I snort a laugh at his use of an old school smiley face.
Me: pretend you didn’t see me!
Me: Video chat tonight??
Hudson’s reply is immediate.
Hudson: 8pm?
Hudson: I can’t wait to see you in my bed x
Me: I might not stay the night…
Hudson: yes, you are, Giselle x
Christ, he’s even attractive over text.
My pulse pounds slightly between my legs, reminding me of the things Hudson’s dirty tongue can say, the orders he’s capable of giving out, and the filthy acts he’s laid on my skin.
I can’t help but want more, more, more of it.
More of him.
Smiling to myself like a fool, I pad through Hudson’s flat to his bedroom, dumping my shopping bags at the end of his bed.
Even though he’s been gone for a couple of days, the place still smells strongly of him – the scent of the deodorant he uses and his citrusy aftershave – embedded into his sheets.
Wandering back out into the living area, I toe off my shoes, hang my cream coat up and power on the TV for a little bit of background noise. His place is masculine, but cosy. Not my Himalayan salt lamp and twinkling fairy lights cosy, but still… His navy blue walls are broken up with photo frames of his favourite memories, the deliciously comfortable black leather sofa and glass coffee table in the middle of the room, marked with a few coffee cup rings because I don’t think it’s ever entered Hudson’s mind to purchase some coasters, scream bachelor pad, but the vase of snowdrop flowers he bought me before he left on his trip are new.
As is my smaller set of shoes sitting beside his at the door, the handbag thrown onto the kitchen counter, the fluffy robe flung across the back of the sofa from where somebody had ripped it from my body in a promise of keeping me warm with his lips.
God, how I wish Hudson was here right now so I could kiss him. So, I could tell him how much both him and his flat are beginning to feel like home.
Chapter 28
Hudson
Eyes burning from staring at a computer screen all day, I collapse onto my hotel bed with a groan.
My lower back aches from sitting in an uncomfortable, unsupportive office chair for most of the day while I filled in questionnaire after online questionnaire to prove I’d actually been listening to the health and safety instructor over the past couple of days.
Of course I’ve been bloody listening, but tests and paperwork aren’t my strong point, especially on a computer where it’s so easy for the words and numbers to get all jumbled up and pixilated, so I can only cross my fingers and hope I’ve passed.
The springs of the bed protest with a loud squeak, as I shuffle further up the lumpy mattress until I can rest my skull on the headboard, my mobile phone in hand.
What I would give right now to be back in London, in my flat, with a thermostat that goes above 16 degrees and my king-sized bed and my feather down pillows.
I don’t mean to sound ungrateful; the gym is paying for both my training course and the hotel room, but I’m a man of home comforts.
I can’t help but miss my own bed. Especially, when I know the girl I’m in love with is lounging about between my sheets.
My phone vibrates in my palm, my contact photo of Giselle lighting up the screen.
Jamming my thumb into the bright green accept button, I watch as Giselle’s face appears, her plump lips stretched wide into a smile.
That smile is worth everything.
She’sworth it.
