Nuno R.F.C.R
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A week later, Hudson had learned two new facts about himself. One: he could carry three plates, dodge two drunk tourists, and refill a water glass without spilling a drop. Two: none of that required as much concentration as pretending his phone didn't exist. It sat in his back pocket, warm from his body, buzzing at the worst possible times. He'd be balancing a tray of cocktails, and suddenly his entire brain would go "It's him", and he'd have to bite the inside of his cheek to kee
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This got a laugh out of me.
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Thank you for commenting!
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Can't think of a better review...thank you!
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Thank you for reading!
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Do you charge for your services? 😉 (Thank you for spotting it.)
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Hudson's mouth opened before his brain could negotiate with it. "I'm not letting you fuck me." The sentence fell onto the table like a dropped fork, loud in the silence, absurdly blunt, impossible to pretend it hadn't happened. For a heartbeat, Liam stared at him. Then he laughed. It wasn't the polished, public laugh Hudson imagined actors perfected. Rather something warm and surprised and a little helpless. Hudson felt his ears burn. "What?" "Nothing," Liam ma
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“Hey.” Hudson didn’t mean for the word to come out too fast. It just slipped out, half greeting, half apology, as his tray struck the edge of the booth and the world lurched into that awful slow-motion reserved for gravity’s mischief. The lemon wedge skidded, the glass teetered, and ice scattered like frantic diamonds. Hudson lunged, caught the glass by the neck, and pinned it upright with his palm. The drink sloshed but didn’t spill. A miracle. His heart, however, did spill
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In a quiet West Hollywood restaurant, a broke waiter and a reclusive world-famous actor unexpectedly connect. Their guardedness and loneliness meet, launching a story not just of falling in love, but of a connection tested by time.
