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That I wanted to run the pad of my thumb over her plush bottom lip to see how soft it was.
Moment of weakness.
I’m unaware of anyone who runs around in a storm looking for a job, but she did. And anyone brave or stupid enough to deal with it…Well, I gave her a shot.
“And I’m sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry. “But I need to know you’re going to do this. For real.”
“Girl, if I gotta tell you again,” I warn, turning my back to her and grabbing myself a water as well. I’m not about to get into a fight with her in front of a customer, or ever.
I’m the fucking boss.
She’s replaceable.
“Hudson, please—” I pivot, forcing her out of the room and into the narrowed hallway when I step forward, and I softly close the door behind us.
Then I’m in her fucking face.
I corner her up against the wall, but I don’t touch her. No, that’d be borderline pedophilic right there. She’s probably twenty-something years younger than me, and I’m no young spring chicken.
Don’t want to raise another one, either.
“If I have to keep repeating myself with you,” I grind out. “I’m going to end up killing you before we even begin to fake date.”
She doesn’t falter or blink. Doesn’t flinch back, cringe, cry, or do that little squishy face thing she does when she’s annoyed with one of the guys after they’ve probably said some stupid shit.
“So you’re agreeing?”
What?
Wait, no.
“No,” I deadpan, then point to the front entrance. “Go back to work.”
“It’s my day off.”
“Then go home.”
“Hudson, I?—”
“Do you need to borrow one of my hearing aids?” Since she believes I’m decrepit or some shit, I bet she’d buy it.
Fucking kid.
I just turned forty-one, and she acts as though I’m already getting a senior citizen discount at the local diner or have a handicap pass on my rearview mirror.
“No,” she falters quietly. “But I’ll take I’ll think about it.”
I glower at her. “I’m not going to date a little girl. And what the hell did I tell you about fuckin’ around?”
“I’m twenty-three,” she retorts, and I swear to shit, she stomps her foot. “My God, I can vote and get drafted into a war.” She starts counting off her points with her fingers. “I can work without a permit, buy a lottery ticket, get a body piercing without a parent’s consent, and, holy shit, I don’t need my mommy to drive me places.”
Yeah, but she needs a daddy to smack her ass for all these stupid-ass ideas that keep popping up in her head.
“Impressive as that all may be, Opie, you still need your mama to believe you have a boyfriend. Go. Home. And stop bothering me.”
“You don’t need to worry about why I need you,” she argues. “I’ll do all the things you asked if you do this three-day thing with me. Three, Hudson, please.” Her crystal blues eyes hold mine and, as fucking alluring as they may be, I’m not that easily peer-pressured.
“Three?” I repeat with a scowl. “I thought you said it was one?”
