Page 21 of Force a Date

Hudson might think I’m some silly girl who likes to throw myself around in weird situations—I kinda did on this one—but I had to grow up fast when I got pregnant my senior year. I try to be a good mom. I’m attempting to get my degree in culinary arts, make something of myself, and own a food truck.

Sure, this wasn’t an ideal situation and I should’ve told my mother to take a long walk off a short pier, but I’m not looking for the additional stress.

And I sure as heck don’t need to move back home because Hudson is going to fire my ass by the end of the weekend if everyone doesn’t chill.

“You could have beat him with a tire iron,” Hudson mutters. “Then buried him out there if we’re going into the middle of BFE.”

“Creative…but messy.”

“Would’ve gotten the job done.”

“I’d rather not spend my energy on that piece of shit.”

“But you’d use it on driving me crazy.”

I tsk. “Right. Because it’s the first thing I think of after a full night’s rest of beauty sleep. How can I bother Hudson today? You act as though I do it on purpose.”

“Don’t you?”

“Nope.” I pop the p for extra emphasis because ole boy over here needs to know that my work life doesn’t really revolve around him.

Yes, he’s hot as shit, but I don’t eye-fuck him every time he walks in the room.

Only sometimes.

“Oh, good,” he groans out dramatically. “Then it just comes naturally to you.”

Where is a semitruck?

“Yup.”

Hudson sighs and I let him have that if he lets me have silence. I’d rather deal with that than his next question. “You sure your dad doesn’t carry a gun on him? When he finds out my age, he might want to use one.”

I blow out an exhale through my lips because, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was nervous. “Do you plan on committing a felony or something?”

He glances over at me. “Is that a tattoo joke?”

“Noooo…” I drag out. “For someone who hates my mentioning his age, you seem so concerned about it. How old are you, anyway?”

“Forty-one.”

“Really?” It’s amazing how I can feel that heated glower when I’m not even looking at it. “That’s not old.”

“It is when you’re eighteen. I remember thinking my parents were ancient.”

I bore daggers at the poor, innocent road. “You know damn well I’m not eighteen.”

“Might need to recheck that ID you gave me when I hired you.”

“Surprised that you’d be able to find it in that shithole you call a…”

Me and my big mouth again.

Seriously, my mom might be onto something. It’s big, and it seems to really have a lot of energy these days.

“Care to finish that statement?” I shake my head and push my lips out to keep them from moving. “You’re not on the clock.”

“You think I’m that stupid to fall for that?”

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