“I take it you don’t like Frankie.”
Hudson shakes his head. “She once puked up a condom on my foot.”
My eyes widen. “What? You’re kidding.” How did the dog eat a condom? Was it used? The story isn’t detailed, but it’s still disgusting. And makes me wonder who Hudson used the condom with because I’m apparently crazy. He needs to work on his storytelling skills.
“I’m not. One of the guys who works at the security firm sent a 911 text. I rushed to his apartment to learn the problem — at the time we were tracking a fairly large drug dealer on the East Coast — but rather than a big drug bust as I expected he tells me to watch his dog.”
“And…”
“And five minutes after he and his girlfriend leave, the dog pukes up a condom on my foot.” He gags.
I gag with him when I imagine the scene. Both of us making puking faces outside the beautiful flower conservatory, we must look like a pair. “That is the most disgusting story I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” I laugh and gag again picturing the event Hudson described and what his reaction would be. I’d die from horror.
“Scout’s honor, it’s every bit the truth and ever since then I haven’t been able to look at an animal without wondering what it just finished eating. It’s only been a few days. The horror is fresh in my mind. There are still nightmares.”
I laugh hard and loud, using a hand to cover my mouth and try to bring down the sound as a few people walking nearby turn in our direction. The visuals of watching big Hudson being puked on by a dog and then looking to see what it was is absolutely hilarious. I try to control the laughter, but it continues to grow. Eventually Hudson playfully pushes me on the shoulder and laughs as well.
“Doyou remember when Dick Clark used to host these things?” Hudson asks tossing more popcorn into his mouth.
I steal a few pieces from the ceramic popcorn dish nestled between us. “Yeah, but Carson Daly is cuter than the other guy.”
Hudson scoffs but there’s a smile on his face when he throws a piece of popcorn in my direction. It hits my forehead and bounces on the floor.
“The pigs can eat popcorn, right?”
I stare at him for a moment trying to decide if this question is real or not. He seemed like such a smart man the last few days we’ve spent with one another.
“Did you give the guinea pigs popcorn?” I ask with accusation in my voice.
“No,” he says, but his eyes shift to the left a little.
I can never remember if looking left or right means you’re lying.
“Hudson?”
He laughs. “I swear I didn’t, but they’d enjoy a few pieces of New Year celebration popcorn.”
I arch an eyebrow. His reasoning is suspicious, but the tiny parts go soft at his mention of the guinea pigs.
“You aren’t afraid they’ll eat your face off anymore?”
“Oh no, I’m still afraid of that.” He laughs and then tosses a few pieces of popcorn in his mouth.
I turn my attention back to the TV where Carson Daly introduces the next band to play at the New Year’s Eve rockin’ celebration in New York. It’s past midnight there, but the New York show is better than the options for the West Coast. I promised Hudson we’d switch back to a local channel for the official local countdown.
I promised we wouldn’t miss anything as awesome as the other — they barely even show it on TV — but he gave me this big lecture about posterity and how you must watch the ball drop on New Year’s Eve. They’ve replayed the New Year’s Eve ball from New York City at least three times. I’m done, but I decided to play along and keep him happy.
Hudson, in a way, reminds me of Finn. He may look hard-core on the outside, but once you get to the inside, he’s every other guy. A big kid.
Not only his good looks have me watching him out of the corner of my eye when he walks around the apartment. There’s something with Hudson that is… sweet. Not that I’d tell him to his face. He’d probably be upset and tell me he’s a bodyguard not a piece of candy. There’s no soft inner chocolate layer with him. At least that’s what I imagine he’d say. Even if he’d be wrong.
“You’re not getting together with Aspen, Marissa, or Clare tonight?” he asks.
“Don’t forget Simone.”
Hudson rolls his eyes and laughs, the motion creating tiny little lines around the edges. Not what I would call showing his age, but they make him more distinguished. While we lay on the grass in front of the flower conservatory at Golden Gate Park yesterday, we shared our past. Hudson left out lots of details regarding his time in the military, but it’s not hard to figure out he saw action as a Navy SEAL. The fact he’s able to maintain a laid-back demeanor alone is awe inspiring. I thought men come out hard and cold.
“There are so many of you ladies I can’t keep you all straight,” Hudson says pulling me out of my memories. It’s for the best. I shouldn’t get caught staring at him dreamily. I keep reminding myself that as soon as the situation is fixed, Hudson will be on his way back home. Once the gunshot victim wakes up, I’ll be safe again and won’t need a bodyguard. Since nothing has happened to me yet, I’m sure I don’t need one now. Not that I plan to tell anyone.
