Flirting With Love Read online

  I slam the door shut, rattling the pictures on the walls, and let out a frustrated scream. Why am I letting Hudson get to me? I stalk my way to the window and pause. Jags is still parked in front of our house, and Hudson’s standing just outside it. His hand lingers over the open car door, like he’s contemplating whether he should close it or get back in.

  He shuts it and takes long, purposeful strides toward our front door, but then stops, hesitating. He shoves his fingers into his hair and pivots, heading back toward his Jaguar. But three more steps later, he turns back again. This time, he doesn’t stop. He continues until he disappears onto the porch. The doorbell rings, and my heart hammers in my chest.

  I’m conflicted, trapped between wanting to run to the door and ignoring it. The bell rings again. I hear feet shuffle, thumping against the loose floorboards. I strain my ears to listen in on what happens next. Half a second later, the door swings open.

  “Hi, Ms. Voss.” Hudson’s voice comes out surprised. I guess he didn’t know she was home.

  “Hudson,” Mom says curtly. I imagine her five feet, four inches of height blocking him from entering our home.

  I walk to my bedroom door and pull it open. Slowly, I make my way to the top of the stairs and bend down until I can see Mom’s back and part of Hudson’s upper body. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and his eyes are downcast.

  “How can I help?” Mom asks.

  “I was hoping to talk to Blake, Ms. Voss.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “But—”

  “Listen, Hudson. You seem like a good kid. But now really isn’t the time to push your luck with me. I know something happened between you two. And until I find out what that is, I’d appreciate it if you stayed away. For your sake, and my daughter’s.”

  Ouch. Helllooo, protective Mom.

  His eyes etch with pain, and I feel just a little bad for the way he’s getting treated. His gaze turns up, looking over Mom’s small frame, and I shuffle back as quickly as I can, hoping he hasn’t seen me eavesdropping.

  He sighs. “Okay, Ms. Voss.”

  I hear the door move.

  “But can you do me a favor?” Hudson asks.

  My breath hitches as my ears strain to hear what he’s about to say.

  “Tell her I’m sorry for whatever I did, and that I deserve an explanation before she completely shuts me out.”

  I don’t hear a response, just the door being closed.

  Before I get caught, I tippy-toe back into my room and head to the shower. I step into the tub and let the water numb my thoughts. By the time I’m out, dried and dressed for the night, I’ve not only failed to stop thinking about how I’m nothing more than friends-with-benefits to Hudson, I can’t stop thinking about him in general. His eyes. His smile. The way he plays with his keys when he’s nervous . . .

  I get under the covers, feeling more restless than I’ve felt in a very long time.

  What am I going to do?

  Abruptly, like my prayers have been answered, a knock sounds on my door. “Blake,” Mom calls quietly.

  I sit up. “Come in.”

  She gently pushes open the door and slips into my room. “Hudson was here.”

  “I know.” I look down, tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear.

  She walks closer to my bed and sits next to me. “He wants to know why you’re shutting him out.”

  “I know.” I mumble this time.

  She pats my leg. “Scoot.”

  When I do, she slips in next to me and stretches out her arm. I go to her and rest my head on her shoulder, snuggled securely under her wing. She kisses the top of my head.

  “You do know that just because your dad and I didn’t work out, doesn’t mean you can’t find love, right?”

  I don’t say anything. There have been many times I wondered, feared even, that exact thing. What if my judgment is wrong, and the guy I end up marrying turns into my father?

  “Sometimes, things happen for a reason, baby. Learn from those mistakes and know how to avoid them. But don’t fear to make your own choices. I’m not saying that you should talk to Hudson and make up with him, because I don’t know what happened between you. But if I know my daughter, I know that whatever the decision is, you’ll make the right one.”

  “What if I choose wrong?”

  She chuckles. “When you were young, you always insisted on doing things by yourself. You were up and walking by the time you were ten months. You were off your training wheels by the time you were two and a half. But all those times, you kept on trying and trying, determined to achieve your goal. You didn’t care if you hurt yourself. You knew what you wanted, and you went for it.”

