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“Well,” Winslow starts, steering his index finger toward the grill where Hudson is manning with his groupie. “You can get rid of Tracy for us and we’ll bring you pastries every day for the next week.”
“Who’s Tracey?” Winslow points at the woman in question from just a few seconds ago that’s glued to Hudson’s hip. “Two weeks,” I immediately blurt out, not quite sure why I’m agreeing to such an awful venture, but it’s sugar.
My weakness.
“Done.” Winslow brings his bottle of bourbon to his lips victoriously as I quickly attempt to come up with a way to make that happen.
“Gonna be hard,” Devin says, raking his long fingers through his spiky blond hair. He looks like he’s from a nineties alternative band with his silver beaded necklace and gauged ears. “Tracy is a stage four clinger.” I steal a glimpse at her, still saddled up at Hudson’s side, and the first thing I notice is her big ass. Her black leggings fill out her backside and she’s got back, let me tell you. She needs to be a team player and give me some of that. “Been up Hudson’s whole ass for years. Wanted his dick for longer.”
And she’s at his party. It must not be too hard of an inconvenience.
“Then why is she here?”
“She’s the neighbor from two doors down. She sees a party and invites herself over.”
Tracy laughs at something then, but Hudson doesn’t react along with her. In fact, he appears as though he’s two seconds from losing his shit.
And I’m tempted not to save him just because of all the crap he’s been doing to me. But the idea of pastries and donuts for the next two weeks wins here.
“He looks happy she’s here.” And I’m being sarcastic. He never seems like he’s happy for anyone to be around him, so she shouldn’t take it personally if she did.
“He normally gets her drunk and has someone send her home so she’s less whiny about it.”
My head shoots back over to Devin. “That’s mean.”
“Girl, she’s a pain in the ass.” He stresses the last word like I really don’t understand how unbearable she is.
“She’d let us all gangbang her if we were into that,” Winslow tacks on.
I point an accusing finger at him. “You’re married with six kids.”
“Five.” He brings his bottle of liquor to his lips again. “But close enough.”
“Kid.” My body tenses at the nickname as Hudson’s voice filters through our conversation, but I’m not deterred in the least to send a glare his way for calling me that out loud in front of the guys. “Come here.”
I want to say no.
I want to tell him that I’m leaving and I’ll finish his stupid project after Norah’s wedding, but I keep my maturity, as some people would call it, amongst me and stride over. The soft murmurs of the guys as they cheer me on to get rid of Hudson’s neighbor hitting my back as I walk away.
Tracy doesn’t notice me, or doesn’t want to, as I come up to the side of the grill and meet his pinched gaze.
“You rang?” I drawl out, quick to forget everything he teased me about days ago in his office because he does this. He looks at me like I’m a nuisance and someone he regrets altogether.
My self-esteem, let me tell you. Going to Norah’s wedding may introduce me hopefully to someone to boost it back up.
“You need to eat.”
“I need to leave,” I retort, crossing my arms along my chest. “I have something to do tomorrow.”
“You done painting?” Tracy glances over at me for the first time, blue eyes quickly taking an assessment of me, but she doesn’t appear bothered in the least because she dismisses me by looking back to Hudson.
At least her ego hasn’t taken a bruising in his midst.
Good for her.
“Eat first”—he lifts a metal spatula in the air—“then you can leave.”
“Isn’t there some sort of child labor laws that you’re breaking here?”
