Page 8 of Pieces

“It’s the only acceptable milkshake flavor,” I reply with a smile.

He leans back against the booth, one hand running through his hair and he looks so fucking sexy. “Jesus, you’re perfect.”

I snort, a ridiculous sound that loves to come out and taunt me when I’m embarrassed.

“That everything?” the waitress breaks the moment before I can protest that I’m far from perfect.

We both nod, and she scurries away.

Hudson leans forward again, forearms resting on the table, his warm hand impossibly close to mine. His fingers inch closer, deliberate but unassuming, tracing slow, idle patterns on the wood near my wrist. My skin feels like it’s tingling, waiting for him to close that tiny gap and touch me, every nerve attuned to his nearness.

“So,” he says, voice low and rich, “what’s your favorite song from tonight?”

I swallow, trying to tamp down the sensation ricocheting around my body like a firework show. Somehow, I manage to speak. “‘Risk’ is a fave of mine. I also really like ‘I Know It, I Know You’… Oh, and ‘Good Luck Charlie.’ What about you? What’s your favorite?”

“I like those too. Honestly, there isn’t a song I don’t like,” he says with a crooked smile, “and I really did mean it when I told you ‘I Love You, I’m Sorry’is a fave too. That one gets me every time.”

I nod along, latching onto the safe topic of the music, even though my brain is already halfway melted. “Loved that one live tonight. The energy was insane.” All amplified by the fact he was standing so close to me.

“It was.” His fingers brush against mine now, sending a spark straight up my arm, and it takes everything I have not to react. He doesn’t pull away, and I don’t want him to.

The waitress returns, setting our milkshakes on the table with a quick smile. “Pancakes will be right out.”

Hudson removes his hand from mine, his fingers now idly tracing the straw, and my skin protests at the lack of contact. “So Daphne, tell me something about you.”

I take a sip of my drink. “What do you want to know?”

“I’ll listen to anything you want to tell me.”

My stomach flutters at that, and I hum, tapping my finger against the side of my glass, trying to pretend I’m not completely affected by him. “Okay, how about I tell you two truths and one lie?”

He grins, gaze set on mine. “Sounds good to me.”

I take a second to think and make sure I clear my throat before I speak. “I’ve broken my arm twice. I’m a twin. I hate mint-flavored food.”

His hazel eyes assess me in a way that makes me feel as though I’m being undressed. It’s intoxicating the way he looks at me, like I’m the only one in the room. “I believe that you hate mint-flavored food, because just from your order tonight, I think you have a super sweet tooth. So that’s one truth…”

Hudson tilts his head, his grin softening into something more thoughtful as he continues to study me. I like the weight of his stare. “You said you’re a twin?” His eyes narrow slightly, curiosity sparking. “I feel like that’s true, but also...could be a bluff. So, I’m guessing the lie is...you’ve broken your arm twice.”

I raise an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward, my elbow on the table. “Confident, aren’t you?”

He shrugs, then his fingers resume their slow, lazy movement on his straw. “Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re right. I’ve actually broken my arm three times, not twice.”

He winces. “Ouch, I think I need to cover you in bubble wrap when we leave here.”

A warmth blankets me as I giggle at the idea. It sounds ridiculous, but not when he suggests it. “I mean, all of them were my brother’s idea. I was just dumb enough to go along with him.”

He pauses for a second. “Are you two close?”

Smiling, I nod. “He’s my best friend.” I lean in, lowering my voice, and he moves in too, resting his arms on the table. I get a subtle hint of sweet chocolate and his cologne. “Just don’t tell Liv; she gets super territorial of me.”

“My lips are sealed,” he whispers, and his eyes flick down, locking onto my mouth. It’s subtle but unmistakable. My breath catches, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of every move I make, the way my lips press together, the way his gaze darkens. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in closer, so close, I can see the faint flecks of gold in his eyes, can feel the heat radiating off him. His arm shifts on the table, bringing him just a fraction nearer, and I want nothing more than to press my lips to his. This isn’t me. I’m not usually the girl who does things like this, but tonight, with Hudson’s eyes on mine, I want to be a little reckless, to stoke the fire building in my belly. Just this once, I want to let go.

And then our pancakes arrive, and the moment is gone.

Damn it.

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