Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(62)

"I know," I sniff.



Quinn leans down to peer into my face with that wicked grin back on her face; "So, you slept with him, huh?"



I feel a horrible mixture of relief and embarrassment and sadness wash  over me at the way things got left this morning with him, especially  with the previous night being so incredible, and I nod quietly.



Quinn chuckles; "So was it good?"



"Of course it was good, or she wouldn't be so upset right now!" Chelsea  says as she squeezes my hands, and I giggle in spite of myself.



"Oh, ok, details, now."



I laugh again and roll my eyes; "Quinn!" Chelsea throws a balled-up  napkin at our older sister, and then we're all laughing, and I can  already feel the weight lifting from my shoulders.



Suddenly though, Quinn turns and looks at me skeptically; "Hang on." She bites her lip; "No, forget it."



"Gah! Quinn! What?" I say, wiping my eyes on her arm.



She gives me a look a the mascara marks I leave on her sweater before  she shakes her head; "No, it's just- I don't know, you've just never  really struck me as the casual hook-up type, that's all."



I frown; "What do you mean?"



She frowns; "I mean with Hudson," She shrugs; "Hey I guess the campaign  really is good at getting you out of your comfort zo- Oh fuck, honey-"



My face starts to crumble again, and Chelsea reaches across the table to smack Quinn's hand.



"Soooo … not necessarily a casual thing."



I dump my head in my hands; "I don't know! No? Maybe?" Ugh; I fucking  hate crying like this over some guy like some sort of movie cliche. But  damnit if Hudson hasn't wormed right under my skin.



"It's complicated, I guess."



Chelsea smirks at me; "Ray, your whole life is complicated; maybe you need a little simplicity."



I exhale loudly; "I should let the whole thing go, shouldn't I?"



My younger, somehow far wiser sister grins at me as she squeezes my  hand; "No, I'm saying you clearly have a lot more feelings about Hudson  than I think you're even admitting to yourself, and like always, you're  overthinking it."



"So-"



"So you like him, and I'm betting he likes you. So just tell him, Reagan." Quinn says.



Across the table, Chelsea nods and shrugs; "Try simple for change, Ray."





P R E S E N T



I end up getting a grand total of two jabs into my warm-up before I  throw off my gloves with a snarl and head for the shower. There's a  brief hesitation right before I step under the spray; as if a tiny part  of me is reluctant to wash the smell and the feel and the memory of her  off of my skin.



‘A big mistake … kind of like last night.'



I step under the water and slam the shower-door shut.



*****



I don't know why or even how I find myself at the cable network building  where her second interview of the day is being filmed, but fuck it, I'm  there. That's what's so twisted about this whole Reagan situation; I  don't want to be around her, but apparently I can't seem to stay away  either. The interview has already started as I stand just outside the  light behind the cameras off-stage, watching her and trying not to let  the fact that she's laughing and smiling and just plain gorgeous get  under my skin so much.



"Hey babe." Samantha's voice slithers into my ear as she comes up behind  me and wraps her arms around me, as if we've even met more than three  times.



"What are you doing here, Sam?" I hiss at her quietly, though not  quietly enough to avoid getting an evil look from one of the stage  managers. Is this girl following me or something?



She slaps my chest playfully and rolls her eyes, as if I've just said a  joke of some kind; "Uh, because I intern for the Archer campaign? Duh?"



Oh fuck. Reagan's immediately furious reaction to my having Samantha on  my arm before suddenly makes way more sense; because she's a campaign  intern, kind of like the type of campaign intern that she broke up with  that idiot Chet for fucking. The pieces slide a bit more together and I  cringe as I think about it.



She answers a question with a line I don't hear but that makes the older  news anchor chuckle. But then as she looks up with a smile on her face,  she suddenly sees me standing there behind the cameras with Samantha  hanging off my arm, and her smile fades instantly. She's glaring at me,  so much so that I even see the stage manager signal for another camera  angle. There's a bit of smug satisfaction with seeing her jealous like  that, but it's an empty victory considering the way shit went down this  morning and the two pieces I've just put together, and I can't even find  a crumb of victory in it.



