Crude: A Stepbrother Romance (48 page)

“Quinn I think you stole
quite
enough boyfriends from me in high school.”

They both
immediately
beam at me as I realize my slip-up and die a little inside.

“
Oh. My. God.
” Quinn’s jaw drops.

“Guys, no, that is
not
what I-”

“No
fucking
way!” Chelsea stares at me with a grin on her face. She and Liz turn towards each other and start giggling again.

“Wait, no, it is
not
like-
stop that!
” People are starting to turn and look our way, and even in this greasy little diner in midtown, I know it’s a matter of time before someone realizes who I am and starts to get
really
interested in what we’re talking about so animatedly.

“Guys, seriously!” I hiss; “Keep it down!”

Chelsea is beaming at me; “Hudson fucking Banks?”

“I think it’s more ‘Hudson fucking our sister’, actually.” Quinn quips, with the predicted giggle from Chelsea and the deeper shade of red on my face.

I shake my head much to animatedly; “No
way
, of course not, he’s horrible.”

Quinn shrugs; “Well, I mean he’s crude I guess, but horrible?”

“Ugh! He’s one of Dad’s
thugs
!” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more, me or them.

“So?” Chelsea shrugs; “Ok, he worked for Dad; big deal. It’s not like he’s our brother or something.”

I make a face into my coffee; “Eww?”

Chelsea sighs; “No, I just mean what would be so weird about hooking up with Hudson?”

“Um, because
besides
that, how about the fact that Dad ditched us for him and his other adopt-a-veteran pals all the fucking time?”

Chelsea looks quickly down and Quinn shakes her head at me; “You need to let that one go sometime, Ray. You know Dad had his reasons for-”

“Ok, fine, whatever.”
Not
the conversation I want have in the middle of a political campaign sitting in a diner.

We sit in silence for another moment before I open my mouth again; “Ok, how about that he’s technically my campaign financier? Hello? Conflict of interest much?”

Quinn shrugs; “Archer Holdings is your campaign financier, not Hudson. So
what’s
the harm?”

I slam the coffee cup down harder than I intend, spilling the lukewarm liquid onto the countertop; “Because I feel like an idiot for sleeping with him after what happened at Dad’s wak-”

I freeze and clasp my hands to my mouth as the whole table goes silent, my sisters
staring
at me with open mouths.

Oh, fuck.

“Wait,
what?
You
did
sleep with him?!” Chelsea is wide-eyed and grinning at me.
 

“You
hussy
!” Quinn clucks her teeth like a mother hen; “And oh my
God
;
what
did you do get up to at a
wake
?!”

And it’s right there, with room-temperature coffee all over my hands, sitting in a crappy little midtown diner in the middle of the afternoon that I start to cry. Quinn immediately changes her whole tune as she jumps out the booth and crams in on my side, her arms going around me as the tears and the sniffles come pouring out of me.

“Hey,
hey
now Ray.”

“I’m horrible!” I moan into my hands, feeling Quinn’s arms tighten around me.

“No, hon, you’re not.”

“But at Dad’s fucking funer-”

“You were emotional and lost, and you needed something to grab onto; and he was there.” She nuzzles my hair like she used to do when we were kids; “That’s not being horrible, Ray, that’s just being human.” She says softly.

Chelsea reaches across the table and takes one of my hands, patting it dry of coffee as I look up at her miserably; “And Hudson
isn’t
so terrible you know.”

“I know,” I sniff.

Quinn leans down to peer into my face with that wicked grin back on her face; “So, you slept with him, huh?”

I feel a horrible mixture of relief and embarrassment and sadness wash over me at the way things got left this morning with him, especially with the previous night being so incredible, and I nod quietly.
 

Quinn chuckles; “So was it good?”

“Of
course
it was good, or she wouldn’t be so upset right now!” Chelsea says as she squeezes my hands, and I giggle in spite of myself.
 

“Oh,
ok
, details,
now.
”

I laugh again and roll my eyes; “Quinn!” Chelsea throws a balled-up napkin at our older sister, and then we’re all laughing, and I can already feel the weight lifting from my shoulders.
 

Suddenly though, Quinn turns and looks at me skeptically; “Hang on.” She bites her lip; “No, forget it.”

“Gah!
Quinn
! What?” I say, wiping my eyes on her arm.
 

She gives me a look a the mascara marks I leave on her sweater before she shakes her head; “No, it’s just- I don’t know, you’ve just never really struck me as the casual hook-up type, that’s all.”

I frown; “What do you mean?”

She frowns; “I mean with
Hudson
,” She shrugs; “Hey I guess the campaign really is good at getting you out of your comfort zo- Oh
fuck
, honey-”

My face starts to crumble again, and Chelsea reaches across the table to smack Quinn’s hand.

“Soooo…
not
necessarily a casual thing.”

