I’m not as bad as Aspen, who walks around in enough snow gear she looks like she’s going on an Arctic expedition every time it gets below forty degrees, but I’ll admit the longer I’m in San Francisco the less I miss the white stuff. Everything is a tad bit happier when you’re not covered in frozen water.
I may be in my mid-twenties, but this is the first Christmas I didn’t spend with family. It’s sad but exciting. I’ve discovered what it’s like to be a grown-up. The tiny apartment is quiet when I open the bedroom door and walk my way to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” a male voice calls from my living room.
I scream and crush my body against the wall only to let loose a breath of air a second later.
Hudson! How the hell did I forget there was a seriously hot guy sleeping on my couch? The man in question meets me in the hallway, a gun pulled from somewhere as he scans the tiny opening looking for an intruder.
“For fuck’s sake.” I clutch my chest and try to breathe at a regular pace. “You scared the hell out of me. Where did the gun come from?”
Hudson eyes me up and down like I’m the one who went crazy even though he’s the guy with a gun drawn in my apartment. I’ve never even seen one in real life before, yet now they’re everywhere.
He shakes his head and lowers the weapon. “You forgot I was here?”
I rub some sleep from my eyes. “It’s been a trying couple of days, okay?”
“Well, Merry Christmas,” he says sounding like he’s been awake for hours and not the least bit groggy from an evening spent tossing and turning.
The refrigerator door sticks a little, so I pull hard to get it open. When I check inside for breakfast there’s nothing. I planned to buy a large pizza to sustain myself for the entire day, but after all the excitement with trying to get Hudson out of Aspen’s place before Marissa made enough sexual innuendos to send me into my own damn coma, I completely forgot the plan.
“Hmmm,” the ridiculously hot guy moans right behind me and I jump. When the hell did he get so close? He’s a ninja. A hot ninja who smells good.
I step back and bump into his hard chest. This apartment isn’t big enough for two of us. “I don’t have any food. I’m sorry.” Maybe I can starve him out so he’ll leave.
This is bonkers. I’m usually better at faking I take care of myself.
Hudson buries his head in the fridge after I step back as if he thinks magically there’s food in there for him when I couldn’t find any. “There’s milk and eggs and I saw pancake mix in the cupboard earlier. You want me to make breakfast?”
“There’s pancake mix?”
He opens the cupboard to his left and pulls out a small bottle of instant pancake mix. It has to be from either Aspen or Marissa because I didn’t put it the cupboard. And when was Hudson going through my cupboards? Is he worried they aren’t secure either?
“You’re here as my guest. I can make us breakfast,” I offer.
The face of uncertainty must be enough for him to reconsider because right before Hudson passes over the little bottle of powder, he pulls it back. “How many times have you made pancakes?”
I tap a finger to my chin thinking. I’m not sure if one time in Home Ec class counts. “Once.” It’s better than nothing. Who needs to cook when I live in the land of ten thousand food choices?
“I’ve got this one.” He grabs a bowl from another cupboard like he’s memorized the contents of my kitchen better than me.
I would put up a bigger fight, but Hudson is in my kitchen, and the truth of the matter is he’s right. I can’t cook pancakes… I can’t cook much of anything. My mother was in the kitchen but with raising three boys and me, she didn’t get time to pass those skills on when I wanted to learn. Somebody was always late to baseball or football or swim practice. I keep saying I’ll teach myself, watch a few YouTube videos or something, but it hasn’t happened. So far, the numerous episodes of Iron Chef I’ve watched haven’t magically made me into a world-renowned chef.
Rather than put up a fake fight, I sit at a stool and watch Hudson as he mixes together a bunch of ingredients in a bowl. There hasn’t been time to stare at his back until now, but it’s as heavenly as the front. With an outfit very similar to what he had on yesterday — jeans and a tight black T-shirt — I end up focusing on one set of muscles in the back of his arms as his hand stirs the gloppy mixture.
“I’m sorry you had to fly here and miss Christmas with your family because Ben believes I’m in danger.”
Hudson turns to face my direction bringing the bowl with him. “No worries. My family isn’t in in Pelican Bay. I wouldn’t see them this year.”
“Do you normally get together?”
“Sometimes. There aren’t too many of us left, so I don’t see family as regularly as I could.”
“Oh.” I tap my fingers a few times on the countertop. I’ve never been great at holding a conversation. “This is my first year not going home. My parents went on vacation someplace warm and they didn’t invite the kids.”
Hudson laughs. “Empty nest for the parents, huh?” He raises one eyebrow. “Maybe a little too much.”
“Ewww. I donotwant to think of my parents that way.” They’ve only had sex four times — once each to conceive my brothers and me. In fact, it’s possibly even less. Maybe my mother got pregnant from a toilet seat.
