I tugged at my collar.
“We’re outside. Are you okay? You want me to get something delivered for you?” Hudson teased.
I tugged at my collar, again. “It’s definitely hot in here.”
We got back home, and I laid down on the couch. Hudson went to the bathroom, and then got a drink of water from the kitchen. For some reason, he started to walk around the house, checking out the emptiness or maybe making sure I wasn’t hiding Joe in a room. I turned the television on and found an episode ofHart to Hart. Hudson returned, picked up my legs, sat down on the couch, and laid my legs down on his lap.
“I love this show,” he said, leaning back and getting comfortable. “Uber rich couple who love each other and fight crime. Perfect show. How can you not like this show?”
“I like this show,” I said. “They have a nice house, and he didn’t leave her for a skinnier woman. Of course, who’s skinnier than Stephanie Powers? Maybe he looked around and couldn’t find one and that’s why he stayed with her.”
“I love how romantic you are.”
Hudson was resting his forearms and hands on my legs, sitting transfixed by the show. I was more focused on his forearms and hands on my legs. He wasn’t touching my skin because I was wearing pants. Nevertheless, I felt the weight of him, the heat of him, and it all sent a zing through me that made me want to squirm and moan. It was all I could do to lie there quietly without moving.
I felt ridiculous. I had a grown son. I was a married woman… sort of. Hudson was much younger than I was. Much younger. He was gorgeous. He only ate from the perimeter of the supermarket, nothing from the much better, boxed, bagged, and jarred interior of the supermarket. He worked out every day. At least once. We were complete opposites. We were in completely different leagues. He was in the A-List league, and I wasn’t even in a league.
He probably didn’t even realize that his arms were resting on my legs. He probably thought they were large cushions instead. He was confused because normally, if he touched a woman’s legs, they were long and thin. He didn’t even know that legs could look like mine.
So, I was being totally ridiculous. I shouldn’t have had a physical reaction to him. It was humiliating. He could never ever know what he was doing to me by casually watching old television reruns. I willed my body to shut down and pretend that Hudson was my great-aunt Fran, who was a hideous woman with a skin ailment that made her arms break out in oozing pustules.
Closing my eyes, I pictured my great-aunt’s arms on my legs instead of Hudson’s.
Nope. It didn’t work. I was still turned on.
A commercial started on television, and Hudson turned toward me, scooping my legs closer to his body so they wouldn’t fall off. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”
“Where are your Tupperwares? You always have your Tupperwares.”
“I’m behind on my food prep. C’mon, I’m hungry. You know what we can do? We could order in. Have somethingdelivered.”
I gasped, and my legs shot up off him.
“What?”
“I’m sure we can find something healthy to be delivered. We could call Joe. He could deliver for us,” Hudson said, straight-faced.”
I sat up and put my feet on the floor. I was dimly aware thatHart to Harthad returned from the commercial break. I knew that Hudson was teasing me, but I also knew I could beat him at his own game.
“Okay,” I said, brightly. “That sounds perfect. We’ll get Joe to deliver. I’ll do the ordering, though. Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese with Pop-Tarts for dessert. Pop-Tarts and Cool Whip.”
“Great,” Hudson said, shocking me. “Would you like to call Joe, or should I?”
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, held it with one hand, and poised the index finger of his other hand over it. I took his phone from him.
“Stop it,” I said.
“What? Don’t you want fried chicken?”
“No,” I insisted, and my stomach growled, betraying me. “We’re not going to call Joe.”
“Why not?”
Why not? Why not? I didn’t want Hudson to meet Joe or Joe to meet Hudson. Why not? It was complicated. So complicated that I didn’t totally understand my motivations. All I knew was that it would be awkward for me.
Hudson scooted closer to me on the couch. “Why not?” he asked, softly. He smelled good, not like a jock at all or like egg whites or even broccoli. He smelled like expensive cologne.
“I don’t want to see Joe,” I said, which was a half-truth. I wanted to see him, but not in front of Hudson.