  I pull away from her and look up.

  She smiles, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “What I’m saying is, all your life, you’ve known exactly what you wanted. You’ve made choices because you trusted your gut and thought with your heart. At the end, no matter how many bruises you sported, you came out okay.”

  “So I should give Hudson and me a chance?”

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  I sigh, exasperated. “What are you saying then, Mom?”

  “I’m saying to ask yourself where your heart’s guiding you. What’s your gut telling you?”

  I don’t know. I’m so confused. I don’t know what either of them are telling me. “We’re pretending to be in a relationship,” I blurt.

  Mom’s eyes widen.

  She knows that I met Hudson at Cranbrook and the debate competition, but she doesn’t know everything that happened during or after. So I give her a full rundown of the events, including tonight, but minus the kissing parts.

  “Hmm . . .” she says.

  “Hmm?” I ask. Un-fucking-believable. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  She raises her eyebrow. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know, maybe that I’m stupid for thinking Hudson really wanted to be my friend, instead of realizing he was just using me to make Hope jealous? Or . . . or . . . that he’s a turd for manipulating me into thinking he was a good guy? Or . . . or . . . hell, anything but ‘hmm’ . . .”

  Blood rushes to my ears, and I can’t understand why I’m being so pissy.

  “Okay.” She pauses until I look at her, and then smiles. “How about I ask you one question? Did you ever consider that maybe you’re falling for Hudson, and that it scares the shit out of you?”

  What? No! That’s not it. I’m not falling for him . . . am I? I think about all the times I couldn’t wait to see him, and how whenever I did, my stupid body thrummed in that unknown way. And the hundred million different times I blushed like a tomato . . .

  Oh, the horror.

  Could I be falling for him? Really? Is that what this is? Am I jealous and angry because he doesn’t feel the same way about me?

  “That’s not true,” I say finally.

  Mom smiles, again. And I hate it. “Then why did you kick him out of the house when he said you weren’t real? Why do you spend so much time with him, getting to know his brothers . . .” She lifts her finger to tell me not to speak when I try to interrupt. “Why put up with the fake relationship? It’s because you like him, Blake. You like him a lot. It might not be love. But it’s the beginning of something.”

  My head hurts. I rub my hands over my temples.

  Mom slides off my bed and stands. “Just do yourself, and him, a favor—talk to him.” She then walks toward the window, her back to me. “Because I don’t, for a second, believe that he doesn’t feel the same way you do, Blake. If that were true, he wouldn’t still be waiting outside like a lost puppy, torn between wanting to come in here and respecting my wishes.”

  He’s still here? I can’t think. Why? Why is he still out there? Nothing’s making sense. Everything hurts so bad, inside and out, and I don’t know why.

  Mom walks back to me. “Sometimes, bigger risks have the best rewards. Remember that. Tal
k to him.”

  She kisses my forehead tenderly and whispers, “Good night, baby. I love you,” before leaving me alone with my thoughts. No, not really alone. I slide off my bed and walk to the window. Sure enough, there’s Hudson, leaning against the passenger side door, looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his jaw is set as he looks up at the sky.

  He takes his phone out and types something. Maybe he’s calling Hope.

  Somewhere inside my room, my pager buzzes. Hesitantly, I leave my post at the window and search for it. When I find it, I’m stunned to see it’s a message from Hudson.

  121.

  Code for “I need to talk to you.”

  I stare at it for a few more minutes, torn. Before I can come to any conclusion, I hear tires squealing and run to the window. I watch stray smoke dispersing into the air where Jags was a few seconds ago.

  And for some reason, that makes my heart ache even more.

  I’M NOT ANNOYED, or frustrated, or pissed. I’m just confused as hell. Women! Why on earth are they so damn complicated? Can’t they just be more like men? Duke it out with fists, and then enjoy a case of beer and talk smack about cars?

