Page 2 of Secret Hudson

“Well aren’t we feeling a little big for our ego britches today? It’ll be fine, Royce. If it comes down to it, I’ll shield you with my very body. And I’m stinky and gross, so it will actually be effective in blocking any horny bitches tempted to throw themselves at you.” She grabs my hand and drags me through the lobby, out the front doors.

It’s gorgeous outside. Perfect weather for walking actually. I’m not about to say that out loud though.

“So, how come you were up so early?” She’s strolling right along, like she knows exactly where she’s headed. Which is funny, because the store is in the opposite direction. But we’re relaxed and I’m enjoying my moment of total normalcy, so I keep my mouth shut about it and keep walking.

“Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about Garrett.” We broke up three months ago, but then I saw his face pop up on TMZ last night, standing next to some grey-haired George Clooney type, minus the womanizing obviously, and all I could think about was why every one of my exes always seems to move on to happy ever after within months, sometimes only weeks, of dumping me. What am I? The lucky gay boy? Kiss me once and find your soul mate? It’s fucking bullshit. Even if it is a completely irrational line of thinking.

“Garrett’s a dick and you’re better off without him. Plus, if he’s into fucking grandpa, you should take being rejected as a compliment. Just saying.” Ava’s version of glass half full always comes complete with sexual jokes and the f-bomb. It’s one of my favorite things about her.

“Hey, wait a minute. I think we went the wrong way.” She stands at the intersection looking really confused. “I swear, last night there was a store here. We passed it on the way back from the stadium.”

I point back to where we just came from. “Stadium’s that way. So is the store.”

She presses her lips together tightly, a clear sign she’s holding back a slew of insults. “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”

“I dunno. Was kinda getting into your little morning walk idea.”

She pulls at my hand and starts marching. This time in the right direction. “Come on.”

We barely make it past the hotel again when, despite our pre-emptive measures, we collide with the friendly neighborhood paparazzi and our peaceful stroll turns into a manic race.

“What happened to shielding me with your sweaty, stinky body, Ava?” I’m already out of breath from running less than a block. Apparently, I seriously need to add some cardio to my workouts. An undeniable flaw in my gym routine since Ava, the runner, left me in her dust the second the papz started shouting nonsense about her and I hooking up, and whether or not Blaise knows about it. There are so many ridiculous things wrong with their theories, I’m tempted to turn around and setthem straight. Plus, it would give me a solid out on why I never caught up to Ava. And I’m definitely never catching up to her.

“That was against women! When it comes to the life sucking photogs, you’re on your own!” she screams back. Or at least I assume it was a scream. I’m so far behind her, it’s more like a faint whisper in my ear.

Next thing I know, I briefly look down at my own feet to avoid a near stumble, only to find she’s completely out of sight when I bring my eyes back up. Isn’t until I spot the stand holding the ‘we are open – caffeine awaits’ sign still shaking from her zooming by, that I realize where she’s gone. Even in a crisis, that girl never passes up a cup of joe.

With the camera wielding vamps still hot on my trail, I know there’s no way they’ll miss seeing me follow her inside, but since there’s nowhere else for me to go, I really don’t have much of a choice. So, I make a mad dash for the door and take solace in knowing that at least they won’t be able to get in. Even if that means we’re never going to get back out either.

There’s a jingle of wind chimes and the heavy door slamming shut behind me, announces my arrival. No big surprise, Ava is already sipping something from an oversized mug while chatting up whoever is behind the counter. I can’t make out who it is because the place is so fucking cluttered you can’t see much of anything beyond the tip of your nose. The only reason I even know I’m looking at Ava is because I recognize her hot pink tank top. It has Introverts Unite written on the front of it in some funky, swirly font. The one other thing I can make out, is the giant purple and green cup she has in front of her face.

“I see your coffee instincts are in top form as usual.”

“Oh my GOD, best coffee EVER!”

I walk around a huge display of papier-mâché masks I hope are more for viewing than wearing and am finally able to see Ava’s face. She looks like she’s in coffee heaven.

“You’re only saying that because you just had a near death experience. I’m sure it’s no better than say...the coffee I make you.”

Her eyes go wide as she shakes her head back and forth, very dramatically, I might add.

“No, Royce. You don’t understand. He put Nutella in it.” She whispers Nutella, like it’s a secret spell or something. Like you aren’t allowed to say it out loud or else mountains of the chocolate hazelnut spread will sprout up all over town. Although, if that were actually the case, Ava’d be shouting, not whispering. Anyway...

“Gimme. I wanna have a sip and see what this coffee crush of yours is all about.”

She snatches her cup away before I can touch it.

“No fucking way, dude. Get your own.” For one brief moment, I catch a glimpse of Gollum from the Lord of the Rings as she hunches herself over her own version of ‘my precious’.

“Alrighty then. Dial back the crazy, Ava. I’m sure it’s not the last cup you’ll ever have.” I turn around and finally find myself standing face to face with the java magician. And he is fucking hot.

HUDSON

Helllllllooooo Royce Lemmi. I was already fairly certain the chick who stormed in here was Ava Jennison, famous forthe musician she’s banging, but seeing Royce Lemmi wander in after her, there’s no denying I am in the company of Finding Nolan fine-ness.

“Nutella latte for you as well?” I have to force myself to stop wiping the counter. I’ve been re-wiping the same spot for at least three minutes. Whatever dirt was there, is either gone for good or here to stay, and continuing to swish my towel back and forth will only make me look like an idiot. I don’t want to look like an idiot. I want to look good.

Maybe I will never be more than the random guy who made Royce Lemmi his coffee once, but I’m going to do everything within my power to be sexiest damn barista he’s ever encountered.

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