Page 70 of The New Guy
“Does it look good?” Hudson asks, emerging from the bedroom in a pair of flannel pants, and no shirt.
“Almost as good as you do,” I say, and it comes out sounding flirty, in spite of my anxious mood. I’d have to be dead not to find a shirtless Hudson diverting.
He takes a seat beside me. “All right. Let’s eat. That fish looks good.”
“Good? It looks amazing.” I grab a plate and capture a filet for him. “This can’t have been sitting here very long, or it wouldn’t look so fresh.”
He gives me a sideways glance. “I texted the concierge the minute our ping-pong game ended. Don’t skip me with those potatoes. It’s cheat day.”
I add vegetables and a big scoop of potatoes to his plate, and then douse everything with some of the butter sauce. I make myself a plate, too, and pour two glasses of wine.
He groans when he takes the first bite. “I’m sorry your evening turned ugly, but I’m not sorry I ordered this dinner.”
“I’m not sorry, either.” Although it kills me that Hudson had all of this planned. It’s romantic—like the date we can never take.
There’s a gulf between the things he wants, and the things he allows himself. Sometimes when we spend time together, I feel like I’m helping him close the distance.
Tonight, though, I feel melancholy. Like the river is just too wide to cross. For both of us.
Food helps, though. I polish off the hot food on my plate, and then mow down my salad. When we’re done, I top up our wineglasses while Hudson removes all the dirty dishes to a cart, and parks it in the hallway.
“Okay, I feel better,” I admit. “Still anxious, but not quite so hopeless.”
Hudson brings his laptop over to the sofa and sits down beside me. “First things first. What do you need to be ready to go up against her? Do you need to find a lawyer?”
I take a sip of my wine and lean back against the sofa. “I have one. We needed someone in family law to complete my adoption. But the lawyer’s in New Hampshire, and I don’t know if I need one in New York.”
Hudson opens the computer and googles “custody jurisdiction.” He scrolls through the results and then reads aloud. “Jurisdiction in a custody suit follows the ‘home state’ of the child. The ‘home state’ is the state where the child has lived for the last six months.’”
“Oh.” I do the math. “So I should call the New Hampshire lawyer.”
“Yeah. But…” He does some more googling. “She doesn’t have a case, Gavin. Not even for visitation. Grandparent visitation rights are not a thing.”
This perks me up. “Are you sure?”
“Google is sure.” He looks up. “But also, my aunt is a social worker. So I grew up hearing all these stories from her job. And it’sreallyhard to take custody of someone else’s kid. They’d have to accuse you of all kinds of horrible things. I’m not kidding. They’d interview her school teachers, and they’d need proof of neglect or abuse.”
“Oh. God that’s dark.”
“I know. Fortunately, the law is set up to keep children with their parents. And that’s you.” He puts a hand in the center of my chest, and I like the weight of it.
So I put a hand over his. “Thank you for listening to me rant tonight. I’m sorry I killed the mood.”
“What mood?” He leans over and slowly kisses my neck. “I’m not always Mr. Sunshine, you realize.”
“Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm.” He kisses my neck again. “Do you want to keep working on this? Or is it time for me to distract you?” He noses his way to my jaw, where he kisses me again. And now his tongue comes out to play, and I shiver.
“Distraction is good,” I murmur as I slide a little more deeply into the sofa. “Besides, we have this amazing room all night. So we’d better make the most of it—like get naked in it.”
He pushes me down on the sofa and then studies me from above. I like the view—he’s all warm skin and scruff and serious brown eyes. “If you’re not feeling it tonight, I’d understand.”
“Oh please.” I run a hand down his six-pack. “I’ll be feeling it all right if you take off more of your clothes. Besides—there’s nothing more for me to do tonight, other than worry. Go ahead and make me forget my bad day. You’re doing God’s work, here.”
He laughs. And then he does a sexy reverse-push-up and lowers his hard body onto mine. His eyes grow serious again.
I expect his kiss. I want it. I’m made of expectation. But he studies me a little longer, his thumb tracing my eyebrow. His eyes heavy-lidded.
