The Fixed Trilogy: Fixed on You(55)

I was very serious. I was tired of always being in the dark about him and the world that he weaved me in and out of so flippantly.

He tucked his sunglasses into the compartment above his mirror, not needing them anymore with the sun setting and us directed east. “Except for your predilection for putting your hands all over me—“

“Oh, don’t exaggerate.”

“—you were magnificent.” He was serious as well, which shocked me. I felt anything but magnificent. “How would any information I could have given you have changed how you performed?”


I opened my mouth but found I didn’t have a specific answer. “I would have been more at ease because I was prepared.” That was the best I could come up with. “The same goes for the day at the fashion show. I could have handled your mother, Celia—” I paused, wanting to indicate what I’d found out about his past without actually saying it. “You know, the whole day would have been better if I’d been prepared.”

“Again, I thought you were brilliant.”

“Not on the inside. And it’s the inside stuff that makes me do crazy things. Like stalk office buildings.” I winced as I mentioned the embarrassing behavior that I wished I could forget. But if I wanted to be well, I needed to address my insecurities, and not knowing much about Hudson led to many of mine. “Anyway, I have you trapped in a car for over two hours—”

“Are you sure I don’t have you trapped?”

“You’re driving. I’m providing the entertainment.” Though, I found his uncharacteristic playfulness extremely entertaining as well.

“I like the sound of that.” He grinned, sneaking a look at my bare legs.

I resisted the urge to tug at my black skort, one of my prizes from shopping at Mirabelle’s. I enjoyed that he liked looking at me, but his gaze turned me on to the nth degree and I wanted to keep focused. “Stop interrupting. We are playing a get-to-know-each-other game.” I put my hand up as if to shush him. “Don’t even say whatever it is you’re about to say. If we have any hope of fooling your family when we’re with them twenty-four/seven then we need to know more about each other.”

“I already know plenty about you.” This time his gaze went to the bosom of my super tight tee.

“No, you don’t.” I snapped my fingers by my face to get his attention to move upward. “Have you ever gotten to know a woman—nonsexually? Besides from a background check?”

“Not on purpose.”

His answer was quick and honest. And it pissed me off. “Hudson, you’re kind of an *.”

“So I’ve been told.” He met my glowering eyes. “Fine. How do we play this game of yours?”

The triumph wiped out my irritation. “We’ll take turns. On your turn you can either ask a question or tell a fact about yourself. Your choice. Nothing too heavy. Basic stuff. I’ll go first. I don’t like mushrooms.”

His eyes widened. “You don’t like mushrooms? What is wrong with you?”

“They’re gross. They taste like rotten olives.”

“They taste nothing like olives.”

“They taste like rotten olives. I can’t stand them.” I made a face to show my disgust, but inside I was ecstatic that he was taking an interest in what I had shared. I hadn’t been sure he would. Especially with such a benign subject as food tastes.

Hudson shook his head, seemingly bewildered by my confession. “That’s a terrible inconvenience. That has to hinder your fine dining experiences.”

“Tell me about it.” For some reason, mushrooms seemed to be in a great deal of fancy recipes. “Imagine my horror when my senior prom date made dinner for me and it was chicken Marsala.”

His eye twitched, almost unnoticeably. “Your senior prom date? Was this a serious relationship?” His voice had also tensed slightly.

I narrowed my eyes. Was he jealous? “Are you asking that question for your turn?”

“Uh, yes, I suppose I am.”

He was jealous. Of a high school prom date. I was flattered. “It was a serious relationship for me. Not for Joe.”

“Joe sounds terrible.” But his smile returned.

“Thank you. He was.” Hudson pulled onto the Interstate, and I put my sunglasses in my purse. “My turn.” I sat back, chewing my lip. I’d eased us into the game, but now I wanted some answers. Something good. “Why do you never call people by their nicknames?”

He groaned. “Because nicknames are so gaudy. Call a person by their given name. That’s why they have it.”

I rolled my eyes. He was so formal. Sometimes I wasn’t sure I even liked the guy. That was part of the reason I had wanted to play this game. I had to know if my attraction went beyond the physical.

And I really wanted him to call me by my nickname. “But nicknames show a degree of familiarity.”

“You tell everyone to call you Laynie. Even people you’ve just met.”

Because answering to Alayna was weird. The only people who had really called me Alayna were my parents. “Maybe I feel familiar with everyone I meet.” I made an effort to say my next words casually, as if the fact didn’t really bother me. “And you call Celia by a nickname.”