A Girl Like You Page 22

  My house has character, I reminded myself, straightening my shoulders. It looked like people actually lived there. Hudson’s place looked like he had a cleaning service go in two or three times a week.

  “I haven’t dusted lately,” he said.

  I looked around for dust and saw none. Not even a stray dog hair.

  “This can be your bathroom to use,” Hudson said, leading me through a gorgeous guest room with a bed covered in pristine white blankets and a lace coverlet.

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. My bathroom?

  The marble countertops were as clean as if the room had never been used. On the far side of the room was a deep garden tub, sparkling white, with huge silver claw feet. Everything matched: the creamy shower curtain, the scallop-edged fingertip towels, the perfectly pleated curtains. The bath towels, also folded and looking brand-new, were monogrammed in silver with his initials.

  “Nice.” I tried not to sound as overwhelmed as I felt.

  “Thanks. I designed the house myself.”

  There was one thing strikingly missing in Hudson’s one-floor home: a staircase.

  “Yeah, didn’t want to bring my work home with me,” he joked.

  Hudson led me back through the guestroom. In the hallway, I looked over my shoulder to see another bathroom, this one in shades of seafoam blue.

  “How many bathrooms do you have?”

  “Three,” Hudson said casually. “All of them full baths.”

  Hudson pulled out a bottle of red wine and a type of cork opener I’d never seen before—was it electric? It unscrewed the cork without him even having to turn it. He expertly swirled the wine into delicate long-stemmed glasses, leaving them drip-free with a practiced flourish.

  “You’re good at that,” I said.

  “Yeah, well—I practice when I’m alone.”

  “Really?”

  “Not really, Jess.” He held out his wineglass for a toast.

  “To our second date,” I said, clinking his glass and causing my wine to splash.

  “You know what happens on a second date, right?” Hudson said, deliciously teasing.

  Pulling out a remote control, he switched on music that came from nowhere I could see.

  It was a song I loved.

  “No one ever likes my music,” he said as I started singing along.

  We looked each other in the eyes and I thought of the saying, or was it lyrics, that you could get lost in someone’s eyes. His were somber, as if he were very serious about something.

  “Come here,” he said, taking me by the hand and leading me to his bedroom.

  His enormous bed was straight out of a home fashion magazine, complete with matching shams, bed skirt, and those little pillows with the buttons in the middle that make everything look elegant.

  Hudson saw me looking. Laughing, he scooped up the pillow collection and carried them over to a small loveseat by the bay window, where he set them down carefully. He came slowly back across the room and took me by the hand.

  “Jess.”

  I thanked god I was wearing a shirt without buttons. He pulled it over my head and off me in one easy motion.

  “Undress me,” he said.

  I fumbled nervously with the buttons of his shirt. His chest had a smooth cover of fuzz the same sandy color as his wild head of hair. He helped me with the zipper of his jeans as I struggled to slip mine off without falling over.

  “Beautiful,” Hudson said, tracing the edges of my bra with the tips of his fingers. He pulled me up into his arms and set me down on the bed, hovering over me to kiss my mouth, ears, and neck, biting gently in a way that made me start moving my hips toward him. He held out his hands to pull me up to unclasp my bra, drawing in a breath as he saw my nipples harden.

  “Jess,” he said again.

  I kept my eyes open as he lay down on top of me, nuzzling my breasts, and I could feel a bulge against my thighs. I moved my leg closer to press against it.

  “How much further do you want to go?” he asked, pulling away from me in a way that was agonizing.

  “Just a little more.”

  What I meant was, “Have your way with me, sweetheart.”

  I realized I was supposed to be participating, so I slid down and tugged at his boxers, releasing his penis, which sprang to attention.

  It was perfect, I thought as I put my mouth over it.

  “Oh, honey,” he sighed.

  He didn’t do that annoying thing some men do and push my face onto his penis, pumping away. He let me lick as I wanted, swirling motions along the head, then deeper to the back of my throat. I liked it as much as he did.