  Seriously. The female populace needs to take the drama down a notch.

  I lean back, resting my elbows on the stone step by the fountain—the same one where I first met Blake. I tilt my head up and let the sun soak into my skin, hoping it will burn away the thoughts and memories of last night’s confrontation, of the way she kicked me out, shutting me out completely. I’d been trying to help, for God’s sake!

  “Who kicked you in the nutsack?” Roy—an all-around ass of a friend—says, sliding down to sit beside me against the fountain. A group of us meet here after classes end, before dispersing for our various after-school activities. It’s our “detox time.”

  “Don’t tell me your old man is whipping your ass again?” Roy scoffs. “Perfect isn’t good enough for him?”

  “I’m one hundred percent sure it’s a girl problem.” This is from Hope, who joins the ever-growing crowd around me.

  I groan.

  “Told you,” Hope says, as more of our friends join in.

  “Not today, Hope.” I glare at her, telling her silently to shut the hell up.

  She laughs. “I don’t know, Son. I really think you should talk through your feelings, like women do, instead of grunting it out like a caveman. You know, we are in the twentieth century.”

  Oh, really? That’s what women do? Sure didn’t feel like that when Blake shut the door in my face last night.

  Fucking double standards.

  “Women are nothing but manipulative,” I growl. “They say they want one thing, but then get pissed when we give them exactly what they asked for.”

  “Now you’re being a giant puss.” Hope scowls.

  “See?” I say, pointing at her. “You just asked me to talk about my feelings. And now that I am, I’m an ass?”

  She shakes her head, taking an almond from the plastic sandwich bag in her hand and popping it into her mouth. “I said puss, not ass. And maybe the problem isn’t that you’re talking about your feelings. It’s the way you express them.”

  I laugh, and the other guys around us join in. “Oh, so now there’s a particular way to express my feelings?”

  “Well, yeah. There’s the normal human way, and then there’s . . .” She waves her hand at me, as if to say, “Well, your way, duh.”

  “What about getting pissed at me for offering help, and then kicking me out of the house? Without a fucking explanation. Is that the proper way to express something?

  “Ahhhh-ha . . .” Hope drawls, like she knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  “And then there’s that. Always judging, thinking you know what we want. What I want.” I feel like I’m letting all my frustration out on Hope, when I should be stomping my foot at Blake.

  “Did you and Blake have a fight?” Hope asks, a knowing smile on her face.

  “Dude,” Mike Mikelson, another friend of ours, says. “Blake? As in Blake Voss?”

  Hope rolls her eyes.

  “That pretty brunette from junk-town who can pull pranks like nobody’s business?” Roy says.

  “Watch it, Roy,” I growl.

  “Holy shit,” Mike says. “You’re doing the brunette.”

  I stand, towering over him threateningly. “Say that again, and I’ll—”

  “Sit down, Son,” Hope says.

  I open my mouth to argue, and she gives me the look. The look that says I better keep my mouth shut, or I’ll be paying for it later. Then she turns to our circle of so-called friends.

  “First off, Roy, money doesn’t mean you can be an ass. Oh, wait, I take that back, seeing as you just proved me wrong. Secondly, their team was just smarter than ours—nuh-ah-ah.” She cuts him off when he tries to butt in. Hope’s always been good about these kinds of things. “Take it like a man, no pun intended. You know we lost the debate fair and square.” Then she turns to Mike and steps into his space. “And don’t you ever talk crude about Blake. You understand me? Or I’ll be more than happy to provide the entire female populace with insight into all four of the inches you’re packing, comprende?”

  His jaw clenches, and I know Hope’s broken an unsaid rule. You don’t ever joke about a man’s junk. Ever.

  So I get between them and press my hand against Mike’s chest, telling him silently to back the fuck down.

  “Everyone cool?” I ask.

  When I’m certain I don’t have to pry Hope off Mike’s back, I move so that I’m standing next to her, facing Mike, Roy, and whoever else is paying attention.