I dump my head in my hands; “I don’t know! No? Maybe?”
Ugh
; I fucking
hate
crying like this over some
guy
like some sort of movie cliche. But
damnit
if Hudson hasn’t wormed right under my skin.

“It’s complicated, I guess.”

Chelsea smirks at me; “Ray, your whole
life
is complicated; maybe you need a little simplicity.”

I exhale loudly; “I should let the whole thing go, shouldn’t I?”

My younger, somehow far wiser sister grins at me as she squeezes my hand; “No, I’m saying you
clearly
have a lot more feelings about Hudson than I think you’re even admitting to yourself, and like always, you’re overthinking it.”

“So-”

“So you like him, and I’m betting he likes you. So just
tell
him, Reagan.” Quinn says.

Across the table, Chelsea nods and shrugs; “Try simple for change, Ray.”

P R E S E N T

I end up getting a grand total of two jabs into my warm-up before I throw off my gloves with a snarl and head for the shower. There’s a brief hesitation right before I step under the spray; as if a tiny part of me is reluctant to wash the smell and the feel and the memory of her off of my skin.

‘A big mistake…kind of like last night.’

I step under the water and slam the shower-door shut.

*****

I don’t know why or even how I find myself at the cable network building where her second interview of the day is being filmed, but fuck it, I’m there. That’s what’s so twisted about this whole Reagan situation; I don’t
want
to be around her, but apparently I can’t seem to stay
away
either. The interview has already started as I stand just outside the light behind the cameras off-stage, watching her and trying not to let the fact that she’s laughing and smiling and just plain gorgeous get under my skin so much.
 

“Hey
babe
.” Samantha’s voice slithers into my ear as she comes up behind me and wraps her arms around me, as if we’ve even
met
more than three times.

“What are you
doing
here, Sam?” I hiss at her quietly, though not quietly enough to avoid getting an evil look from one of the stage managers. Is this girl
following
me or something?

She slaps my chest playfully and rolls her eyes, as if I’ve just said a joke of some kind; “Uh, because I
intern
for the Archer campaign?
Duh
?”

Oh
fuck
. Reagan’s immediately furious reaction to my having Samantha on my arm before suddenly makes
way more
sense; because she’s a campaign intern, kind of like the type of campaign intern that she broke up with that idiot Chet for fucking. The pieces slide a bit more together and I cringe as I think about it.

She answers a question with a line I don’t hear but that makes the older news anchor chuckle. But then as she looks up with a smile on her face, she suddenly sees me standing there behind the cameras with Samantha hanging off my arm, and her smile fades instantly. She’s glaring at me, so much so that I even see the stage manager signal for another camera angle. There’s a bit of smug satisfaction with seeing her jealous like that, but it’s an empty victory considering the way shit went down this morning and the two pieces I’ve just put together, and I can’t even find a crumb of victory in it.

The interview ends, and I finally get Samantha to get off my arm by promising to call her later even though I’ve certainly never saved her number anywhere. I almost want to smile at the predictability of Reagan marching right up to me after she yanks off her microphone, but I keep it under wraps at the look in her face.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” Her eyes flash past me at Sam walking away behind me and her eyes narrow a little’ “So
how’s
Sam?”

I reach out and put my hand on her arm; “Calm down, it’s not what it looks-”

“
Don’t
tell me to-”She stops and takes a deep breath; “Hudson I don’t
care
,” She shrugs my hand off and takes one small and yet infinitely giant step back; “We’re both adults here, you can do whatever you want.”

I take a step towards her, my voice low and growling; “You
know
what I want.”

She opens her mouth but then shuts it abruptly as she nods towards the sound of Samantha giggling obnoxiously at something across the room; “Yeah, I guess I do. Have fun, Hudson.”

*****

I feel like a fucking idiot when I knock on her door, about to escort her to fucking
Chet Kennedy’s
“gala” event; whatever the fuck that is. I’m literally driving the girl I can’t get out of my fucking head into the arms of her shitty ex-boyfriend. The old Hudson would have punched this Hudson in the nuts and told him to sack up.

She opens the door though, and any and all rational thought just
flushes
right out of my mind as I stare at her. She looks stunning. I mean, she always looks amazing, but the short, slinky, form-fitting little black dress she’s wearing is like a punch right to my gut, and I find myself just opening and closing my mouth as I let my eyes roam over her. And then of course the thought hits me that she isn’t wearing this for
me
, and I frown.

“Well?”
 

Her voice startles me out of my freeze and I jerk my head up; “Jesus, why are you wearing
that
?” I immediately cringe;
Nice man, nice.

Her lip curls into a snarl; “Well fuck you too, Hudson.”

“No, I mean -  isn’t this a formal-”

“It’s black tie, black cocktail dress; isn’t that your circle of things?”

Yeah, hardly.

“I’m just saying you look nice.”

“Gee, thanks. Funny way of showing it.”