Page 109 of None Of Your Business

“Beyond the free salt and the excuse to sit down. I’m extremely bendy in bed.”

His shoulders start shaking.

“Are you laughing at my disability?”

“I’m laughing because you just turned it into a sexual sales pitch.”

“Would you rather I list the gastrointestinal complications?”

“No.”

“Dizziness?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, laughing harder.

“Joint instability?”

“Stop.”

“Oh, you like that, huh? Wait until I tell you about the sexy little compression garments?”

He’s laughing properly now, struggling to catch his breath as his head dips.

I don’t know why that hits me the way it does. Maybe because Hudson doesn’t laugh like this often. It’s warm and deep and completely unguarded.

“Come on,” he says, standing and holding out his hand for me to take. “Before Roger hears you speaking to another man like that.”

“Roger loves me.”

His thumb moves over the side of my hand.

“Everyone loves you, Rowan,” he murmurs. “That’s the problem.”

My heart stops doing anything useful.

“Hudson?”

He keeps walking. “Pancakes, Rowan.”

I let him pull me along beside him, and for once in my life, I don’t have a single smart thing to say.

Thirty-Two

Hudson makes ridiculously good pancakes.

This is irritating for several reasons, but mostly because the man already has enough going for him without also knowing how to get the edges crisp while keeping the middle soft.

I cut another piece with the side of my fork and drag it through what’s left of the maple syrup.

“This is upsetting.”

Hudson looks over from the sink. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and there’s flour on one forearm.

“What is?”

“The pancakes. I was hoping they’d be mediocre. You need flaws.”

“I have flaws.”