  “I need to get inside you,” he groaned.

  He rolled me over and used his fingers to find my entrance, pushing into me in one smooth motion. We both made the same noise.

  And then, suddenly, I couldn’t feel him anymore.

  “Sorry,” he said, pulling out his flaccid penis. “Sometimes the plumbing doesn’t work the way it should.”

  “It’s OK,” I lied, shocked by the sudden end to our sex.

  Then Hudson used his head to move my legs open and buried his face between them, licking any reservations right out of me. He stroked me with his tongue, working my clit in one delicious motion as I rocked my hips, fighting the urge to grind on his face. He pulled away, his face slick with my wetness.

  I waited uncertainly. He came up to the top of the bed and lay next to me.

  Well, that’s that, I thought.

  But Hudson wasn’t done with me yet. “Come up here,” he said. “Sit on my face.”

  He didn’t have to ask twice. I was only too willing to comply.

  It wasn’t the most graceful sex position, straddling his face, but I closed my eyes and grasped the carved wooden headboard for support. He lifted his head up until even the tip of his nose was in me, moving his tongue from side to side and in circular motions, pulling me squarely down on him until I was afraid I’d suffocate him. After a while, I didn’t care about anything other than the tremors running up and down my legs, the exquisite sensation of him tonguing my engorged clit as I rode the waves.

  But it seemed the longer he licked, the harder it was to even approach orgasm. I would get to the edge of the cliff, right there, ready to jump off, then all of a sudden, I was all the way back from the ledge…the female equivalent of performance anxiety.

  “I have trouble getting off,” I said apologetically, moving carefully, reluctantly off him and lying back down.

  Hudson laughed. “All women have trouble reaching orgasm.” He wiped his chin. “You taste good.”

  Give and receive, I thought. It was time to concentrate on him again.

  I was pretty confident in my ability to get him off orally, or at least put on a good show trying. I ran my hands all over his chest and ridiculously flat stomach (he wasn’t kidding about being a hiker/biker/runner) and down to his thighs, deliberately avoiding his pelvis.

  He moved his hips to one side to try to reach my fingers, but I stayed away until he pressed his erection against my shoulder, and then neither of us could wait. I took him in my mouth, pumping slowly at first, then steadily, as he held my hair out of the way to watch closely.

  This time, thankfully, he stayed hard the whole time.

  “God, you’re good,” he said, his breath catching in his throat.

  I didn’t even have time to wonder if he would finish; his whole body spasmed as he came, a warm stream down my throat, and all I had to do was take one big gulp and swallow.

  “Here.” He sat up. “Let me get you a washcloth. You don’t have to—”

  I pushed him back down on the bed. “I already did, honey.”

  “Was it too much?” Hudson looked worried.

  It wasn’t the first time a man had ever asked me about the volume of his ejaculation. What was it with volume? The more the better? Not really.

  “It was fine.”

  “Good, because it’s been a while.”

>   I crawled up the bed to him.

  “Do you want to spend the night?” he asked, pulling me into his arms, tucking my head against his chest. I couldn’t think of any reason not to.

  He eased off the bed, giving me a chance to take in the full glory of his muscular butt, with those round concaves at the hips you get when you’re really fit. I’d never had them and had rarely seen them.

  At his dresser, Hudson pulled out a laundry-fresh white T-shirt, all soft and silky. “Is this all right?”

  It was so nice that I wondered how I could manage to sneak it home and keep it.

  I waited until he was pulling on his own shirt to bolt for the bathroom, hoping fervently he wasn’t checking out my ass. In his bathroom, I tried to wipe off my horrendously smeared mascara with water and Kleenex.

  Hudson came in with a new toothbrush. “For you.”

  It was a fancy angled toothbrush with a neon handle, not one of those crappy ones they give you for free at the dentist.

  “I’m sorry—I’ll be just a minute. I have to take Chloe out. Be right back.”

