Hudson raised his head. I took his hand and placed it on my waiting pussy, trying to entice him back. No dice. “Maybe you should check it out. Could be Girl Scouts.”
“Girl Scout cookie season isn’t for another three months,” I snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I love that you know that.”
“It’s literally more important to me than Christmas. Ugh, I donotfeel like answering the door right now. Forget them.”
My hand drifted down to the knot of his towel, which was keeping him from being fully exposed to me. He groaned and twisted out of my grip.
“Fine,I’llgo check it out.”
He planted a kiss on my forehead.
“Thanks,” I grumbled, not feeling particularly grateful.
Leaving through my half-open frosted French doors, Hudson disappeared. I dropped my head back onto the pillow and let my eyes close. By the ticking of the clock and the padding sound of his footfalls across the poured concrete floors, I could calculate his stride length, how many steps he’d taken, and both how long and how many steps it would take for him to reach the front door. The math played in my head like music from someone else’s balcony, sketching out in front of me in soft inclines and reversals of quiet intimacy.
It felt right, having him here. Using my towels. Walking across my floor.
Opening my front door.
“Oh, hello?”
“Who the hell are you?”
The quiet comfort of universal math shattered at the sound of that second voice.
I’d never moved so fast. Before Hudson even had a second to formulate a full, coherent sentence, I was on my feet, in a robe, and tearing out of my room like hell was chasing behind me.
Which, of course, was ridiculous. Hell wasn’t behind me. Hell was standing at my front door, looking between the half-naked man and their half-naked daughter with profound disappointment.
“Mom! Dad! What are you doing here?”
25
Meet the Parents…of the Girl You’re Fucking
A bitter, irrational part of me wanted to scream at Hudson.Thiswas why I didn’t talk about my parents, like he’d tried to do the day before at the mini golf park. Because they were like uber-Beetlejuices. They didn’t need to be invoked three times. If I eventhoughtabout them for too long, they appeared out of nowhere.
Carol “Carrie” Love Porter was a short, spindly woman who lived in Chico’s petites businesswear. She had an unfussy, blunt bob, which was always pinned back with two twin tortoiseshell clips. My father, Bill Porter, was a tall, generically white man with bushy eyebrows and the disposition of a disgruntled bank manager. Until I’d gotten my job at GalacticSolutions, my mother clerked for the local school board, and my father managed a small building and loan. After I’d started working for Lloyd, they both retired early, lived off my salary (hey, they’d gotten me to a half-million-dollar-a-year job by the time I was twenty-four; I owed them), and enjoyed life in quiet and comfort in a Connecticut golf course community. Once I’d been fired, they both went back to work but graciously accepted a portion of my severance and settlement package so they could do so only part time.
I loved them so much. They were my parents. But every time I saw them, I just felt like a failure. And seeing them here, now, rattled me back to square one. Why had I been trying so hard to expand my horizons again? Mom and Dad wouldnotapprove.
Standing in the entryway, neither of them looked at Hudson. Apparently, he wasn’t even worth their attention.
“Scout,” Mom said by way of greeting. “Aren’t you going to invite us in?”
“Of course! Sorry. Um, please—”
I gestured them inside, tightening my robe. Hudson took the momentary distraction to dash back to my bedroom. I knew it was so he could change, but still, I wanted to hisstraitorafter his retreating form.
“Glad to see you’re keeping this place in good shape,” my dad said, picking up Hudson’s coat, which we’d left on the couch en route to the bedroom last night.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” I said.What, a girl can’t leave a few pieces of clothing hanging around without being treated like a slovenly college mess?“I would have tidied up a little bit.”
“Don’t apologize on our account,” Mom said. “I just can’t believe you live like this. All that settlement money and you can’t get some help in to clean for you?”
“I’ll have a look. I’m sure that I can find someone.”
