Thief:A Bad Boy Romance(278)

 

Donald and Erika are all over the two of them, gushing over every dip-shit comment that comes out of his mouth and making sure every damn photographer in the room gets a picture of him and Reagan with their arms linked. Samantha is still tied around my arm, and the whole thing is just like watching a slow-motion car-wreck in action as I stand there with my throat feeling tight and my rage bubbling just below the surface. I want a cigarette; hell, I kind of want a drink.

 

Chet’s people come over and tear him away for something, and I can’t manage more than a barely perceivable nod as he tells me again how great it was to meet me. Donald’s shoots me a dirty look and taps the daily schedule printout in his hand against his watch, as if it’s my fucking fault that Chet has us running off schedule. I finally manage to shake the bimbo off my arm as he and Erika split, and then we’re alone on the side of the stage.

 

“What?”

 

Reagan’s shooting me this thin little smirk, her eyes flashing at me; “So, Sam-”

 

I roll my eyes; “Not what you think.”

 

“Oh and what would I be thinking, Hudson, and why would I possibly think that?” Her sarcastic smile is exaggeratedly fake.

 

“Relax, Princess, she’s not my type.”

 

Reagan bristles at the word; “And what type would that be that, Hudson? The kind that has something besides air between their ears?” She snorts, “She sure had me fooled.”

 

For some reason, I grin; getting a weirdly smug sense of satisfaction from the fact that Reagan is clearly jealous. “Well what about you and Chet back there? You guys pick out color-schemes yet for the Lincoln bedroom?”

 

Reagan rolls her eyes, “Oh give me a break-” Her eyes land on me and she grins; “What, are you jealous?”

 

I tense up inside, but I keep my voice cool; “What, of Chet and his collection of polo shirts and boat shoes?” I snort; “Uh, no, Reagan, I’m not.”

 

“Oh, and what, is little miss Tits McGee back there supposed to make me jealous?”

 

I want to laugh, but the fire in her eyes stops me, and I let out an exasperating sigh instead; “Jesus, what about our relationship would make you this jealous seeing that girl hanging off my arm?”

 

“There is no ‘our relationship’, Hudson” She snaps, looking fierce and adorable at the same time.

 

“Yeah, no shit, Princess.”

 

I see her eyes blaze at me, and she opens her mouth to say something but then stops herself and shakes her head instead; “We’re late for the next appearance today, let’s go.” She says curtly, before turning on her heel and storming away, leaving me standing there watching her walk away. I want to kick myself for saying shit like that to her, but really, I know why I do it. I push her away like that because I can’t let her get close; not with the shit that I’m carrying around. Fuck; I saw hell on Earth in the desert, so why the fuck can’t I deal with this girl?

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

 

 

 

 

Hudson

 

 

 

 

P A S T

 

 

 

“What are you drinking?” Reagan’s been giving me this weird look from across the room for the past fifteen minutes while I’ve been giving my condolences to the rest of her family. I’ve finally extricated myself from Bryce and Logan, and some Aunt who I’ve never met before, and made my way over to where she’s sitting on the bottom step of the curved staircase in the foyer.

 

“I’m not.”

 

She frowns at me as she sips on the cup of what looks like coke but smells suspiciously like something else; “Well, it’s a funeral, you probably should be.” She clearly has been, as she leans into me and holds my gaze in that slightly glazed way a good couple of drinks will do to you. She sighs and looks into her cup; “Sorry, I forg- It’s just sort of weird being back here without him, even if he was barely every here anyways.”

 

I nod, intimately knowing the feeling she’s describing, since it’s how I feel about everything, every day I wake up after coming back from what I did; “Yeah, I know the feeling.” She’s still staring into her cup, so I try and change the subject; “Hey so how’s art history going?”

 

“Renaissance Art, and I switched to Political Science.”

 

I can’t help but grin, knowing how much the Old Man would have smirked at that one; “Hey, that’s pretty coo-”

 

“Do you want to go for a walk?” She’s looking up at me with that same look on her face that I can’t quite read, thought I can see a flare of wildness there that always manages to drag me into her.