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“Not until I see Hudson,” I insist, refusing to budge.
“Seems like he’s a popular one this morning,” a female voice says from behind me, causing me to swing my gaze to the left. I lock eyes with a brunette woman just as she steps up beside us.
“Fuck,” Colton mutters under his breath.
I have no idea who this woman is but given Colton’s reaction she isn’t someone he’s very thrilled to see.
I look from him back to her, not able to ignore how beautiful the woman is. And not in the overly done up way either. She’s naturally beautiful. High cheek bones, full lips, thick brown hair. She’s wearing simple skinny jeans and a red top, but she manages to make it look so much sexier than it would on a normal person. Oddly enough, I feel like I’ve seen her before but for the life of me I can’t pinpoint where.
“Steph.” Colton gives her a stiff nod.
“You’re pissed he called me.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest.
“I knew he did. And I know why too.” Colton seems uncharacteristically angry, while I’m just trying to figure out who the hell this woman is.
“I think it’s pretty obviouswhyhe called me,” she responds, narrowing her pretty eyes at him.
Nothing is confirmed but I get the feeling these two go way back. There’s a familiarity between them. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Lennon, we should go,” Colton says, turning toward me with what can only be described as panic hiding behind his light eyes.
“Lennon?” she questions. “This is her?” She looks from me, to Colton, and then back to me. “You’re the flavor of the week that landed Hudson in jail.” She sneers at me.
“Don’t do this here, Steph,” Colton pleads. A sick feeling forms in the pit of my stomach, knotting tighter by the second. Something is not right.
“I’m not doing anything. I have a right to be here. She doesn’t.”
“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on right now?” I demand, my patience waning.
“I’m sorry, how rude of me.” She smiles, extending her hand. “Stephanie Demasi.”
Like a bolt of lightning it hits me. I know where I’ve seen her before.Thrive. She was the brunette in Hudson’s lap that night. I don’t know how I know that. How I could possibly remember someone I only saw once for a brief moment over five years ago, but I swear it’s her. I can feel it to my bones.
“Demasi?” I question, a sort of fog settling over me.
“As in Mrs. Hudson Demasi,” she clips.
Her words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.
