I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. It’s perfectly understandable if I hallucinate my bodyguard having feelings for me. I mean isn’t that what made up most of the movies in the 1990s? If Whitney Houston can do it, I can too. Right?
“Go, hang out, have a good time,” Hudson says exaggerating shooing me away while not taking his eyes of the front of the window.
Anyone else, I’d trust him, but knowing Hudson what he’s saying is, “Please get this over with so we can go back and I can lock you away as soon as possible.” Again, I’m choosing to pretend it’s an endearment.
Nevertheless, I eventually leave his side and take up a place on a big fluffy orange couch.
Marissa wastes no time before she leans in and whispers. “He’s a bit over the top, huh?”
“You have no idea,” I reply shaking my head.
Her eyes light up and grow four sizes, and that’s when I figure out I’ve said something wrong. Or in reality I said something fine but Marissa’s twisting it to so much more.
“You’ve done it then?” She poses is it as a question, but it’s much more of a statement. They say every circle of friends has one person who is willing to tell it like it is and ask difficult questions. In our group that would be Marissa.
After I pick my mouth up from the floor, I shake my head in the negative. “Noooooo.” I turn back and check out Hudson to make sure he hasn’t heard what she asked, but his back is turned, his eyes out the front window, vigilant.
Marissa leans back, giving her a better view to study me and my reactions to what is sure to become a multitude of questions.
“How long is he here?” Aspen asks cutting Marissa off right as her mouth opens, ready to ask a question.
I shrug. “Your brother has no idea. The guy in the hospital is doing well, but he said it’s tricky and they aren’t sure when he’ll wake up.
“Comas are tricky” are not exactly the words you want to hear when your life is waiting on someone to come out of one. Although I admit lately my mind has been worried more about what Hudson’s going to wear for the day than fixing the shooting incident. It’s probably the first sign I’m experiencing serious mental issues. I’ve been hanging out with Marissa too long.
“Are you sure you haven’t done the dance between the sheets?” Marissa asks.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say looking at the floor wondering where the hell breakfast is. Food always makes her stop asking questions. Who doesn’t love breakfast food? It’s enough to make even Marissa lose her steadfast focus — at least until she’s done eating.
“Did you see it?” Marissa says almost jumping off the couch.
Aspen nods her head. “I did see it.” Both women lean closer on the couch studying me like I’m a bug under a piece of glass.
“What?” I ask. Even though I know better.
“You flinched and looked to the floor as you answered,” Aspen says. “It’s your tell.”
“My tell for what?” My God, I spend too much time with these people. They should open up their own detective firm.
“You slept with him,” Marissa says and then leans back smiling like she knew it all along.
I roll my eyes. “I seriously haven’t.”
“Well you did something. Something that’s not quite sex but is close enough it would make you have to consider your answer.” Aspen dusts off her hands and looks to Marissa like a job well done. “Don’t hide it, Amanda. It’s okay. I have been interrogated by Marissa many a time.”
Marissa scoffs. “I don’t interrogate anyone. I apply friendly pressure to get the answers we desire.”
“Marissa,” Aspen says a little exasperated. She flicks the edge of the thick winter coat she laid on the couch beside her. “If I bought you a spotlight for Christmas, you’d be in heaven.”
Marissa nods her head, not denying it. “Spotlights are super versatile if you think about it.”
I can only hope to God this conversation is forgotten by next year and no one buys Marissa an actual spotlight. Or worse yet a detective kit. She’d keep everyone’s fingerprints on file.
Marissa’s attention settles out the front window as well, probably waiting for the food to be delivered now that she agrees she’s hounded me enough. “Don’t get excited. We’re not done here. We want the full details, but your man looks high strung right now.”
“He’s not my man,” I say… again. But then because I am worried over Hudson I peek back. He’s always a few notches more intense than everybody else in the world, but today seems a particularly high anxiety time for him. I sneak another peek over my shoulder and a glance at what he’s doing. Sure enough his foot taps at lightning speed against the floor.
I hope he hasn’t heard what we’ve been talking about over here. Could there be anything more embarrassing if Hudson heard me kiss and telling? Not wanting to give them any more fuel into Hudson, I quietly get off the couch and go back to standing beside him.
