The Charmer (Harbor City 2)

Just two silent people moving to the music like they were dancing in fast-drying cement. It fucking sucked.

Hudson made sure to keep the socially acceptable distance between him and Felicia as they danced, but it wasn’t enough. He needed at least a football field between them not to want her. Who was he kidding? He’d need to be in another solar system. Especially with her in that blue dress that managed to highlight her every curve while making him desperate to peel the material away from her soft skin so he could see everything hiding beneath. Not that it mattered. She could be in that horrible sack of a black dress that he’d first spotted her in and he’d want her. That she wasn’t in that dress and that this one was bought specifically for Tyler served as the perfect reminder that this was it—their last dance. She had what she wanted. He’d done his Henry Higgins. Now it was time for them to go their separate ways.

He wanted to say something, but for once the words didn’t come—and it didn’t seem like she was interested in hearing him anyway. Felicia maintained her stiff body language and pointedly kept her sweet mouth shut. It gutted him.

“Matches.”

Finally, she looked up at him, something a lot like hurt shining behind her glasses. Fuck. He’d screwed this all up. Right on cue, he felt the tap on his shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in?” Tyler asked.

Mind if I punch you in the face? “Of course.”

Like the asshole he was, Hudson let go of the one woman he couldn’t stop wanting, made way for the man she actually wanted to dance off with, and walked off to the bar for a stiff drink he could drown in. His luck was obviously holding, though, because by the time he got two fingers of scotch, his mom, Everly, Sawyer, and Clover had joined him.

“They make a lovely couple. Don’t you think?” Helene asked. “Whoever fixed them up should be commended—and if he or she is single, they should definitely find the perfect match for themselves.”

“They really do look good together,” Everly agreed, staring at Hudson as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

The shittiest part of it was that they did. They were a dark haired, blue-eyed couple moving with ease across the dance floor as if they’d always been destined to do it. It made him want to fucking puke. Instead of revisiting dinner, he downed what was left in his glass and signaled to the bartender for another. By the time they started announcing the winners of the silent auction, the alcohol had softened the edges of his reality. Then, the master of ceremonies called Felicia’s name. She’d had the winning bid for an original Hughston, her choice, from his show opening next week. He knew damn well she couldn’t have afforded the winning bid in the hundreds of thousands. But Tyler? That asshole had money in the bank. She must have made the same connection because she was arguing with the other man, who just shrugged. Finally, she gave him a soft smile, and unless the alcohol was making Hudson see things, Felicia leaned up and gave Tyler a kiss on the cheek.

Someone growled in disapproval. It took Hudson a second to realize he’d made the sound.

Everly wrapped her fingers around his forearm, halting his progress toward Felicia and Tyler. “You aren’t going to do anything dumb, are you?”

Too late for that. He’d already done it. Like a total chump, he’d fallen in love with someone he could never have. “Like what?”

“You tell me,” Everly said, taking away his mostly empty third glass of scotch and setting it down on the bar. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you right now, and I’ve known you since we had Art Appreciation 101.”

“I’m not going to do anything dumb.” He picked his glass up off the bar and held it up so the bartender would see he needed another.

Everly shook her head, concern forming a V between her dark eyes. “I hope you’re sure about that.”

“I am.” He was going to get comfortably numb while watching Felicia finally get what she’d always wanted. It’s what he did. He made sure everyone around him was happy. He was a fixer. He just couldn’t fix himself.

The bartender came over and poured Hudson a finger of scotch. All it took was an uncharacteristic glare from him, though, and the bartender poured another. That was more like it.

“They’re leaving,” Everly said.

He turned before he could stop himself and caught the sight of Felicia walking away and out of his life.

“To another successful fix-up,” he said, holding his glass aloft in a toast.

Everly rolled her eyes at him but kept her comments—for once—to herself. Thank God. The voice in his head cursing him out for letting Felicia go was loud enough as it was.

Chapter Nineteen

The scotch had done its best to grind away the world’s sharp edges, but they were still there, jabbing Hudson in the stomach, and there was only one way to make that feeling go away.

After the Uber driver pulled away from Everly’s building, he meant to give the driver the address to his penthouse. But that’s not what he told the nice lady with the spiked pink hair and the neck tattoo of a tiger. He gave her Felicia’s address. That’s how he ended up on the street where she lived, standing outside her apartment while Honeypot wailed in greeting.

She was probably in there with Tyler. That’s why he was here. His subconscious knew that he needed to see it. See them together—not in a stalker kind of way but more in a pound your head against the wall spiked with rusty nails kind of way. So here he was. The kitchen light was off, but a dim light from somewhere deeper inside the apartment that sent enough light to outline Honeypot as she sat on the kitchen windowsill. It probably came from her bedroom. That’s probably where they were, on that big blue bedspread of hers with all the girlie pillows scattered on the floor.

His gut contracted and twisted itself into a knot that had him seeing red dots at the edges of his vision.

The smart thing would be to turn around and head back to his side of town, using the long walk to clear his head. Instead, the next thing he knew he was walking down the stairs to her door and knocking on it.

Felicia opened it a few seconds later with Honeypot in her arms, wearing black yoga pants and a threadbare long-sleeved T-shirt that Honeypot was in the process of shredding. She didn’t have any makeup on. Her hair was yanked back into a ponytail, big, chunky strands of which had escaped. The tip of her nose was red and her eyes puffy behind her glasses.