“Sure. We don’t have to run today if you’re busy.”
“The errand won’t take too long.” He leaned forward and sniffed my face. “Really? Donuts?”
I slapped my hand over my mouth. “How do you know what donuts smell like? I thought you only ate egg whites and chicken breasts.”
“And broccoli,” he said. The corners of his mouth curved upward, making the dimple in his cheek appear. I was struck again by how handsome he was.
“I shaved my legs,” I told him.
His eyebrows knitted together, as if he was trying to figure out what I was saying, but he was distracted by his phone, which buzzed. He pushed some buttons, and his jaw worked as he ground his teeth. It was the first time that I had seen him less than cool and collected, and I wondered what was happening with his phone to make him so upset.
“Do you mind if we go right now?” he asked, but he was already digging in his pocket for his car keys and looking away. Quickly, I got my purse, closed up the house, and followed him out to his Camaro.
The errand was located in a seedy area of San Diego, full of squat, falling-down buildings, most of them housing filthy garages. Cars were parked everywhere in every stage of disrepair. Hudson parked in between two of the garages, in front of a small stucco building covered in graffiti except for its black door.
“Are you getting your car fixed?” I asked as he turned off the motor.
Hudson took a deep breath, as if he needed to calm himself. “No. I have a friend in need. Hopefully, it won’t take long.”
He got out of the car and walked around to open my door for me. Hudson put his hand on my back as we walked toward the building’s front door, and I could feel the tension in his body radiate through his hand. I wanted to lighten the mood, but the only joke I knew was a knock-knock about an orange and a banana that I learned in second grade, and I didn’t think Hudson would appreciate it.
His hand reached for the door handle, and he took another deep breath. He opened the door for me to enter. Inside, it was pretty dark, but it was clear that it was a bar. There were a few tables with mismatched chairs in the confined space. Behind the bar was a long mirror and rows of bottles. A quick scan of the bar told me I was the only woman and the oldest person in the place, except for the bartender, who looked like he played for ZZ Top. Four men stood when we entered. They were all built like Hudson, with lots of muscles and perfect bone structure. It was like a pecs and abs model convention.
“Surprise!” they shouted in unison and shot us with a barrage of Silly String.
“No fucking way,” Hudson breathed.
I slapped away the Silly String so I could see and try to figure out what was happening. At first, I thought this was the way I was going to die, but it became quickly apparent that they were Hudson’s friends. The four men ran at him, grabbing him and slapping his arms, shoulders, and back. “Happy birthday!” they shouted.
Hudson turned around, looked at me, and shrugged, like he was powerless to stop the force of his four friends. I wished I had known it was his birthday. I could have made him a birthday omelet or whatever hyper-fit hunks eat for their birthday. Two of Hudson’s friends forced a glass of beer down his throat, and he coughed and choked the whole thing down. “It’s not my birthday,” he said when he came up for air. “It’s not my birthday,” he repeated in my direction. “My birthday isn’t until August.”
His blond friend, who looked like he was the oldest in the group, put his arm around my shoulders. “No way could we give him a surprise party on his birthday. What kind of surprise would that be?”
“No surprise at all,” I agreed, mostly because the blond was about seven-feet-tall and a dead ringer for Conan the Barbarian. His arm must have weighed thirty pounds, and it was making my shoulders slump, as we walked to the center table where they laid out at least twenty glasses of beer.
“I’m Lance,” Conan told me. “I’m the mature one of the group.”
“Not true,” Hudson said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “He’s the geezer of the group. I’m the mature one.”
“Two years older than the rest of these hee-haws,” Lance said, holding up two fingers. “Two.”
Another friend, who was about half Lance’s size with jet-black hair, pushed Lance away from me and put his arm around my shoulder. “Who’s the chick, Hud? Is this a morning date or a leftover from last night?”
I felt myself turn red from my head to my toes. I must have looked like I had been dipped in red paint. I should have been insulted, but the idea that anyone would think that Hudson and I could be romantically involved or that he could be interested in me in any way was totally ridiculous.
Thinking about being romantically involved with Hudson, even though it was ridiculous, made me tingly all over. I flipped my hair and giggled. Being around so much young testosterone was giving me delusions that I was at the Winter Formal, surrounded by suitors. Hudson came to my rescue and lifted his friend’s arm off of my shoulder.
“Have some respect, Tony. This is Eliza Farris. Just friends, and she’s a real lady.”
Tony slapped the back of his own hand, as if he was scolding himself, and bowed to me. “Hello, Eliza. I’m Tony. Nice to meet you.”
“And I’m Peter, and this is Jeremy,” another blond friend told me. Peter was bouncing off the walls with energy, and it looked like he had gotten a head start drinking. He shoved another beer into Hudson’s hand, but he waved it off.
“I can’t,” Hudson said. “I’m driving.”
“For the love of Pete,” Peter said. “Be a man, Hud. Lady, you may not know that Hud is a man, or maybe you did and just figured that he tied down his junk.” He eyed Hudson’s crouch. “Nope. Nothing there!”
Hudson wrapped his arm around Peter’s throat, and then it was a free for all as Hudson, Peter, and Tony rolled around on the floor trying to kill each other. Jeremy and Lance didn’t seem to be concerned for their friend’s safety.
