Until I tried to kiss him. Tried to tell him that he meant more to me than just a friend. That the feelings I had for him terrified and exhilarated and confused me.
He shut me down. Sure, he said it with a grin. And yeah, I laughed it off to cover my embarrassment. But ooh, the memory sears.
We graduated the next day. Hudson took off for summer camps and then the University of Michigan to play hockey. According to my social media investigating, he started dating a beautiful redhead with glittering green eyes who looks absolutely nothing like me.
I moved across the country. And life happened.
I haven’t seen him in years and looking at him now, with my heart in my throat and his gaze penetrating the winter coat I’m wrapped in, I was right to stay away. A snowball plops at my feet, just short of my boots.
Hudson snickers. “Almost got ya, Pipe,” he calls out, walking closer.
I lean down, pack a snowball, and launch it at him. He ducks, grins, blows me a fucking kiss.
And my frustration spikes. My hurt from so many years ago morphs into annoyance. I let out an exhale and settle into the feelings coursing through me.
Irritation. Disappointment. Exasperation.
They’re safer. I can control them.
Yeah, I can think of Hudson as the immature and annoying guy that never grew up.
“Merry Christmas.” Hudson stops in front of me and tugs my hat down over my eyes.
I swat his hand away and push the beanie up on my forehead. I narrow my eyes at him.
His grin falls at my expression, and he holds up a hand, as if he meant no offense.
But I don’t trust his gesture. I can’t.
As far as I’m concerned, he always aims to irritate.
“It’s good to see you,” he tries again.
“You too,” I reply, coolly. Ugh, why can’t I just be normal? Friendly.
Flirty, interesting, and fun? All things I’ve correctly been accused of lacking. As Hudson’s gaze turns curious, even thoughtful, my defenses snap into place.
My chest pulls tight and my stomach churns with nerves.
Not much has changed since he shut me down.
I pull in a deep breath. I didn’t expect those old memories to still smart.
“How long are you in town for?” Hudson asks.
“Through the weekend,” I reply. I tip my head toward his house. “Still living here?”
I know he plays for the Ottawa Huskies now. Mom told me he was traded two years ago, and I felt a flare of pride. My former best friend always wanted to play in the NHL, especially for his hometown and favorite team. Mom also told me he’s here all the time.
And I can see that too.
Hudson Page likes to keep his life uncomplicated. I’m sure Sandra cooks for him and does his laundry. He probably spends his evenings playing cards with Steve. And his late nights dating, hitting restaurants and clubs downtown, with the multitude of women who effortlessly throw themselves at him.
I mean, come on? Look at him. Plus, he’s a hockey player in a town that reveres hockey the way other locales prescribe to a religion.
Hudson narrows his eyes and dips his chin. “Yep.”
I roll my lips together.
