No matter. Hudson won’t care, and if he does, he should probably go be with a different person. Except he insisted. I might as well show him how I really live. That’ll be enough to scare him away. I’m sure of that.
The second I step out into my main room; I catch my breath at the sight of Hudson Adler in my apartment. He’s sitting on the sofa, leaning back, one arm draped across the back while his other hand holds the remote. Hudson Adler looking so cozy seems like an ordinary thing, except it isn’t because the man is simply spectacular. He’s not so bad to talk to either. I should feel nervous, but for some reason, I don’t.
Clearing my throat, I approach him. “So, what do you want to order?”
Hudson extends his hand toward me like wants me to take it. I do. Squeezing my fingers gently, he tugs a little. “Come and sit.”
I should be a good hostess and get him something to drink. Water. It’s all I’ve got. Instead, I walk around the couch and sit, still holding his hand.
“Don’t be angry but I already ordered.”
“I’m not angry.” I’m not. “As long as you ordered my favorite pizza.”
“I did. Plus, I ordered a few other items from the menu that sounded good. They said it’d be thirty to forty minutes.”
“Can I get you a drink? I’ve got water and… water.”
“I’m good for now.” Hudson hands me the remote. “I didn’t know where to find your British mysteries.”
“They’re all on DVD.”
He looks shocked. “Don’t you stream movies?”
“Those services cost money. I already own the DVDs.” They were my dad’s. He and I used to watch them repeatedly. Sometimes, he’d find one at the secondhand bookstore we hadn’t seen before, and we’d challenge each other to figure out who’d done it before the other. He always won.
“If you’ve got a computer, I’ve got several subscriptions.”
I look him in the eye. “This is what I do. I watch my DVDs. If you’d prefer to go home and watch––“
“Nope.” Hudson shakes his head. “We’re doing this your way. When we spend an evening relaxing at my place, we’ll stream.”
At his place? No one said anything about going to his place. “We’ll see.”
Hudson leans closer. “We’ll see?” He’s smiling, and it does something to me. “Which part will ‘we see’ about? Going to my place or watching Netflix?”
Lifting my head in defiance, I answer with “Both.”
“Hm.” He rubs his chin. “A challenge.” Chuckling, he reaches out and taps my nose. “Accepted.”
Ignoring his blatant and aggravating confidence, I’m up and on my way to my bookshelf where I house my DVDs and books. “What are you in the mood for?” I ask, picking up a few of my favorites. Except Hudson doesn’t answer. Looking back over my shoulder, his smile is gone, and his gaze is intense. “What?”
“Nothing.” His smile is back. “What are we watching?”
“This one.” I hold up an old Agatha Christie episode. I remember neither one of us, Dad or me, could figure it out. I’ll be interested to see if a) Hudson makes it through the entire thing or b) if he does stick around, if he can figure it out. “It’s an Agatha Christie mystery.”
“I think I’ve seen one or two of those. What’s it called?”
“Sleeping Murder.” With the movie ready, I press play, and the music fills my apartment with memories. And a bit of comfort as well.
Sitting next to Hudson, I feel his hand on my shoulder as he says, “Scootch closer.”
I do. Close enough for our thighs to touch. His arm slides over my shoulder, and his hand wraps around my upper arm. “See?” he asks softly. “Isn’t this nice?”
It is.
Too nice.
* * *
