Just a Fling Page 8

  I want to punch Brett in the balls and then elbow drop him for good measure. How dare he do that to her? Fucking asshole.

  “Oh, and get this,” she continues, huffing like she’s exhausted every breath she has. “Some random chick showed up at the hospital the other day. His supposed side chick.”

  Damn side chicks. They always become a problem.

  “I bet that went over well. Please tell me you’re not calling me from jail and need to be bailed out for kicking her ass?”

  “Hell no. She can have him. Let her see what a lying sack of scum he is.”

  “You deserve so much better. Everything will be okay, I promise. We’ll find you a hot dude here, and you’ll forget all about Brett’s three-pump sex.”

  She sighs, “It’s just a lot for me to take in, you know? I’m planning on coming back to work in a few days.”

  “Take your time. Do whatever you need to. Your job will be waiting for you whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thanks. You seriously don’t know how much I appreciate our friendship. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  I wait to answer while she lets out a long yawn. “Get some sleep and call me in the morning, okay?”

  “I will, goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.” I end the call and set down my phone before looking over at Hudson. “Brett is still awake and seems to have regained most of his memory.”

  He whistles. “Shit. You had me scared for a sec.”

  I cock my head to the side. “What? Why?”

  “I thought the dude died and you were comforting her by saying she can do better and his dick game was weak.”

  “No, so not the case.”

  He smiles. “Then help me with my confusion, will ya?”

  I don’t want to repeat what Brett did because I’m so irate about it. My anger might force me to show up at the hospital and knock him upside the head with a frying pan. Maybe he needs to suffer another concussion so he can wake up from the next one with more sense.

  “He woke up and decided to dump her ass,” I tell him, snarling my lip.

  He scowls. “You’re shitting me?”

  I shake my head. “I wish I was. Douchebag wants to spread his wings like a pigeon and spread his bullshit to more of the female population.”

  Hudson sips his tea. “Sounds like a good man.”

  “Yep, even better news is that the chick he’s been cheating with showed up at the hospital devastated.”

  He winces, his expression switching from resentment to pure hatred. He looks like he wants to be the next one in line to elbow-drop Brett.

  “I despise cheaters,” he hisses. “They disgust me. Willow deserves better.”

  I nod in agreement. “It’s not the first time he’s been caught cheating. It happens all the time and then he begs her to stay with him while giving some bullshit speech that he’ll change. For some reason, Willow always falls for it. I pray it doesn’t happen again.”

  His jaw muscles tick. “They never change. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Period.”

  “I … I don’t think that’s necessarily true,” I stutter out. “People make mistakes and learn from them all the time.”

  This is about his ex, and I hate that he’s so angry about it. He’s still in love with her. That’s the reason for a reaction like that.

  “Cheating isn’t a mistake. It’s unforgivable in my book. It breaks the bond of trust, and if I can’t trust you, I can’t be with you. It’s not that difficult for someone to take a step back and realize that cheating on someone will tear them apart in every way possible. Make them feel like they’re not good enough.”

  I gulp. This night had been going so well. He catches onto my uneasiness and snaps out of his frustration, his face apologetic.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” he says. “You don’t want to hear me whine about this shit. I shouldn’t have acted like that.” He finishes off his tea. “It’s probably time we get to bed.” This seems to be a constant with him. We get somewhere then he walks away. “Good night, Stella. Sleep well.”

  “Good night,” I whisper.

  I wait until I hear his bedroom door close before grabbing my phone and opening Instagram. I type Hudson’s name, but my search comes up empty. I type Dallas’s name next.

  Jackpot.

  There’s nothing more satisfying than finding the person you want to stalk’s profile is public.

  Creeping here I come.

  I scroll through his photos. Most of them are of him with Maven and Lucy. I spot the most recent one with Hudson. They’re at his welcome home party. Hudson looks happy, a beer in his hand, and his arms around his brother and a short, dark-haired woman. I narrow my eyes at her but relax when I notice she’s tagged in the caption as Lauren Barnes, their sister.

  I proceed with my stalking until I’m well into weirdo territory and find one with Dallas, Lucy, Hudson, and a stunning blonde. I click on it and study the picture. Everyone is smiling, and she’s tucked into Hudson’s side, his arm around her.

  It has to be the ex-girlfriend.

  And she looks exactly like a woman I imagine Hudson with. Her hair is naturally blonde and down in loose, effortless waves, and she’s wearing cut-off shorts and a tee showing plenty of cleavage. The photo proves how deep Hudson loved her. There’s a different light in his eyes than he has now.

  I click on her tagged username to see more pictures of her and maybe the ex-best friend. It’d be hard finding someone better looking than Hudson. Someone who could compete with him.

  Did she keep pictures of her and Hudson up or delete them?

  Unfortunately, her profile is private.

  Loser.

  The only way I can advance further into my operation stalk Hudson mission is if I request to follow her, which will make me look like an insane person.

  Game over for me.

  I frown, pissed at my defeat, and decide to go to bed with Hudson on my mind.

