Page 17 of What About Us
I nod and squeeze his arm, before taking the plate he holds out to me. “Good. I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t realize how much it sucks coming home to an empty house, until I came in and saw you standing there.”
He looks down at me, his eyes softening a bit. “Yeah?”
Something in his expression seems almost sad, but it’s gone before I can read into it further. “Yep.”
He huffs out a breath through his nose. “Well, good, because I’ve been looking for a place for Paige and me all afternoon, and there isn’t shit available. We’ll probably be living with you until she goes off to fucking college.”
There’s the reason for the look, then.
He tugs on the back of his neck, and I nudge him. “I told you that you guys can stay as long as you need to. So, stop worrying.” I turn back to the grill and begin filling the plate with the hot dogs.
“Thanks, Jameson.” He sighs and turns to go inside.
“Nice truck, by the way,” I say, following behind him. “That thing’s a beast. You compensating for something, Huddy?”
A crooked smile tips up his lips and his eyes crinkle at the corners when he chuckles. “Funny, smartass. It was probably overkill, but for the price, I couldn’t pass it up. I got the guy to knock off six grand.” He grabs a package of buns and condiments from the fridge, while I grab plates.
I lean forward, propping my forearms on the countertop with a snicker. “Who’d you have to blow for that?”
He opens the baby dill pickles, then fishes one out with his fingers. “Finance guy. But he blew me.” He pops the inch-long pickle into his mouth, and works it with his tongue, poking it into his cheek, then chews around a grin.
My cheeks heat a little, but I cover it with a joke. “Only you could ask for a discount and end up with a blow job to boot.”
He laughs and runs a hand down the front of his shirt, flashing a cocky grin. “It’s a gift.”
I roll my eyes at his ridiculousness, but it’s more to distract my eyes from tracking the movement of his hand down his body. “Well, that thing makes my car look like a Hot Wheels.”
“My dick?” he waggles his eyebrows and grins at me again.
I shoot him a look, and heat floods through me at his words. Seriously, what is with me lately? “The truck, you imbecile.”
His shoulders shake with laughter, and he turns to grab a plate, throwing a smirk over his shoulder. “Little woman, little car.”
“Bite me,” I say through a laugh, because he’s told me on more than one occasion that my trusty Volvo is probably sturdier that a Sherman tank.
I missed this. Our bullshit banter and teasing each other. Sure, we still did it with two-thousand miles separating us but having him back home is something I never thought would happen. It just makes me so damn happy.
“Discount blow jobs aside, I wanna go for a run after dinner. Can you keep Paige occupied for an hour or so? It’s cool if not,” he asks before crossing the living room to the stairs to call Paige down for dinner.
I give him a nod. “Sure.”
I know Hudson, and asking for help has never been something he’s comfortable with. We’re a lot alike in that way. Things haven’t been easy since Tristen left, but he always finds a way to make it work. He’s resilient in a way I really admire.
He turns to the sink and hoists Paige up by the underarms, settling her in his bent knee to help her wash her hands. She giggles as he flicks a bit of water on her face, and then kisses her temple before sitting her down and handing her a dish towel to dry her hands.
I dish up the macaroni and cheese, while Hudson helps Paige with her hot dog. She squeezes out more ketchup than should be legal. “Hey, Paige?”
She giggles as her dad makes the ketchup bottle fart. “Yeah?”
Hudson squeezes the bottle over and over, purposely making her laugh some more. He’s so good with her.
Making my way to the four-seater square table with plate in hand, I ask, “You wanna redo your nails tonight, while your dad goes for a run?”
“Yes!” she exclaims, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her head nearly takes out Hudson’s chin as he’s leaned over, grabbing a napkin. “Do you have sparkly purple?” She scoops up her plate and rounds the island, hermac and cheese sliding precariously close to the edge before she sits across from me. “I think mine is all still packed up. Right, daddy?”
Hudson nods from the other side of the island, his mouth already full of food. He picks up his plate with one hand and his beer in the other.
“Absolutely, I do. It’s the best color,” I say around a bite of my hot dog.
