Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(104)
Chelsea seems right as rain with him though, sitting there wrapped around Hudson’s finger. I shake my head at the sudden pang of, well, something that sure feels a whole lot like jealousy, even I know that’s impossible. But just the same, I find myself clenching my hand a little tighter around my water glass as Chelsea leans towards him, and puts her hand on his arm as she laughs at something he says. I mean it’s harmless; her mannerisms are far more sibling-like than anything flirty, but I still can’t seem to shake the possessive feeling, as if Hudson is mine somehow.
But of course, he’s not ‘Mine,’ I’m not ‘His,’ and there’s nothing between us in that regard at all. He made that perfectly clear back before, during that summer and then at my father’s house. And then of course, I have to remember what he did - or more importantly what he didn’t do that night back then. I have to close my eyes and remember just how shitty I felt when I came downstairs and saw him walking out the door with that girl-
“Uh, Reagan?”
“Hmm?” I look up, started from my thoughts to see them both looking at me, as if waiting for an answer to a question I never heard.
Chelsea rolls her eyes at Hudson; “I told you she wasn’t listening.”
Hudson grins at me as he twirls his empty espresso cup around the saucer; “I was telling Chelsea that you can’t get weighed down with what came before. You’ve just gotta keep your head up, because you never know when something new might come next.”
I smile thinly at him, still mulling over everything I was thinking about before, but now also wondering which of the three of us that particular advice was really meant for.
8
Hudson
P A S T
“Jesus, Hudson,” Logan is shaking his head at me in that way that makes him seem like my older brother. I don’t actually have an older brother, but if I did, I know he’d be Logan giving me this exact look.
“What?” I toss the keys to the valet who’s salivating over the sleek white McLaren behind me.
“Not exactly the most subtle statement is it? What part of ‘blend in’ and ‘seamless’ doesn’t click with you?”
I shrug, annoyed at Logan's tone; “I needed a car, man.” Right, that’s why you buy a million-dollar vehicle; because you ‘need a car’. But I’m New Rich - capital N, capital R - we all are, and goddamn does it feel good to fucking live a little without worrying about where the next buck is going to come from, or what piece of my soul I’m going to have to cut out in order to get it. New Rich also means, by the way, that I’m half in the bag - a factor which I’m consciously attempting to downplay to Logan since I’m supposed to be going sober these days. Of course, I’m twenty one years old, I’ve taken a bullet for my country, I want to forget the last two or three years of my life, and I’m worth three-hundred million dollars; anyone who thinks I’m not going to be drinking is fucking delusional.
“You should get one, it’ll help you calm the fuck down a little.” I can see Logan tense up, his jaw tightening and his shoulders flexing beneath his suit.
“Baaaabbe?” Oh, right, my date. I dance over to the other side of the car, to the bejeweled, shiny-manicured hand dangling out of the passenger side, and pull her out. She’s makes a face at me that I know she thinks is sexy, which is in reality kind of just stupid looking, but I push it out of the way and grin at her as I haul her out.
I look up to see Logan shaking his head again;”Seriously?”
“Logan! Manners!” I say dramatically, feeling the booze I slugged down earlier course through me as I jerk my thumb at him. I roll my eyes at my date who’s name is escaping me and who’s probably either too fucked up or too clueless to actually get the look of disdain Logan is throwing her way anyways.
“It’s a birth- no, retirement?” I frown, realizing I’ve honestly forgotten why the fuck we’re here.
“It’s a graduation party,” Logan growls through tightly-clenched teeth as he eyes me; “For the Old Man’s daughter.” He shakes his head as he peers at me; “Jesus Christ, Hud, have you been fucking drinking?”
The valet pulls my car away and as I jaunt past Logan with the bimbo on my arm, I pat him on condescending on the shoulder; “Try and have a little fun, dude. We’re fuckin rich now.” I somehow walk away without him breaking one of my arms, and we stumble our way through the front doors of the Old Man’s castle-like estate.
A hand shoots out and grabs my arm hard, and I whirl around, fire in my eyes.