  I leaped into the oversized bed before Hudson could get back inside, pulling the sheet up but leaving my shoulders showing and fluffing my hair against the pillow in a way I hoped looked seductive and youthful.

  Hudson came back in with a bottle of water for my nightstand. “Anything else you need? What can I get you? Is it too warm in here?”

  There was a slight breeze from the ceiling fan over the bed, making the temperature about as close to perfect as it could get.

  He eased into the bed as if he were afraid of jostling me. I settled my face on his pillow.

  “Good night, honey,” he said, already half asleep.

  “Night, Hudson.”

  I tried hard to fall asleep in the crook of his arm, but my forehead started to sweat, making my hair stick to my neck, so I had to move carefully away. Hudson slept as silently as my kids had when they were little, so deeply I used to shake them to make sure they were still breathing.

  In the middle of the night I got up to pee, feeling for the light switch in the dark bathroom. His toilet was in a little room of its own. Private. When I got back into bed, Hudson was turned on his side away from me. I touched his back then leaned in and covered his shoulders with kisses.

  Sometime later, Hudson got out a remote control and turned the ceiling fan off. “Your arms felt cold,” he said, tucking the blanket carefully over me, smoothing out the folds.

  At last, we both slept.

  I rolled over at the sound of the front door opening, feeling for Hudson on his side of the bed. It was empty, but still warm.

  “Hi, baby,” Hudson said in the doorway as he unleashed Chloe. “Did we wake you?”

  “No. What time is it?”

  “Just after 8:00. How’d you sleep?”

  “Really good,” I said. It had been a deep, dreamless sleep and I’d forgotten where I was.

  “Did I snore?”

  “Not at all.”

  Hudson leaned into the bed to give me a big squeeze. I turned my head away, hoping he couldn’t smell my morning breath, patting him awkwardly on the back.

  “Shower time?”

  “It is.”

  “I put some shampoo in the guest bathroom for you. I hope it’s OK. It’s some extras of mine. I think I have too many hair products for a guy,” he said sheepishly.

  Taking a left at the kitchen, I got lost looking for the luxe bathroom he’d called mine. I had to call Hudson to show me the way. I smiled at the bottles lined up in neat rows on the countertop. There was an amazing array of shampoos and conditioners and spray leave-in frizz tamers. No wonder his hair was always so soft.

  After turning on the shower, I went to stare at myself in the mirror. I looked like someone who’d been having sex all night without sleep. As the mirror steamed, I couldn’t help myself. I started poking around the drawers.

  In the back was a half-full bottle of nail polish remover sealed in a plastic ziplock bag. A small blue comb that looked brand new was in the second drawer. In the bottom drawer was a powder compact I didn’t bother to open. The items looked old, almost dusty, as if they’d been there for years.

  By the time I emerged from the bathroom, delicious smells of breakfast were coming from the kitchen.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked, tousling my hair while his back was turned. I’d put on too much leave-in conditioner and my curls had gone flat.

  “Not a thing. Just relax and drink your mimosa.”

  Hudson was wearing a black T-shirt with the word GENUINE across the chest, his hair still wet from the shower. A slender champagne flute was on the countertop, and I slid into the barstool without complaint.

  “You like your eggs any certain way?”

  “However you make them.”

  Hudson expertly chopped yellow peppers, cherry tomatoes, and zucchini on a cutting board and slid them into a copper-bottomed skillet to simmer.

  “Remind me to give you some tomatoes before you leave.”

  “You have a garden?” I asked incredulously.

  “Yeah, I like to grow my own veggies. Part of being healthy.”

  Over plates of the best omelet I’d ever tasted, I caught Hudson looking intently at me. I hoped there wasn’t Swiss cheese on my face.

  “I can’t figure you out, Jess. Usually I know by the first couple of dates if we’re a match.”

  “Fish said we were a match,” I said, trying to discreetly wipe my chin. And I agreed wholeheartedly.

  “We’ll see,” he said, taking my empty plate.

