tomorrow and stay at the beach house with Mom and Dad too?”
He squinted but didn’t fight me. Yet.
Sweetly, I continued, “You can get some quality Jack time, and I can get some sun and ocean.”
Hudson drew in a deep breath.
But before he could contest my amazing plan, I added, “It’ll be a quick trip. There tomorrow and back on Sunday evening. You won’t miss a thing.”
He moaned and groaned.
So, before I lost him, I dialed up the guilt. “Jack will be so happy, and my parents haven’t seen you in weeks.”
Looking like he was physically in pain, he tipped back the last of his beer, swallowed, and surrendered. “Fine. Drive me home.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. Winning an argument with Hudson was about as likely as hitting the jackpot in the Georgia State Lottery. So as not to give him a chance to change his mind, I pulled some bills out of my wallet, tossed them onto the table, and tugged my bag’s strap over my head.
As he rose, he kicked a chair at the empty table beside ours and he wobbled on unsteady feet.
“Whoa there, big fella.”
He paused with his hands out to his sides to get his bearings. “I meant to do that.”
With my ninja-like reflexes, I dipped under his arm and wrapped one of mine around his muscular waist. Then I gave Carmen a wink as we stumbled to the door. She covered her mouth to hide a laugh I could hear across the room. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one getting a kick out of Hudson’s drunken state.
It was a rare sight for sure, but he wasn’t falling down or tripping over his own feet too badly, so we made it to the passenger side of my SUV with little trouble. The funniest part about the whole thing was how comfortable I was with Hudson’s giant arm draped over my shoulder when, only a few hours earlier, Handsy Hank almost got a swift kick in the nuts for doing the same damn thing.
Then again, it was Hudson. I’d known him forever and that was probably why. He was like my other brother. Yet that didn’t explain why he smelled so good beside me or why I kept tilting my head closer to get a bigger sniff of whatever he was wearing. The way it had my head spinning, I bet it’d cost a fortune.
“Hey, drunko,” I said as I got him settled in my vehicle. “What cologne is that?”
He pulled the neck of his black T-shirt out and stuck his face into it, chuckling and sniffing himself. “It’s not cologne, Kid. It’s just SpeedStick.” He laughed even harder, letting the stretched-out fabric fall against his chest. “You like it? It’s musk.”
I kicked his boot, which was still anchored to the asphalt parking lot. “What I’d really like is for you to put all your tree-trunk-ass appendages inside the car so I can shut the door.”
He snickered again but complied, repeating, “Tree trunk ass.”
After I passed him his safety belt to fasten, I closed him in.
Fucker thought he was really funny too, because as I rounded the hood, he honked my horn and yelled, “Get your tree trunk ass in the car!”
Okay. Drunk Hudson was obnoxious too. That was usually my job, but I’d let him have it for the night.
Inside, I turned the ignition and corrected, “I don’t have a tree trunk ass. I happen to have a great ass. Not that you would notice, but it’s one of my finer attributes.” I pulled onto the road and headed toward his place.
“Oh, I know all about your nice ass.”
I swallowed and reminded myself he was drunk. It was the whiskey talking, and historically speaking, Jameson always had a thing for my butt.
Hudson fumbled with the seat’s adjustments, trying to make himself more comfortable in my small SUV, but he ended up reclining it all the way back. As if he’d intentionally done it, while he was on his back, he dug into his pocket, pulled out a pack of gum, and held a stick out to me. “You wanna piece of this?”
No. No. I didn’t want anything from him. But as hard up for decent companionship as I was lately, everything was starting to sound like innuendo.
“No, thanks. And you don’t know a thing about my ass. So check yourself.”
He righted his seat beside me and argued, “Yes, I do. I know about all the asses. That’s what I do. I’m an ass man.”