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16

Hudson

The elevator doors slide open, and I step into the lobby of the local TV studio I’ve been summoned to.

I rake a hand through my still damp hair. Great first impression, Hudson.

You are totally nailing it. Nothing screams professionalism like looking like you just took a dive in a pool.

It would have been smarter to have showered earlier, but apparently, I’m destined to never be on time.

Case in point: this morning.

I was halfway through my breakfast, mid-bite of my bagel, to be exact, when it hit me. My interview wasn’t at ten a.m., it was at nine.

Who schedules an interview at nine in the morning? Psychopaths, that’s who.

First of all, whoever scheduled the interview at such an ungodly hour should be arrested.

Second, again . . . Actually, there is no second. Who schedules an interview this early? The sheer cruelty of this crime speaks for itself.

I barely had time to drink coffee.

So, yeah, my hair is wet, but at least I’m here. Maybe thirty minutes late, but better late than never. Time is subjective, anyway, right? Einstein said so.

It’s just a small slipup. No big deal.

Except for the fact that Molly Sinclair is going to be here. Fabulous.

Now, I’ll never live it down. It makes sense, though, since her being here is probably why I’m late.

Her being my hex and all.

When she’s around, bad things happen. Like my alarm not going off or my sense of time deciding to take a vacation. All her fault.

I round the corner and head toward the waiting area.

Sure enough, there she is.

She stands at the far wall, back leaning against it. Phone clenched in her hand.

It’s really a shame she hates me because that night in the run-down gas station will forever go down as the best sex I’ve ever had. Not that I’d ever tell her that. She’d probably laugh, tell me to keep dreaming, and then bring it up in every argument for the rest of eternity.

She looks good today too. Oh, who am I kidding? She looks good every day. It would be nice if she could tone it down a little bit for my sanity. As is, I’d be willing to put all the fucked-up shit aside just to feel her come on my dick again.

For a brief second, I allow myself to take her in. Her long brown hair sweeps past her shoulders in bouncy waves, and her soft features are highlighted by a touch of makeup.

A natural beauty.

The kind that makes me forget that she hates my guts until she opens her mouth, and I have no choice but to remember.

It’s like the world is out to get me because she chooses this exact minute—when I’m practically undressing her with my eyes—to look up and catch me.

Her jaw locks, and she narrows her eyes. “What?” she mouths.

Great, I’m busted. Fan-fucking-tastic. Can’t wait to hear what she has to say.

Guess we know how Molly’s mood is today.

Ironically, I’ve watched when she hasn’t seen me watching, and she’s practically the life of the party.

Always smiling. Always laughing. It’s infuriating.

But when she’s near me? Nope. It’s Hate on Hudson Day.

“Nothing.”

She fixes her gaze on me with a glare so icy it could create a larger rink.

“You know, I did you a favor again.”

“How do you figure?” Because clearly, I’ve missed this riveting tale of martyrdom.

“Who do you think took your spot when you decided yet again to be late?”

“If you remember correctly, it hasn’t always been my fault I’ve been late.”

“Whatever.”

“Can’t you just say . . . morning, and then I’d say the same?” I smile broadly, and she practically snarls back. “I can tell you missed me on your trip.”

“I didn’t. I enjoyed Europe immensely. I did miss Cassidy, but you? Nope.”

“Harsh.” I look around the room, then lift my wrist to check the time.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are we keeping you? More pressing plans? ’Cause the way I see it, Dane saved your ass by coming in early.”

“It’s not the end of the world. Dane was already here, right?”

“You screwed my schedule. It’s hard enough getting Dane to work after he sent me away all summer. He’s extra grumpy these days, probably because of the new intern, Josie, poor girl, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is—”

“Oh, is there a point? I thought you were just rambling.” This earns me “the look.”

If looks could kill, I’d be dead.

“There’s a point.”

“And that is . . . ?”

She throws her hands in the air. “I forget.”

“Maybe Josie. Have you met her? She’s ho—”

“Don’t even go there. I don’t want to sic human resources on you. Actually . . .”

“I missed you when you were on your Euro tour. I can already tell this season’s going to be fun.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Again, have you seen the new girl?”

“Hudson.”

“Relax, Hex, not for me. But something tells me she might be right up your brother’s alley. I might talk to Coach and see if you could work for me, so Josie can help Dane a little longer.” I wink. “If you know what I mean.”

Molly’s jaw locks. Her mouth opens and shuts, and it makes me grin.

I walk closer to her, leaning down slightly so only she can hear me. “You know, it’s kind of refreshing. For once, you’re the one who looks a little . . . what’s the word? Incompetent.”

Her eyes flash, a mix of fury and something else—something more dangerous. Possibly murder, but we’ll see.

“Screw you, Hudson.”

“Any day, Hex. Just name the time and the place. I’d love a redo.”

Her cheeks flush, and she takes a step back, her composure snapping back into place like a shield.

“You are not worth it.” Her ice-cold voice stabs me in the chest. I watch as she goes. I won this round, yet it feels bittersweet.

Even though I’ve provoked her, I don’t enjoy hurting her. It’s just better than the alternative. That’s dangerous territory because I’m already in too deep.