  Hudson wiped down the counter with a dish towel, then folded it carefully in thirds and hung it in the center of the oven door rack. A minute later, he reached for it again, refolding exactly the same way after he’d used it.

  No wonder his house looked so perfect.

  “Thing is, I don’t like to invest a lot of time into something I don’t think will go the distance.”

  I wondered what that meant, but I was too busy enjoying the bubbles in the mimosa.

  “I’ve just recently become aware of my own mortality,” he said, looking very serious.

  “Don’t be silly. You’re a very young grandfather.”

  “No, I mean I want someone to spend the next twenty-five years with. I’m starting to feel like I’m running out of time. In ten years, I’ll be almost seventy,” he said, turning away to soap up the egg pan.

  “We have all the time in the world, sweetie,” I said, draining my champagne flute.

  63

  “One word,” Eddie said decisively. “Viagra.”

  It was Sunday and I’d told Eddie all the details, including my surprise at the sudden loss of Hudson’s erection.

  “I can’t talk to him about that.”

  “If not you, who will?”

  I thought for a moment. The owner of the comb in the bathroom had to have dealt with the same situation. Was Viagra discussed then?

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “He rallied and came through beautifully. Get it? He came through?”

  “Ha ha. I get it. Men age badly in that department,” Eddie said, pulling a grape out of the fruit bowl. “I’ve always thought they should have Viagra vending machines, you know, like the ones for condoms?”

  “Great idea! Let’s do it before someone else thinks of it.”

  “Or maybe just send him some Viagra free trial coupons in the mail, anonymously.”

  I swatted Eddie with a dish towel, knowing I couldn’t bring up the subject with Hudson so early in the relationship. Maybe down the line. I was surprised he hadn’t talked to a doctor about it. Didn’t he know it was very common?

  Honestly, I didn’t care about the temporary lapse in Hudson’s potency. We’d done just fine, the two of us. There was more to sex than just thrusting.

  “Oh good lord, Jess, you’re practically glowing,” Eddie said, shaking his head.

  64

  “Good morning, beautiful,�
� Hudson texted me Monday before I even got out of bed.

  Hudson was an amazing texter. He began every sentence with “hon” or “sweetie” or “baby.” I locked most of his messages to save forever.

  “You make me feel very special.”

  “You are special, Jess.”

  I began to lean in on his praise and affection for me, something I relied on even as I felt a nagging sense of disbelief that someone so sweet had come into my life—through a dating site, no less!

  We joked about the toothpaste I’d wiped on my teeth in my kitchen just before he’d arrived. About the way he folded his dishtowels. Even about his spotless house.

  “I’m a little OCD,” Hudson said.

  I didn’t care. I just thought of him as amazing.

  “Turn over so I can kiss your back,” he told me in bed.

  “You’re tickling me.”

  “I’m loving you, my sexy kitty,” he said.

  Even our dogs were crazy about each other.

  Penny and Chloe were close enough in age and size to be great companions. We started taking them for walks after Hudson closed up his shop, covering blocks of Meredia until all four of us were tired. I always ended up carrying Pen-Pen because she got winded even before I did.

  We walked downtown and I showed him my work neighborhood, pointing out the deli where I sometimes got a turkey wrap, Brew Coffee where Joe and his buds had standing orders for danish, Stone Soup Antiques, and the barber shop that gave Ian a great, precise clean-edge cut.

  “I should go there,” Hudson said. “I could use a new barber.”

  “But your hair is perfect!”

  “Aw, you’re biased,” he said, pulling me close to kiss my neck.

  We were all thirsty, so I unlocked the town hall to get us drinks from the water cooler.

  Under the glow of the street lights, without the fluorescent overhead lights, ringing phones, nonstop chatter of the men, and the buzzing fax machine, the office was quiet, quaint, and almost charming, like someone’s Victorian sitting room—except with desks instead of Queen Anne chairs.

  “Here, let me get the full effect,” Hudson said, pulling out my desk chair and ushering me into it, then going back to stand in front of the counter, as if he had just walked in.