Page 112 of Her Goal
“Every page.”
“I didn’t know you could read,” I joke.
He laughs again. “Remember I mentioned going to college? I can read in Spanish too. In Boston, Miami, and Houston, I worked with teens who were living in Spanish-speaking households while living in an English-speaking area.”
I lean back and ask, “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I connected with an organization in college and by the time I went to play for the Breakers, they had multiple locations.”
“What did you do?”
“Homework mostly, but all kinds of things. I became friends with some of the students in Miami and I taught them hockey too. We’d text in Spanish to keep me sharp and teach me slang, which wasn’t allowed in the classroom.”
“I’m impressed.”
The side of his mouth lifts into a half smile. “Good to know. I can submit my resume, an essay, and a list of extracurriculars if you’d like.” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Yourlistof extracurriculars?”
His gaze dips to mine for a long moment before bouncing back to meet my eyes. “Yeah. I live a very active lifestyle, have certain skills, and?—”
Lengthening my neck, he takes my thoughts on a little adventure to no-no land before they snap back to reality. “Wait. A. Minute.”
“Only a minute? If so, the clock is starting now.” He taps his wrist.
I laugh dryly but my eyes smile. “I just realized that my parents are pride and prejudicing us.”
“I’m not sure that’s how those words are used, but sure.”
“Don’t be supercilious.”
His lips quirk and his gaze turns heavy. I realize his arms went from wrapping around me in a hug to being laced around my waist. If I’m not mistaken, I’d say that Hudson wants to kiss me. My cheeks blister red because tonight and these last few weeks defies everything I thought I knew about him.
My voice is extra smoky when I say, “You’re no Mr. Darcy.”
Hudson winks. “No, I’m Elizabeth, obviously.”
This time we both laugh. It’s flirtatious laughter. Is that what’s happening? I angle my head in silent question. As if reading my mind, he nods almost imperceptibly.
I realize I’ve been holding my breath and my inhale pops the moment, but not like a balloon with a loud bang. More like a slow siphoning of air, drawing it out of the room, leaving me with nothing but Hudson for oxygen.
We sustain eye contact for a long moment and possibility threads between us.
When neither one of us makes a move, I say, “Thanks for the gift.”
“You’re welcome.” He drops his arms from around my waist and I instantly want them back. I want to crawl into Hudson’s embrace and stay there. Then who will I aim my anger at, even if he doesn’t know it’s me writing those emails, which presents another problem entirely.
He turns toward the kitchen. “I have dessert.”
“So many tricks up those sleeves.” The comment sounds flirtatious. Am I flirting with Hudson?
He winks. “No tricks, just treats.”
This reminds me of the impending Halloween eve wedding, but it’s like the time in Hudson’s dining room was like a first pass through a house after a big party. We tossed out the trash in big black bags. There’s still more to go, cleaning up and fixing the furniture, drapes, and trying to get that stain out of thecarpet—that would symbolize my secret identity as his adversary—but it’s progress.
Hudson and I go to the kitchen where he takes chocolate-covered strawberries out of the fridge.
“These are my favorite,” I exclaim.
