Page 13 of Secret Hudson

“Oh, I didn’t realize. Well, in that case, maybe I should order you to go fuck yourself.”

Blaise takes a step closer, inching his way between us.

“I’ll be glad to, right after you tell me what the fuck you were thinking hiring me a boyfriend!” Despite my anger, myvoice remains steady. I gave up yelling a long time ago. Doesn’t make people listen anyway.

In the midst of my own emotions, I somehow miss where Ava’s do a complete one-eighty. Before I can stop her, she has both arms wrapped around me, one pressing against my shoulder blade and the other gently running through the hair on the back of my head, bringing me down close to her face and pressing my forehead to hers.

“You’re an idiot,” she whispers. “I hired him to take pictures. He just happens to like you. I don’t know why you have such a hard time grasping that concept.”

“Ava.” All of my anger dwindles down to nothing and is replaced with a new set of emotions, leaving me feeling far more uneasy and vulnerable. Vulnerable. I hate that word. Almost as much as I hate the feeling.

“Royce.” She just stares back at me, waiting. In the background I can see Blaise watching us, not even a hint of discomfort. That’s how fucking overbearing we all are with one another. He’s used to this shit. We all are.

“I just...I’m going to let this one go. I’m glad you hired him. He takes amazing pictures, and you’re right, he’ll do a great job...but please stop pushing us together. It’ll only make things uncomfortable.” I pull back and kiss her forehead, then slip out of her embrace completely.

“I know I’m right. I’m always right.” She places both hands on her hips, a clear sign that manager Ava is taking over. “Which is why you should listen to me when I tell you that Hudson working for me, has nothing to do with you.”

I nod and turn toward the door. “So, let’s keep it that way.”

I’m about to walk out when she adds, “He would have turned down the job if it did.”

“What?” I let the door fall back into place and wait for her to elaborate.

“I said, he would have turned the job down if it had anything to do with you. Apparently, everyone around here is very confused about my job description.” She makes a face. “Anyway, he likes you. Told me himself. Said he wouldn’t take the gig if it would in any way fuck up his chances to get to know you better. Hudson’s not in it to bang Finding Nolan’s bass player. He’s not some stupid groupie. He’s for real. And you like him too, so I really don’t see what the problem is.”

I drop my face into both palms, running my hands over my eyes and through my hair. “The problem is, I’m scared, okay? This isn’t like with you two.” I lift my head again and wave my finger at them both, a certain amount of disgust to go with it. “I’m not walking into something with someone I know inside and out. I’m not guaranteed unconditional love, no matter how much I fuck up. There’s no acceptance of my flaws or understanding of my fears. I’m going in blindly.”

Ava shrugs. “Yeah. But so is he.”

Touché.

I ball my fists and attack an imaginary punching bag at my waist because all of this fucking anxious energy has to go somewhere. Then, I take a deep breath and reach for the door one more time. “If this shit backfires, it’s on you two.”

Blaise throws his arms up at me. “What the fuck did I do to get roped into this?”

“It’s not what you did, it’s who you do on a regular basis.” Naturally, Ava’s only response to any of my pre-exit ramblings isto smile smugly, already assuming that she’s right about something even if none of us know exactly what that will wind up being yet.

It takes three attempts, but I finally manage to open the door to my own dressing room and walk in. Thank God, no one else was in the hall. It’s enough having to face myself after that.

“Hey, Ava said I might find you in here.” I smile, or at least, I hope that’s what I’m doing.

“Yeah. She said it was okay. Wasn’t sure where else to hang since I don’t really know the others that well yet.” Hudson repeatedly moves his hands out of his pockets and then shoves them back in. Good. So, I’m not the only one coming completely undone here. And it can’t be a star struck thing, unless it’s seriously delayed, because he was way chill this morning when he first realized who I am. God, that sounds so arrogant. Who am I? Fucking Royce, that’s all.

I nod, probably more often than necessary, on my way to the rack of clothes along the wall. If I stay in the same button-up shirt from dinner, I’ll be melting underneath the stage lights in no time. “Totally fine. Feel free to hang in my dressing room anytime.” I pause, replaying the statement in my mind. Was it inappropriate? Suggestive? Weird?

“Thanks. I’ll definitely be taking you up on that offer. You know, since I guess I’m going to be around for a while.” He laughs softly. “Tell you the truth, I still can’t believe Ava offered me a job. This whole fucking day, man...I couldn’t have dreamt this shit up if I’d tried.”

I pull a Tom Waits t-shirt from its hanger. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Then I hear the words as I say them. So does Hudson.

“You do?” He chuckles. “What was so out of the ordinary about your day?”

Fuck it. I turn around to face him and spit it out before I can swallow the words back down and my balls along with them. “Meeting you.” Then, to keep from having to face him, I skip unbuttoning the front of my dress shirt and simply peel the whole thing up over my head, temporarily taking refuge in my cotton enclosure.

HUDSON

Fuck, it suddenly got hot in here. Thank the Rock Gods Royce can’t see me, because I am definitely enjoying seeing him. His torso isn’t just a mass of lean muscles, but it’s entirely covered in tattoos. I knew this already, of course, but damn, in person is so much better than on the cover of Rolling Stone. Mostly because here, there aren’t any big breasted lingerie models posed with their hands all over his tight, toned abs. For a moment, I almost consider reaching out and having a feel for myself, but then his shirt comes all the way off and I can see his face again. More importantly, he can see me.

I clear my throat, trying to remember the last thing he said. “What could possibly make meeting me so significant? I mean, I know I make a fantastic cup of coffee.” I’m fishing for a fucking compliment. I don’t care. I want one. Need it. Something, anything to let me know what I’m experiencing is beingreciprocated, and that it’s more than just a hook up with some random groupie for him. I’m no goddamned groupie.

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