chucking the towel down and jamming my hands into the front of my hoodie—Hudson’s hoodie, whatever. I stole it from the back of his bedroom door the other night and spent the next two hours burying my nose in the collar just to feel close to him. Pathetic.
The truth is, I’m embarrassed. And I’m slightly alarmed that every time I look at my best friend, I see him naked. I liked it. A lot . I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I’m married to the sexy bastard, and I’d love nothing more than to join him in the shower the next time he gets the urge to jerk off. And yes, that pisses me off. Ok, that’s a little strong. It worries me.
Things between Hudson and me have always been intimate; we’ve never had a tough time talking about things, and always felt comfortable touching one another. But I’ve never wanted him like this before. Although Wren is sure of his physical attraction to me, we’ve always been able to keep things just this side of more than friends. It feels like things could tip into friends with benefits territory very easily, especially now that we’re married. It worries me almost as much as it excites me.
Rounding the island, I sit and drop my head in my hands, so I don’t focus on the veins in his forearms, or the curve of his bicep as he crosses his arms over his chest. Or lower. It takes every single fiber of my being to keep my eyes from drifting to the fabric covering his cock. I keep picturing his face when he came. I want to be the one that puts that look on his face.
I really need to get laid .
Hudson shuffles over to the opposite counter, peering at the plate of cookies I baked earlier. “You made cookies?” he asks, uncertainty woven into the words.
They barely resemble cookies, flat and hard, sort of crumbly. I don’t know what happened. I was so annoyed by my lack of self-control and my mind latching onto the memory of every inch of his naked body that I must have missed a step or two in the ingredients. Baking relaxes me, but I’m not the greatest at it.
I huff and pout. “If you don’t like them, it’s fine. Just don’t be mean because I’m on my period and I’m not taking anybody’s shit. If you’re mean, I’ll punch you in the nuts.”
He slides a glance my way, looking a little nervous, but he picks up a cookie and takes a bite. It cracks when he bites into it, a bunch crumbling off, cascading down his chest to the floor. He makes a small choking sound, dust puffing from his lips. His eyes flare a little as he tries to stifle his laugh.
I shoot him a glare, daring him to say shit about them.
“I’ll just save the rest for later,” he mumbles, setting it back on the plate with a little pat to the top of the cookie, before dusting off his chest and abs. They must be dry as fuck because he smacks his lips a couple of times, and then swallows hard. It’s so fucking cute, that I almost laugh. But I’m trying to be annoyed. So, I purse my lips, cover my mouth to hide my half smile, and drop my eyes.
“Might be good with some milk,” he says, with barely restrained humor shaking his voice.
I say nothing as seconds tick by. I can’t stand the silence any longer.
“You jerked off,” I whisper, daring to glance up at him.
A slow grin spreads across his handsome face. He leans back against the counter, arms over his chest, and lifts a shoulder. The cocky fucker. “I jerk off all the time. ”
I gape at him. Listen, I know dudes jerk off. I do. But him admitting it, saying he does it all the time , like he could just be up there rubbing one out any old time?
Hot.
“You could at least try not to be so smug about it,” I say, but I can’t help the little smile that quirks up the corner of my lips.
“You walked in on me. It’s not my fault you didn’t knock.”
My cheeks pink and I blink away from his gaze. The buzzer on the stove goes off, and he pulls on an oven mitt and bends over to pull whatever he’s cooking from the oven. My eyes drop to his ass. Because, of course, they do.
When he straightens up, I immediately see he’s made pizza rolls, mozzarella sticks, and mini corn dogs. Three of my favorite junk foods. I narrow my eyes at him at the same time as I soften. He always knows exactly how to win me over. And it’s usually with food. The bastard. But I kind of love him for it because I’m starving, and gorging myself on junk food sounds divine.
He meets my gaze. “You weren’t home. And I live here. You want me to go outside next time? Give old Mrs. Brewer a show?” The corner of his lips tip up, like he’s fighting a smile, teasing about our eighty-four-year-old neighbor.
I roll my eyes and shoot him a look. “No, of course, I don’t want… Are you serious? Mrs. Brewer ?”
