Page 7 of The New Guy
When I win the game, he laughs. “Holy shit. Didn’t take you too long to finish me off.”
I shrug, like it’s no big thing. But my heart is thumping and my face is flushed. And I realize that I want this—I’d like tofinish him offin a few other choice ways. It’s the first time I’ve had that urge in a long time. Areallylong time.
I used to be fun, damn it. A party animal. But grief can change a guy. Tonight, though, I feel the old me bubbling to the surface. The handsome stranger at the other end of the table has helped me find him again.
“You’re a shark. I owe you five bucks.” He reaches for his wallet.
I hold up a hand. “Sorry, I don’t take cash. You’ll have to work it off in trade.” Yup, that ridiculous line just came out of my mouth. And I don’t regret it.
His hand stills on his back pocket. Then he braces his hands on the table and studies me. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.” My words are full of bravado. But this is a big moment for me. I haven’t been with a guy since Eddie died.
Across the table, Hudson might be having his own internal battles. His handsome face is thoughtful. Maybe even troubled. He sets down his paddle and actually glances over his shoulder to make sure there’s nobody nearby. There isn’t, though. We’re the only ones in the ping-pong room. His gaze snaps back to mine. “I don’t do this.”
“Oh.” That could mean so many things. “You mean pickups? Or guys?”
“Well, both.”
Shit. “You’re not married,” I whisper. “Right?”
He actually laughs. “Nope. No way.” He turns his chin toward the front of the bar, and I am suddenly worried that I’ve killed the mood. But instead of begging off, he says, “My place is only a couple blocks from here. But I have to settle up with Pete. You want to meet me outside?”
Ah. Now I get it. He doesn’t want us to walk out together, and he doesn’t know how to say so.
“Sure,” I say with forced casualness. “I’ll be outside. Don’t take too long.” I grab my jacket off the hook on the wall and stride past him, through the bar and out the door.
I don’t glance at the bartender. They obviously know each other, and I am not going to think too hard about why Hudson doesn’t want to be seen with a guy.
It’s fine, I remind myself. Maybe he’s experimenting. And we’re not dating. This is just sex.
I feel a tremor in my chest, though.Just sex. Am I really going home with a stranger? After all this time?
The February air is bracing. I walk a few paces down the sidewalk, so that I’m not visible from the bar’s front windows. And I hope Hudson doesn’t spend too much time saying good night to the bartender. I might start thinking of all the reasons this is a dumb idea.
But I want this. I need to break the seal, even if it makes me feel a little trashy.
This is what moving on looks like, right?
Luckily, Hudson doesn’t leave me alone too long with my thoughts. He emerges a minute later, his footsteps quick, a look of determination on his face. I love his sexy scowl—like he just can’t wait to get at me.
The feeling is mutual, buddy.
“C’mon,” he practically growls, and we walk side by side for a few paces. But as soon as we turn the corner, Hudson stops. He pushes me up against the side of the brick building. And then he kisses me hotly.
For a second, I’m too surprised to react. But his mouth is both firm and welcoming, and his hands grip my shoulders with a determination that totally works for me.
“Mmm,” I say against his lips.
“Tell me about it,” he murmurs. “Been wanting to do that all night.”
Gripping his jacket, I dive in for another hot kiss. Our chests bump, and his tongue catches mine. He tastes of beer and hunger. Then he takes a half step closer and our hips meet. The hard column behind the fly of his jeans is unmistakable, and a zing of desire shoots like fire through my veins.
“Whoa,” I say against his mouth. “Hi there.”
His chest shakes with a chuckle as he pins me even more firmly to the wall with his cock.
He kisses me again, and it’s a little desperate. He’s physically aggressive in a way that’s fun, not creepy.
