And, oh my god, why did I say that? This obviouslyisn’this home. He’s crashing here for a few days while his life falls apart. Nothing more. It’ll probably be even less than that once he processes everything that happened tonight.
This man is a millionaire. I know with his salary, plus with all the endorsement deals he has, there is absolutely no reason he can’t get on the phone tomorrow and end up with a gorgeous new place that’s private and away from the media by the end of the day. Two days, tops.
No need for my imagination to run wild with his suggestion that it might take longer or the fact that he called us roommates. And I’m definitely ignoring the breathy way he sounded as he promised “whatever I need from him,” or that he’d be “the best I ever had.”
Nope. I am not thinking about that.
At all.
Only very innocent, completely PG thoughts happening as my dream man moves in with me.
Because, despite the fact that Hudson frequents my fantasies, and let’s be real, he is at the very top of my if-I-could-magically-make-anyone-gay-and-they’d-be-happy-about-it list, I know he does not think about me like that. He’s straight. And technically still married on top of that.
The flirting and calling me “Prince Charming” is just Hudson’s way of joking around with me. It doesn’t matter that when he does it butterflies swarm in my stomach even after all these years.
We’re coworkers, and barely even coworkers, that’s all. We work for the same team, we cross paths, and we’re friendly. I might intentionally make my path cross his more than necessary, but no one needs to know that, especially not him.
And I flirt with everyone. It’s harmless fun. It doesn’t mean anything when I do it with any of the other players. So what if Hudson has no idea I wish it could mean something when I do it with him? I’m going to ignore the crush I’ve had on this man since the day we met and chill the fuck out.
Because this is real life, not my fantasies.
I was pinching myself the entire ride home, convinced that Hudson would call me any second and say he’d changed his mind. But nope. He’s here, looking around my apartment, and it still hurts like hell when I pinch my wrist, so I think it’s actually happening.
Hudson fucking Roy is moving in with me.
And he’s single.
And I’m freaking out a completely appropriate amount about it.
“Wow, this place is awesome,” he comments, looking around as he heads further into the space.
“Down the hall we passed coming in are the two bedrooms. The bathroom in that hallway can be yours. There’s another off the kitchen, and the laundry room is small but right next to yourbathroom. That door is my office, and this is obviously the main living space,” I ramble, gesturing to the open concept kitchen, dining, and family room.
“I love it. Nothing is white,” he points out, sounding really excited about that for some reason.
“Uh, yeah, I guess I don’t love white either,” I agree, looking at the oak upper cabinets and the black stainless-steel appliances that blend in with the lower ones. The island is a gray quartz, and all my furniture is similar cool wood or dark metal with some leather mixed in. It’s modern and moody and each detail was carefully picked out by me. “I know it’s popular, but I’ve always found white to be kind of boring. I like my home to have a bit more character.”
“I think I would too, but I’ve always been pretty bad at that sort of thing. Shelby insisted on everything being white; she said it didn’t feel clean otherwise, but I hated how sterile it always seemed. I used to joke that we’d have to redecorate before we had kids since they’ll obviously be messy, but I guess that won’t be happening now…” He trails off, and his expression falls again.
I hate it.
Before tonight, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hudson without a smile on his handsome face, and how crushed he looks right now has my heart literally breaking.
Fuck Shelby and her stupid ex-supermodel perfect looks with zero personality. I’ve always hated her. It had nothing to do with being jealous either—she was always way too cold for Hudson. He lights up every room he’s in. He needs someone who can reflect his light back at him and make him just as happy as he makes everyone else, not a black hole that sucks it all in, taking and taking and never giving him anything in return.
I need to find a way to get that smile back.
“Well, I’ll be happy to help you decorate your new place however you’d like,” I promise, feeling like I’ve wonsomething when the corners of his mouth lift at the suggestion. “You could color drench everything so that there’s no white at all.”
“What’s color drench mean?”
My god, has this man never seen HGTV? Been inside of a Home Depot? I don’t expect him to own any design magazines, but still. “If you’re sick of white, you’ll love it. Come see.” I grab his hand without thinking, do my best to ignore how perfect his large, callused hand feels around mine, and quickly lead him back to the guest bedroom that will now be his room.
I throw the door open with a dramatic “ta-da.” Every wall, baseboard, crown molding, and even the ceiling, are painted the same deep blue color. My bedroom is designed similarly in a dark green.
He walks into the room and spins around. “Wait, this is really cool. Is this your room?”
“No, it’s yours.”
