We’d never dated, not for Corinne’s lack of trying to corner me at events. My parents would like nothing more than a marriage within their social circle. It isn’t happening.
“Well, at least you’re coming,” my father says begrudgingly. “I’ll let your mother know.”
The bride knows I am coming, has known for months, but I’d let my parents wonder because then they couldn’t attempt to make plans for the weekend that includes me and someone else… like Corinne. And now that I am bringing a date, they won’t even try. At least I don’t need to worry about how my parents will treat my guest. They believe in good manners and appearances, and they’ll treat Brianne with respect.
“I’ll see you soon. Bye, Dad.” I disconnect the call just as I turn onto the street leading to my apartment.
Jesus, it has been a long day. I think about what I’ve just told my father and draw a deep breath, exhaling as I realize what I’ve done.
Now I just have to convince Bri to join me for a weekend in New York. With my family. After sharing just one kiss.
Okay, so I have my work cut out for me, but I am up for the challenge.
***
Brianne
The next morning, I struggle to get dressed and end up taking off the gauze on my hands since I’ve all but ruined the wrapping anyway. The skin is raw and painful, and I give up on a blouse with buttons and end up in a pair of black slacks and a shirt I can pull over my head. Despite my love of high heels, I’m not feeling all sexy and powerful, so I slide on a pair of ballet slippers instead.
My hands throb, and I slather on some Neosporin, but I don’t have Band-Aids large enough to cover the road rash, and by the time I am ready to leave for work, I am near tears in frustration. I’ve really done a number on myself, and it isn’t going to be easy for a couple of days.
My doorbell rings. I can’t imagine who can be here at this hour, but I go to the front door of my house and look through the side window to see Hudson with a white plastic bag in his hand.
Looking sexy in his black Miami Thunder polo shirt and tan khakis, his beard well-trimmed, I am reminded of what it feels like to have the soft hair rubbing against my skin as we kiss. I shiver, my nipples tightening beneath my bra.
“Shake it off, Brianne,” I mutter as I unlock the door and pull it open. “Hudson! What are you doing here?”
“Making a house call.”
Warmth spreads through me at his thoughtfulness. “I guess that makes me special.”
His answering grin seduces me right down to my toes, but when his gaze goes to my hands, his smile turns to a frown. “From the looks of things, you could use my help.”
I glance at my greasy palms and wince. “Yes, I could.”
He nods. “The skin was pretty chafed last night, and I figured you’d need help with a fresh wrap so it doesn’t get infected.” He lifts the bag that obviously holds medical supplies.
“Come on in.” I step back, making room for him to enter.
He brushes past me, the warm, masculine smell of his cologne putting me into a sensual haze.
“Let’s go into the kitchen,” I say, my voice a shade deeper than normal.
As he walks ahead of me, he looks around, taking in my beloved home.
“From the day I saw this place, I loved it,” he says. He’d visited recently for a family get-together.
“Me, too.” Wanting a home of my own, I bought the patio house last year.
I follow him to the kitchen, seeing the house through his eyes. Light blue walls with chair rails and molding painted in white, dark hardwood floors, and area rugs in strategic places with pops of color in various shades of blue. My favorite color. A sense of pride fills me at knowing he likes my sanctuary as much as I do, which is odd that I care what Hudson thinks.
At thirty-two years old, I’ve pretty much decided I may be on my own and not part of a couple, and I’ve created the life I want without waiting for a guy to make me feel complete. I hired a decorator because I don’t have the time to pick things out for myself, described my taste, and ended up with everything I would have chosen anyway.
Hudson places the bag on the counter near my barstools and takes out gauze, tape, and Neosporin, which I already have. His thoughtfulness touches me.
Though Braden has texted to check in, it is Hudson who is here. “Thanks for coming over. I was struggling a bit.” I’m not one to ask for help and more the type to find solutions; still, I am glad he is here.
I settle myself on a barstool, and Hudson walks around the counter and comes up beside me. “Since it looks like you did the cleanup and ointment, I’ll just wrap it for you.”
