18. Ember

18

EMBER

“ W hat the hell was that, Hudson?” I throw my hands over my face and push them back through my hair. “You told me you needed a wife for a day, one day! Not… not… signing up to be a forever baseball wife, following you around like a lost puppy.”

“I didn’t know it was going to go down like that. I had no idea he felt that way.” He turns to face me, reaching his hand to grab mine, and I instantly yank it back.

His frustration is obvious, but it’s quickly replaced with concern.

This is exactly why I didn’t want to get involved in this. I feel stuck. Even the cab of his overly sized truck is closing in on me, and everything feels so goddamn small.

“Just drive. Please drive.” I jam my finger into the window button, rolling the window down to get some air as Hudson faces forward, starts the truck, and pulls out of the parking lot.

As we exit, I see a couple of families on the sidewalk across the street, at what appears to be the condo that we will be living in. Two women are taking a selfie together. Their men are behind them, as they expertly try to move so the stadium is the backdrop behind them. One guy has a child on his shoulders, the other has one in each arm. They all squeeze together and smile as we pass by.

“Those guys are on the team,” Hudson shares with me, his tone understated.

“I figured.” I don’t intend my reply to be so curt, but I feel so frustrated I don’t bother to apologize for it when it does.

His confession this morning about everyone else’s idea of his image and the injury he had pulled at my heartstrings. I was just trying to help him out, but I should have just said no. There are too many things that I’m trying to work on for myself.

I’m finally out from under my parents’ grueling pestering about marriage and babies. Away from my friends, who judged me for wanting a life, a career of my own. Just to fall into a situation where I’ve agreed to be a housewife and worry more about someone else’s future than my own.

So, why did I sign the papers? I signed the paper because I also lied to my parents about meeting Hudson. Even though they don’t know I got married, the lie I told them led me here. And I couldn’t let Hudson down or embarrass either one of us in front of his coach. His coach, who under normal circumstances would be a great guy, but right now, his upstanding, old-fashioned morals are the bane of my existence.

And because I feel like a goddamn pushover.

There is an underlying guilt that I shouldn’t be so selfish, but I’ve just worked way too hard and fought for too damn long to not be. Staying with Hudson will require a lot of time and energy, and things that I never intended to focus on. I committed myself to my new role at XConnect—the dream job I’ve been waiting for—uprooted my life, lied to my family, all so I can create something for me . Something that I can call my own.

Now I just signed my life over to being the exact thing I have been trying to avoid .

The words my mother would always tell me repeat in my head. Men hold the power, and it’s our responsibility as women to support that so they can support us.

I hated that. I hated when she reminded me that anytime I felt more ambition than she’d like, telling me I’d be better off finding a strong, wealthy man than a career.

I watch as Hudson grips the steering wheel, turning it wide as he pulls into a parking spot and kills the engine. I peek at the time, and it’s been less than ten minutes since we left the stadium, realizing the drive was short in distance, but long in my head.

“Please say something.” He turns to face me and his eyes plead with mine.

“I can’t,” I reply, and he huffs a short breath at my response.

He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and hands me the keycard for the hotel room.

“I’ll pick up some food at the restaurant and bring it upstairs for us. I’ll meet you up there.” Giving me a concerned look before he exits the driver’s side and closes the door behind him. Taking a couple steps away, he stops, pauses, looks over his shoulder, then walks around the front of the truck.

It actually pisses me off how handsome he is. His dark brown hair is covered by a baseball cap, which somehow looks better on him than not. His joggers are snug, low on his waist, and the basic navy t-shirt he wears looks like it’s tailored for his body. Could he look any fucking sexier?

He opens my door, stepping into it, blocking everything.

Reaching over, he clicks open the glove compartment. It pops down, displaying a folded, mustard yellow manila envelope.

He grabs it, lifting the top flap, and pulls out the paperwork inside, showing me the top of the front page.

Decree of Annulment .

“I had these prepared immediately after you left the hotel room in Vegas.” His chest lifts as he takes a deep breath, letting the exhale release slowly.

“I don’t want you to feel stuck. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. But we know this situation can benefit us both.” His tongue darts over his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth, like he’s a bit nervous about this proposal.

“If you want to sign these papers right now, we will. But it doesn’t have to be as terrible as you’re envisioning it to be. You have a life, a job, a career. I understand that, and Coach Raymer will understand that. That’s your priority, and I fully support it. We both need something that we can benefit from right now, and that’s all it needs to be. Plus, it would just be for the season.” He places the palm of his hand over my cheek, and my body, my traitorous body, leans into it, like a comfort blanket.

Is he right? Could this work? Could we do this without me giving up on myself?

My mom sure couldn’t.

I close my eyes and suck in a lengthy breath. When I reopen them, Hudson’s stare is feral.

His dark lustful eyes boomerang between mine and my lips. His intense study causes my eyes to fall away from his, and they find the keycard that I’m twiddling with as I pull my bottom lip in with my teeth. It’s a wasted attempt to shy away from him when he pinches his thumb and forefinger to my chin and returns my gaze to his; the collision is a perfect storm.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I challenge the lion behind this fa?ade of a man.

“Like what?” he replies, with a tone as lecherous as his face.

“Like you did before you kissed me on that stage,” I whisper.

His lips lift in a devilish smirk.

He slides the envelope on the top of the dash, then grabs the bill of his baseball cap and swivels it around his head, removing any obstruction from between the two of us .

And I take back what I questioned early.

Yes… he absolutely can look sexier.

He leans in slowly, nuzzling himself into the column of my neck, giving me a chaste kiss with his soft lips.

“You mean, when I couldn’t keep my hands off you?” He places the palms of his hands on the tops of my thighs, trailing them all the way up to my hips.

“When you put a spell on me and nothing in this world could have stopped me from putting my lips on yours?” He yanks me forward so my center is flush with his, then he, softly, so fucking softly, presses his lips to mine. “Or anywhere else on this gorgeous body.” He trails his lips over my jawline to the soft flesh under my ear. “Before, when I had a mind of my own and no idea that someone could make me feel so consumed and possessive, so weak and powerful.”

Releasing my hip, his hand roams loosely over the top of my shirt, caressing me as his lips explore my neck, jaw, chin, collarbone. He kisses me in areas I’ve never been kissed before, that reach areas of my body I didn’t know I had.

My hips act of their own accord and press into his. His groan is long and drawn out as his hips collide with mine, rolling together with perfect rhythm.

A distant honk and a male voice screaming from a drive by car pulls us back into reality.

It’s so easy to get lost in him. Just like on the stage, when we got so lost in each other.

Pulling his hands away from my body, the distance is instant and a devastating relief.

His joggers don’t do him any favors to hide his current state. Not only did I feel everything when he was pressing into me, but now he’s packing what looks like a plumbing pipe between his legs.

He grunts as he pulls away from my neck and looks down at himself and his unavoidable erection, soundlessly chuckling .

“You might be the death of me.” A tone as serious as it is playful.

Reaching over the dash, he grabs the envelope, placing it back in the front compartment, then flips it closed.

Holding out his hand to me, “Come on, little red. Let’s go eat.”