Page 57 of Last Boy

I’ll call my boss later tonight to explain that I need the rest of the week off. I know he’ll understand if I say I have family matters to attend to.

Picking up the room phone, I hit the button for the restaurant and order myself some Belgian waffles and a coffee. As if my stomach can hear my voice, it rumbles embarrassingly loud, likely reminding me it’s time to eat. I consider ordering two plates of waffles but decide that’d be a bit much and stick to one.

Twenty minutes later, I hear a knock at the door, and when I rush over to open it, I see a large, tattooed man grabbing the cart from another man dressed in a chef’s coat.

“I’ll be taking this to Miss Wilson,” the tattooed man says.

I should say, the hot, tall, tattooed man.

The server looks incredibly confused, and I’m internally telling myself I failed my first test because I didn’t do the one thing Walker wanted me to do. Check the damn peephole to make sure it’s Hudson before opening. All I was thinking about was waffles and coffee, and I threw that bitch open without so much as wondering about who was on the other side of it.

Oh well. If he asks, I’ll lie and say I checked first. He’ll never know.

Giving the server a nod, I smile. “It’s okay. You can go.”

He holds my gaze awkwardly for a moment, and suddenly, Hudson reaches into his pocket, grabs some cash, and hands it to him. Graciously, he takes it.

“Thank you, sir,” he says and quickly leaves.

My entire neck and face burn with shame. Of course you’re supposed to tip them when they drop food off, you dumbass.

I want to crawl into a hole and hide. But how the hell am I supposed to know this type of shit? The fanciest place I’ve ever been is the Olive Garden. And that was because Ryann insisted we take Lana there for her birthday.

Holding the door open, I look Hudson up and down. And then it hits me. I’ve seen him before when I had to use Ryann’s car and pick her up from work. He works at the strip club. Ryann’s always saying that all the girls who work there have the biggest crush on him. And even though he does nothing for me because of my stupid, Walker-obsessed brain…this guy is hot.

He pushes the cart into my room, and I follow him, shifting uncomfortably on my feet.

“Does Ryann know where you are?” his deep voice asks, pulling the cover from my waffles and carrying it to the table, along with my coffee.

He recognizes me. I didn’t know if he would because our interaction was so short.

Grabbing a few napkins, I head to the table. “No. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Hey, not my business to tell.” He steps back before heading toward the door. Every step he takes screams swagger. “Oh, and, Poppy?”

“Yeah?” I mutter, taking a seat as my mouth waters when the sweet scent of waffles, strawberries, and whipped cream hits my nostrils.

“Next time, check the damn peephole before yanking the door open.” He looks back at me. “Yeah?”

Rolling my eyes, I blow out a sigh. “Yeah…okay.”

“Thanks,” he says, making a clicking noise with his tongue. “If you need anything, Walker added my number to your phone. Don’t come in the hallway. Just call.”

“Okay, okay,” I whisper. “So dramatic he is.”

“Well, I mean…his girl got the shit beaten out of her by two thugs less than forty-eight hours ago. Dude’s got a reason to be dramatic,” he deadpans.

And then he’s gone.

Leaving me to ponder two words he said.

His girl.

He thinks I’m Walker’s girl.

And I could have corrected him, but I didn’t. Because maybe…I liked being called that.

Walker

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