The interview ends, and I finally get Samantha to get off my arm by  promising to call her later even though I've certainly never saved her  number anywhere. I almost want to smile at the predictability of Reagan  marching right up to me after she yanks off her microphone, but I keep  it under wraps at the look in her face.



"I thought you weren't coming." Her eyes flash past me at Sam walking  away behind me and her eyes narrow a little' "So how's Sam?"



I reach out and put my hand on her arm; "Calm down, it's not what it looks-"



"Don't tell me to-"She stops and takes a deep breath; "Hudson I don't  care," She shrugs my hand off and takes one small and yet infinitely  giant step back; "We're both adults here, you can do whatever you want."



I take a step towards her, my voice low and growling; "You know what I want."



She opens her mouth but then shuts it abruptly as she nods towards the  sound of Samantha giggling obnoxiously at something across the room;  "Yeah, I guess I do. Have fun, Hudson."



*****



I feel like a fucking idiot when I knock on her door, about to escort  her to fucking Chet Kennedy's "gala" event; whatever the fuck that is.  I'm literally driving the girl I can't get out of my fucking head into  the arms of her shitty ex-boyfriend. The old Hudson would have punched  this Hudson in the nuts and told him to sack up.



She opens the door though, and any and all rational thought just flushes  right out of my mind as I stare at her. She looks stunning. I mean, she  always looks amazing, but the short, slinky, form-fitting little black  dress she's wearing is like a punch right to my gut, and I find myself  just opening and closing my mouth as I let my eyes roam over her. And  then of course the thought hits me that she isn't wearing this for me,  and I frown.



"Well?"



Her voice startles me out of my freeze and I jerk my head up; "Jesus,  why are you wearing that?" I immediately cringe; Nice man, nice.



Her lip curls into a snarl; "Well fuck you too, Hudson."



"No, I mean - isn't this a formal-"



"It's black tie, black cocktail dress; isn't that your circle of things?"



Yeah, hardly.



"I'm just saying you look nice."



"Gee, thanks. Funny way of showing it."



I roll my eyes; "Listen, Ray-"



"Can we go please?" She looks at me sharply; "I've got a date waiting for me."



I freeze; "Excuse me?"



She taps her heeled foot on the ground; "I said can we go."



"You know what I mean, that second fucking part." I growl.



She smiles at me, as if she know's she's just scored a hit on me; "My date, Hudson. Chet's waiting for me."



I can feel my blood pressure jump through my skull as I grind my teeth  and clench my fists. I know exactly what she's doing, but the shittiest  part is, it's working.



"You're dating Chet again?"



She shrugs, like it's the most obvious thing in the world; like last  night never happened. I can still imagine the way her lips felt wrapping  around my cock, or the way her hair smelled and the way her skin felt  so warm and alive when she slid down onto me. I'm instantly thinking how  it incredible she felt rocking up and down on top of me, and the sounds  of her cries as she came. And suddenly, I'm rock-hard inside my pants,  which is thoroughly confusing with the angry scowl she's giving me in  our current situation. All I want to do is kiss her hard right here in  the doorway. I want to shove her up against the door, lift up that teeny  little black dress she's wearing and remind her exactly how good last  night felt since she's clearly pretending to have forgotten.



"Reagan can we just fucking talk about this like adults instead of acting like children?"



She stares daggers into my eyes; "I am acting like an adult, Hudson. Now  can we please go so I can get on with being an adult with my date?"



Chet, who I get to fucking drive her to. Who I get to watch her moon  over all night at this stupid fucking ‘gala' while everyone fawns over  the two of them and takes their pictures and tells them what an  incredible ‘power-couple' they are. In recovery and in the program, they  talk about "relapse triggers" like "feelings of frustration," or  "expecting too much of other people." If you can ball every single one  of those triggers into one damn thing, it's called "Chet Kennedy's  stupid fucking gala event that I have to take Reagan to."