  “Blake is none of your damn business,” I tell them all. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

  Hope raises a quizzical eyebrow, and I shrug. After last night, it’s clear as day she doesn’t want anything to do with me. But for me . . . well, I don’t know. I know I more than like her, and I know I’d do anything for her if she asked it of me. But I also know I’ve likely blown my chances, and I’m not even sure why.

  “And even if there was . . .” I refrain from saying anything further. I don’t want to start a therapy session, especially when I have a feeling I might not ever see her again. My gut churns in an odd way, and my head . . . my head feels like tangled wire. “Forget it. Girls are nothing but trouble.”

  “But sometimes, they’re worth it,” Roy says.

  “I’m sure that’s exactly what you felt after Amanda.” I point to him, challenging. “Or what about Sonya, or Mandy?”

  “Hudson,” Hope says, warning. She moves in front of me, trying to get my attention, but I’m not ready to hear her. Not yet.

  “They were nothing but a waste of time, and a big hole in your pocket.”

  Hope tugs at my shirt. Her eyes are wide as her gaze darts between me and something behind me. But I ignore her. I have the right to vent when I’m frustrated. I mean, why the hell not?

  “Especially girls like Blake. They’re the ones that’ll confuse the living hell out of you, and then kick you to the curb.”

  “Hudson!” Hope yells, finally getting my attention.

  “What?” I snap at her.

  “Blake,” she mouths, pointing behind me. I turn around, quickly, just in time to see a glimpse of Blake’s back disappearing around the corner.

  “Great. So fucking great.” I shove my fingers through my hair and sigh. I turn back, even more frustrated. What the hell was she doing here? “Why didn’t you tell me she was right behind me?”

  “Nuh-ah,” Hope says. “This is on you, buckaroo. I tried to warn you.”

  That she did. “Fuck it,” I say, turning and running toward the parking lot, hoping to find Blake.

  But she’s gone.

  I stalk over to Jags and get in, determined to chase down the girl that’s starting to frustrate me to no end. I’m done lashing out at everyone around me. Blake and I need to talk. Even if it means I get kicked o
ut again.

  BY THE TIME I make it to her house, I’m nervous. What am I going to say to her? What was she even doing at my school? I thought . . . I thought, after the way she kicked me out, that we were through.

  I slowly walk toward her front door and hesitate before knocking. Not a second later, the door swings wide. Blake stands there, glaring, but oh so hot in cut-off denim shorts and a black tank. She has a bag of milk in her hand.

  She leaves the door open and walks away. I guess that’s as good of an invitation as I’m going to get. With a shrug, I step inside, closing the door and following her toward the kitchen.

  “I’m not sharing my ice cream with you today. Touch it, if you want to live the rest of your life without fingers.”

  I try to stop myself from smiling. I know she’s being serious, but the way she’s threatening me feels more like an invitation. A dare. But I don’t test that theory. “I’m kind of partial to my fingers.”

  She looks up. “What the hell do you want, Hudson?”

  “I want to know why you were at my school,” I say.

  She doesn’t answer, just continues to abuse the poor Ziploc full of milk as she shoves it into the salt bag. But I’m not giving up. Not this time. I need to know why, and one way or another, I’m getting my answers.

  I stand behind her, trapping her against the countertop, my hands on the cool laminate surface by her hips. “Tell me, firecracker.”

  She turns around, her eyes shooting daggers. “Let go of me.”

  “I’m not touching you.”

  “You’re blocking my way out,” she says.

  “I guess I am,” I say, letting a sly smirk creep onto my lips.

  “So then move.”

  “No,” I respond.

  “No?” She arches an eyebrow.

  I shake my head. “No. Not until you tell me why you were at my school.”

  “Apparently, it was to find out that you’re just like every other self-conceited male. And here I was, beating myself up all night, feeling like shit for treating you like that. When it turns out, I should have been proud.”