Every Time I Fall (Orchid Valley 3)

“I don’t want to feel like a new woman. I like the woman I am.” I mentally high-five myself for that little lie. At least I want it to be true. It’s a start.

Hudson throws his head back and laughs. He really is cute. Too bad he’s a diet-and-exercise pusher. “So do I, obviously.” He winks at me. “But who doesn’t want to have more energy?”

I sigh. “I work on my feet forty to fifty hours a week, Hudson. I have no desire to go to the gym before or after work.” It’s not that I don’t move my body outside of work, but I’d rather not get his opinion of my walking and yoga routines. Those are things I do for myself, and I don’t need his dude-bro input.

His gaze flicks down my body. “I respect that. Seriously. But I promise I wouldn’t make you too sore.” He winks again, and I’m so damn confused. Was that an innuendo? Is he trying to flirt with the fat girl, or get her to lose weight? Or is flirting part of his sales ploy? Yuck.

“Abbi!”

Hudson and I both turn to see the curvy blonde sauntering toward us, glass of wine in hand. Layla’s a big girl like me, but unlike me, she’s stunning. She looks like one of those plus-size models—the ones who wear every damn outfit so well that I practically need a pop-up built into my web browser that reminds me the clothes on my screen will not make me look as good or feel as confident as the model appears.

Tonight, Layla’s rocking a retro polka-dot dress that shows off all her assets, with red Mary Jane heels and matching lipstick. Her platinum-blond hair has been pinned into curls at the nape of her neck, perfecting the fifties pinup look.

I bet RimsandRepos wouldn’t have suddenly had something come up if he’d seen her waiting for him.

“Hey, hey,” Hudson says, sticking a hand in Layla’s direction. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Hudson, but my friends call me Hause.”

Dear Lord. I cringe. First, I don’t believe anyone in the history of ever has called Hudson Hause. It’s an aspirational nickname at best. Second, I swear he sees dollar signs when he looks at big girls. Luckily, Layla’s unlikely to be swayed by his sales pitch.

“Hudson, this is Layla, our new catering coordinator at The Orchid, so she’s the liaison between me and Brinley for our large events. Layla, this is Hudson. He works at Mainstreet Fitness and will sell you personal training sessions and protein powders galore the second you let your guard down.”

They both laugh at this as they shake hands.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your date,” Layla says to me. “I just saw you over here and wanted to say hi.” She turns to Hudson. “I’m new in town, so any time I’m out and about and see a familiar face, I turn into an excitable puppy.”

“Oh.” My cheeks heat as her words register. “This isn’t a date. Not at all.”

Hudson flashes me a look I can’t quite interpret, but it’s a pretty fair guess that he too is mortified by the assumption. “I was just saying hi too,” he says. He points over his shoulder toward a group of dude-bros at the nearest pool table. “I’ll get back to my friends.”

“Wait,” Layla says as he climbs out of the booth. “Do you have, like, a card or anything? I haven’t found a new trainer since my move.”

Grinning, Hudson reaches into his back pocket to retrieve a card. “Absolutely. Here ya go. We can do a one-time consultation to chat goals or set up weekly sessions or anything in between—it’s entirely up to you.”

“Awesome. I’m into powerlifting. You do that?”

He beams. “Hell yeah. I do a more traditional strength split myself, but I train a few powerlifters. Give me a call, and we’ll work something out.”

Layla does an excited little shimmy and tucks his card into her purse. “Can’t wait!” She watches him go before sliding into the booth across from me. “Girrrrrl, he is so into you.”

I laugh and am still laughing when Smithy shows up at my table to check on me and my lemon drop martini. I suddenly feel like draining the whole thing and every single one of its twenty grams of sugar. Hudson isn’t into me. He looks at me and sees dollar signs.

“What’s so funny?” Smithy asks.

Layla says, “I was just—”

“Nothing,” I say. I don’t need Smithy getting Layla’s nutty ideas in his head. “Just girl talk.”

Layla arches a brow at me but keeps her mouth shut until he walks away again. “You seriously didn’t see that? With the trainer?”

“See what?”

“He was checking you out and doing everything he could to keep your attention on him. There’s a reason I assumed you were on a date.”