  Sixteen

  Hudson

  I acted like a douche lord in the kitchen.

  I never meant to expose myself like that to Stella.

  I’m not in love with Cameron anymore. I don’t want her back. Once a cheater, you’re always a fucking cheater in my playbook. What triggered my anger wasn’t losing her. It was the lies and deception. I would’ve given my life for Cameron, sacrificed everything I had to make sure she was safe and happy, only to find out she’d turned her back on me when times got just slightly tough.

  She should’ve come to me, told me she didn’t want that life, and I would’ve gladly let her off the hook.

  It only proves that pursuing a relationship with a friend you’ve known your entire life is a bad idea, which is why I’m taking a hiatus from dating. Whether I’m taking a break from fucking is still yet to be determined because my mind—my dick—can’t stop thinking about dipping into some sweet pussy.

  It’s been too long since I’ve been intimate with a woman, and there’s nothing more on your mind than getting laid when you come home from a long deployment. My problem is that my pussy-deprived mind is wrapped around tasting my new employer.

  I snatch my laptop from the desk and power it up to start the second season of Stella’s show. I shake my head at my stupidity of letting it slip that I’ve been watching it, but the excitement in her eyes told me she liked it. She’s made it clear she’s all in. She’s mine temporarily if I make the move, and each passing minute with her is pushing me closer in her direction.

  I blow out a breath.

  I can’t believe I’m about to say this.

  “I’m bound to screw Stella Mendes,” I whisper into the emptiness of my room. “And God help me, I think I’m falling for her.”

  “Morning.”

  Stella’s greeting is wrapped around a yawn. Her ebony hair is down and wild with tangles—my favorite look on her. I love seeing her unpolished, raw, untamed.

  She’s wearing different pajamas than she wore last night. The dark silk nearly ble
nds in with her hair, and the tank is cut so low I’m sure I’ll get a view of her nipples if she leans down far enough.

  That’d be a good way to start the morning.

  I lick my lips. Fuck. I need to smack some sense into myself with the whisk in my hand, but instead I settle it on the side of the bowl and rub my hands over my sweats.

  “Adulting fuel?” I ask, turning around to make her a cup of coffee without waiting for her response.

  She yawns again. “Is that even a question?”

  I pour her a cup, adding two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of coconut milk. I somehow have her coffee preference down, which further proves that I’m being an idiot and getting too close. I’ve even started making my coffee the same way. I never had coconut milk before coming here, but it’s not too bad.

  “Thanks,” she says when I hand her the mug. She stands on her tiptoes to see what I’m doing. “You’re making breakfast?”

  I shrug. “I figured why not? You said your chef is on vacation, and I’m starving. It would’ve been rude for me to only make enough for one.”

  I grew up with a mother that always cooked enough to feed a football team. We seemed to constantly have a houseful of people—cousins, girlfriends, neighbors. People showed up, and we fed them.

  “Always the gentleman,” she says with a light laugh. “You need any help?”

  I shake my head before tipping it toward the island. “Sit down and enjoy your coffee. You might be the master tea-maker, but I’m the breakfast expert.”

  She gives me a skeptic look. “Do you actually know how to cook? Or do I need to collect my valuables before you burn my house down?” She drags out a chair from underneath the island and sits.

  “Sure do. When I was younger, my parents made us do the outside and inside chores, so we’d be a jack-of-all-trades. I can change your tire and then come home and bake you a scrumptious as fuck pecan pie.”

  She leans forward to settle an elbow on the counter, her chin resting in her cupped palm. “A jack-of-all-trades, huh? I like it. You fix shit, shoot shit, and cook shit.”

  I snap my fingers. “I think I’ll make that my next pick-up line.”

  “I expect royalties when it’s successful and you get laid.” She pauses, a smile growing. “Unless it’s with me. I’ll let you have a free pass then.”

  “You better quit trying to fuck me before I burn your breakfast.”

  “Eh, I wouldn’t mind. To be honest, I’ve had my fair share of burned food. Cooking is not one of my strong suits.”

  My shoulders relax now that she’s changed the subject and isn’t going to keep exciting my dick.

  “Even when I try, I always seem to mess something up.” She leans back, her manicured fingers wrapping around the handle of the mug, and keeps her eyes glued to me while I move around and do my thing. “But I have to say, I’m enjoying watching you in my kitchen. There’s something sexy about a man putting in the effort to do something like this instead of calling room service or texting his chef what my favorite meal is.”

  “That’s good to know.” I can’t believe she’s never had a dude cook for her.

  “Although, if you take your shirt off, it’ll be even sexier.” She grins, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

  I hold up the whisk, batter dripping from it while trying to keep a straight face. “You keep trying to get me naked, I might have to file sexual harassment against you.”

  She blows out a dramatic breath. “Why are you making it such a challenge? I thought all men like to get laid, especially when a woman is putting a no-strings-attached clause on the table. I feel like this should be the other way around.”

