“Grant bought a Victorian house so he could hook up with Clare?”
I’m silent for a second. When he says it that way….
“Yes, but it’s not what you’re thinking. Drew is strictly a friend.”
“How well do you know Drew?” he asks, dropping his duffel bag on my couch.
How well? Not as well as I thought. “Drew’s around on occasion.”
“So that’s it?” he asks when I stop talking.
I shrug. “That’s it.”
Hudson nods his head. “I’m glad the story matches my research.”
“What do you mean research? Of course, my story matches your research. Why are you researching me?”
“I always research everyone before I take a job. Good you aren’t a liar. A lot of people lie.”
“About?” Except the fact I own two guinea pigs in my pet-free apartment, I’m a genuinely honest person. Well… and the code lie. And the other thing. I’m in so much trouble.
The two of us stare at one another, me at the entrance to the kitchen and Hudson holding on to the side of the couch staring at his bag.
I’m not sure if I find his unwavering attention to detail hot or annoying.
“So what hotel are you at tonight? Do you need directions?”
He’s smirks. “It’s close.”
“Do you need to park your car here?” Sometimes the hotels charge outrageous parking rates. I could make a killing renting out my empty parking space.
“Yeah.”
“What’s the name?” I swear. I tell him my entire life story and my best friends’, and here I can’t even get his hotel name out of him. He’s a lockbox.
Hudson unzips the top of the duffle bag. “The couch.”
“Your motel is called The Couch?” I ask, the last of my sentence trailing off as his comment finally hits home.
Hudson means my couch.
Hudson is staying here.
A hot guy is going to sleep on my couch.
I set the glass of water I’d been sipping from on the kitchen counter so I don’t drop it.
There’s a guy in my house. In my space. He’ll be asleep on my couch. Holy hell. This can’t happen. I’m quite sure I dropped a chip between the couch cushions during Friday’s Netflix binge night. Okay, I can’t lie anymore. It was four chips. Fine five!
What if a hot guy is sleeping on my couch and finds a chip stuck to his back?
I turn and quickly open the refrigerator, sticking my head in for a place to hyperventilate in private.
This is not how I expected to spend my first Christmas Eve without my family.
3
Aline of sunshine drapes across my face from the open window, and I stretch before pulling back the covers. Outside the morning is foggy although sunlight still seeps past the clouds. It looks like it does every other day in San Francisco. There’s no white stuff littering the ground as you’d expect when you wake up on Christmas morning. It’s completely different from growing up in the Midwest.
