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“Well, wouldn’t firing my fake girlfriend look bad?”
I scoff. “To whom? We are the only two people that know about it.” And Mia. “Besides, I’ve had enough whiplash from you, thanks. You aged well, so don’t worry. I wouldn’t bring Hugh Hefner to go meet my dad. I’d save the stroke for my mom.”
“I’d thank you, but I’m not here to impress some kid who dragged me to meet her parents.”
A mirthless chuckle rumbles from the back of my throat because I’ve been dealing with this shit for the last twenty-four hours now. “You act as though they’ll actually believe you can keep up. Relax.”
“With what?”
“Me.” I don’t mean that, but I know it’ll push a few more buttons along the way and that’s what he also gets for not saying good morning to me. If he wants to keep treating me like a child, then I’m going to act like one.
“Listen, little girl,” he leers out through, I’m sure, clenched teeth as he leans over the center console a bit, smelling of leather and cedar. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about getting thoroughly fucked, if that’s what you’re implying.”
God.
Alright, that wasn’t what I was implying, but now that he mentioned it…now I’m thinking about it. I’d love to kinda test that theory out if it didn’t cost me my whole job and the time I would need to spend to find another one.
“How do you know that I haven’t?”
“Because you’ve been walking straight since I’ve met you.”
This fuckin’ guy…
My brain warp speeds into different scenarios of what Hudson would do to me if we weren’t in this employee-boss relationship.
Fuck that, it doesn’t matter. You’re the one who made it weirder by having him be your fake boyfriend.
“Thinking about it, Opie?” Hudson taunts through my silence. “I apologize for bringing up so much disappointment in your life.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I profess because I may have had some but I’ve not been lacking some good sex. Maybe not his kind but decent nonetheless.
“Let me guess,” Hudson drawls. “Quarterback of the football team and you were the cheerleader.”
Geezus.
I didn’t think I was that predictable, nor did I look it, but apparently I was wrong.
This was a bad idea, Olive.
Hudson leans over the center console of my car and the hairs on my arms rise. “Did he fuck you behind the bleachers? Run the pads of his fingers up your short little skirt and tease you?”
I crane my neck to take some tension out of my body but to no avail. I sound like a basic bitch and your normal stereotype blonde. “You just know all about me, don’t you?”
“Lucky guess.” He leans back in his seat and gives me back my space, but I’m rigid and hella annoyed.
“What did you have to do?” I ask, trying to sound as serious as possible. “Propose first, then get married before you could fuck?”
I hear him scoff before replying, “Oh yeah, and I was a virgin, too.” This time I spare him a look, finding his green eyes already locked on me with a—shocker—unamused expression displayed over his hard features.
I think I hate him.
“Right,” I drone. “And you were a Bible-thumper, too.”
“You could say that.”
I don’t know if he’s joking or not, but I’d rather not ask.
The car ride then turns into a dull rumble of the road and the cars around us. I spend my portion of it chiding myself for doing this. For not sticking up for myself to my mother. For giving a fuck. No wonder Hudson thinks I’m so young because it was immature and stupid.
