Not that I could blame him. I wanted that, too.
Soon we rejoined our group. After loading up on breakfast Panda Express and Auntie Anne’s pretzels (hey, it’s an airport, the concept of “temporally appropriate food” does not exist), we all boarded our flight.
I sat a row behind Hudson, on the opposite side of the plane. From my place, I watched him settle in. Once he was…
Mile High Club?I texted.
His shoulders shook with laughter. He typed; then his response pinged through.
We literally did it in the strip club like two weeks ago. Maybe we should pace ourselves with the semi-public sex.
I typed my reply through a pout.Spoilsport.
Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get plenty of attention in New York. Share a room with me?
Wouldn’t have it any other way.
We took off moments later. And as the hum of the plane’s engines sang me to sleep, a saccharine-sweet tang coated my tongue, sharper than the ice-cold Diet Coke served to me by Delta’s finest.
There it was. That hope. I was feeling hope, not forcing it this time.
I was going to New York with my friends. My future looked bright. The industry would see me as a force to be reckoned with. And Hudsonwouldfinally tell me how he felt.
Nothing could go wrong.
I wouldn’t let it.
38
Giddy Up-Yours, Pal
Once we landed, the rest of the BuzzCorp crew elected to go to the hotel, explore the city, and rest up for the company dinner Clara had booked for us at “one of the hottest restaurants in Soho.”
I, on the other hand, had volunteered to check our team in, confirm that Terrence had transported the last of our equipment to our showcase room and successfully parked the rental truck in the Javits Center parking lot, and begin the process of sorting through our things and preparing for the expo.
The schedule was scrambled eggs, basically. All mixed up in a confusing hodgepodge of networking and interfacing and glad-handing and presenting. But we would make it work. For once, I had complete faith in my team.
Still, having Hudson tag along behind me to gawk at the opening booths and experiences wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I planned this all-day prep extravaganza. If Hudson had been overwhelmed by that pissant convention we’d been to in Cleveland, then I was surprised he didn’t pass out the minute he walked through the doors of the Javits Center.
It was too distracting, watching his eyes widen at sex swings and fucking machines and the posters for the “Be Your Own Pornstar” experience—whateverthatmeant.
And speaking of distractions, about halfway through our expo floor walk…
Lloyd Exeter appeared from nowhere, chatting with some suits near a display of electro-stim taint massagers.
“Oh Jesus,” I muttered. “Here we go.”
Obviously I knew that he would be here this weekend. But in a crowd of thousands, I’d hoped to avoid him. Small parts of me even hoped that he might have some sense of shame and go out of his way to avoid me.
Nope!
Not only did he spot me, but he diverted straight toward me.
No sense in running. That would only make the humiliation worse. I stood my ground and waited as he approached, suits peeling off until only he andJared Fucking Blotcherremained.
I tried to swallow my surprise.
“Well, look who we have here,” Jared crooned by way of greeting. “The competition.”