  “You might want to change your taste in men, Hollywood. Not all of us only care about getting our dicks wet. I think it would freak the hell out of you if I kept begging you to jump on my dick. I’d be like Eli’s creepy bodyguard.”

  She shudders. “True story, but trust me, I wouldn’t mind it from you.” She licks her lips. “I’d encourage it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “That’s what you keep saying,” she mutters, “Cock block.”

  I shake my head, laughing, and start to dip the bread in the batter.

  “What’s on the menu?”

  “French toast and scrambled eggs.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She starts telling me stories of her cooking fails while I finish up our food. I hand her a plate, grab all the necessities for the meal, and pour her another cup of coffee.

  She looks from my plate to my stomach and then to my plate again when I sit down next to her. “Question, how do you eat like this and look like that?”

  “I work out,” I answer, grabbing the sugar-free syrup, which is all she has, and pour it onto my plate. I do it to hers next. “Although, I’ve been slacking on it since I’ve been here. Your gym consists of mostly cardio machines.”

  I wait for her to take the first bite, dying to see her reaction, and grin when she does.

  She chews, swallows her bite down, and then stabs at her next one with a fork. “This is incredible. I wasn’t expecting it to be this good.”

  We dig in, our conversation limited as we stuff our faces, and she helps me clean up when we’re finished. She’s wiping her hands on a dishtowel when she looks over at me with a grin. I know I’m in trouble.

  “Back to the working out conversation,” she says. “I have news that’ll brighten your day.”

  I arch a brow. “Oh, really?”

  “My yoga instructor is coming over for a morning session. Do it with me. We can burn off all those delicious carbs we just devoured.”

  Yoga?

  I snort. “Thanks, but I’ll have to pass on that.”

  She doesn’t seem fazed at my dismissal. “Have you ever even tried it before?”

  “Nope, and never plan to. Twisting myself into pretzel positions doesn’t seem like a good time to me or my junk.”

  “It’s not only twisting yourself into pretzel positions. Don’t knock something until you try it. Plus, you said you’ve been slacking on your work outs.”

  I shake my head. “Still not happening.”

  She pouts her lips. “Please for me.”

  I shake my head again.

  “You’re doing it, so get dressed, soldier. You’re about to have your first yoga lesson.”

  I throw my head back, knowing damn well I’m about to cave. “How do I keep letting you talk me into shit I’d never do?”

  She laughs and slaps my stomach as she walks by. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

  “If not, you better make it up to me,” I yell to her back while getting a good view of her ass.

  She whips back around. “I have no problem with that. I’m up for anything.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” We’re playing a dangerous game.

  She’s laughing as she disappears into the foyer. I go to my room to change and grab my phone.

  Me: What the hell does a dude wear to yoga?

  Stella: It’s nude yoga, so you don’t have to worry about attire.

  Me: You and your instructor are going to piss yourself when I show up in my birthday suit.

  Stella: I dare you to do it.

  Fucking with me seems to be her new favorite hobby. Stella will be the death of my morals. My momma will have a coronary if she sees me in some tabloid love triangle. People will think I’m the scum of the Earth for messing with another man’s woman, and I’ll never be able to tell my truth because Stella will hate me if I let her secret out.

  Operation Keep My Dick In My Pants is now in order.

  I have a feeling I’m going to fail.

  My phone rings. I snatch it up from the bed and balance it on my shoulder as I pull my shorts up.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “How are things going?” Dallas asks.

  “Good.” I pause, debating with myself on whether to tell him or not. “About to have yoga class.”

  He laughs for a good
thirty seconds. “You’re shitting me?”

  I stay quiet.

  “You’re doing yoga now?”

  “No, ass hat. I’m escorting Stella to yoga,” I lie.

  “Bullshit. You’re going to climb up on that mat and Namaste the fuck out of your problems. Next time I see you, you’ll be eating seaweed and hugging trees.”

  “Fuck off, what can I help you with?”

  “Doing my daily check-in to see where your head is, and if you’re done being a grumpy bastard yet.”

  “I think you know I’ll always be a grumpy bastard, but it’s getting better.” That’s an understatement. “It does get dull when I’m following her around doing mundane shit. How did you manage to do this for so long?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I got used to it. You will, too.”

  “No, I won’t. I’m only here temporarily, remember?”

  “I stand corrected. Get your yoga on and text me later. Maven is insisting I have a tea party with her.”

  “You’re giving me shit about yoga when you’re about to have drinks with stuffed animals?”

  “The perks of having a kid, man.”

  I hang up and open my suitcase for a shirt. I haven’t unpacked because I’m not staying long.

  Seventeen

  Stella

  Hudson doesn’t show up naked to yoga, much to my dismay.

  However, he does show, which gives me some optimism.

  Today’s yoga session will be interesting.

  He might be wearing clothes, but there’s not much to them. I slowly lick my lips, taking him in as he comes further into the kitchen wearing athletic shorts that hang low on his hips and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off that gives me the perfect view of his firm forearms and chiseled triceps.