He chuckles, pulling the oven mitt off and tossing it down with a shrug of his shoulders. “I thought I was alone. I was alone, until you came into my bathroom without knocking.” That cocky smirk falls back into place.
“I didn’t know you were home!” I grumble.
He picks up a pizza roll off the baking tray in front of him, popping it into his mouth. He does the whole open-mouthed chewing, fire-breathing dragon thing that only happens with a freshly cooked pocket of dough filled with sizzling sauce and melty cheese. He really is fifteen. And so damn cute, I want to punch him.
“It was an accident. It's fine.”
“It’s not fine,” I nearly screech. “It’s the furthest thing from fine. I saw your—” I slide a glance to the stairs, making sure Paige can’t hear, then lower my voice and lean over the counter. Dropping my eyes to the front of his pants, I say, “I saw your dick .”
He swallows before smirking at me, his flint-colored gaze scorching me from three feet away. “Oh, I’m very aware of what you saw.”
My cheeks heat again and I’m so grateful he can’t see the press of my thighs together under the counter. Why does he have to be so insanely hot?
“This isn’t funny, Huddy.” I groan. “I watched you come.”
His sweeps his tongue out over his bottom lip and lifts his chin. “The real question is: did you like what you saw?” His eyebrows bounce up and down and his grin is smug, and I kind of love it.
“Ugh. You’re unbelievable,” I say, picking up a pizza roll and chucking it at him.
He catches it and tosses it back on the tray with a chuckle, then dusts his hands off. “You didn’t have to look. Why didn’t you leave when you saw me?”
“I couldn’t, ok?” I drop my gaze, embarrassment coloring my cheeks. I just know my chest is splotchy as fuck. “I just…couldn’t. But it’s not decent; you shouldn’t do that when I could be home.”
With a panty-dropping smile, he leans way over the counter, inching closer to me. “Oh, that’s really rich.” His voice is low and makes my skin hum in anticipation. “You walk around here in those tiny goddamn shorts that leave abso-fucking-lutely nothing to the imagination. Not to mention those flimsy ass tank tops you sleep in that show every outline of your nipples. But you don’t see me bitching about it.”
I nearly choke on my spit. I should be offended that he’s looking at me close enough to be checking out my nipples, but I’m not. I’m flattered, and…happy to know he’s thought about my body, my breasts. My heart beats faster. I wonder what else he’s thought about, and it makes me going completely feral over his body less embarrassing. Clearly, there’s attraction between us. I mean, we never would have kissed otherwise.
“First of all, that’s not the same thing.” I steal another glance at the stairs. “You were… touching yourself,” I say, hating how coy it sounds.
He takes three deliberate steps around the counter, stopping when he reaches me. I have to tip my head back to look at him. I swear my swallow is audible and my breathing sounds so loud. It’s shallow and my chest rises and falls quickly as I stare up at him.
His voice is low and deep when he speaks. “Don’t think for one second that I can’t hear that little, battery-operated buddy you’ve got in your room. Every. Night.”
I gasp, heat flooding my body, but I can’t look away. “You cannot!
He braces a hand on the counter in front of me and one on the back of my stool, leaning in. I can feel his breath on my neck when he replies, “I so fucking can, and all your breathy, little moans, too.”
I feel my face flush with heat again, and I bite down on my lip. His eyes track the movement, his face mere inches from mine. It’s a physical effort to keep from brushing my lips against his as the memory of how they felt on mine comes flooding back. It’s overwhelming how badly I want to feel them on the rest of my body, too.
“Besides, if it bothers you that much, you could always return the favor.” Then, the cocky fucker grins at me. Grins. “Or, maybe you wanna watch again?”
Yes, to both, please.
I roll my eyes to cover up how just his words alone have me so turned on, I can barely think. “You’ re such a pervert.”
“Says the girl who watched her best friend jerk off,” he says, tossing me a wink. “And liked it.”
A laugh bubbles up out of me. My face has to be as red as a tomato. The tips of my ears burn. But I can’t deny it. So, I just roll my eyes at him again and get up to leave the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, really. We are literally bickering about when and how we masturbate. Typical us.
When I get to the top of the stairs, he calls out, “I didn’t hear you deny it, Jameson.”
God, I’m screwed.