Page 22 of Roughing It

“You try sleeping on the first sofa ever made and see how you feel.” The ache in my back has me gritting my teeth. I am not spending twenty-nine more nights on this couch. That much is damn sure. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Five fifteen.”

I sit up, the blanket pooling around my waist. “Five fifteen! In the morning?”

“Of course, in the morning. The day waits for no one. Haul your suitcases in from the Jeep since you refused to do it last night. Then you and I are going on a hike.”

“My luggage is fine where it is, but let’s focus on the real mystery. Why are you wakingmeup at five fifteen in the stupid morning? Won’t the hike still be there at eleven?”

“Of course, the hike will still be there. The land isn’t going anywhere; what kind of question is that?”

“Ugh, you are seriously rude. I mean, why so early? What does it matter if we go now or later?”

“If we’re out as the sun rises, we’ll see more animals. Plus, it’ll…” He pauses as if searching for the right words. “Make for compelling imagery.”

“Oh, so it’s prettier now? Why didn’t you say that?” I eye my taciturn roommate, turning away when he catches me.

“Get your stuff and get dressed. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?”

“That a problem?”

“Yes, I can’t be ready that quick!”

“Sure you can. Brush your teeth, slip on some layers and hiking boots, and you’re good to go.”

“What about hair and makeup? You don’t understand.”

“Hair’s easy; pull it up in a ponytail. And you don’t need makeup. You’re beautiful as is.”

Something wild flutters in my chest. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Hudson’s ears turn pink. “No.”

“So you don’t think I’m beautiful?”

At my frown, he stammers. “No, yes. Fuck.” His hands run over his face. “I mean, you look better without all that crap. I told you last night.”

“No, last night you saiddifferent.Which definitely doesn’t mean better.”

“Just get your shit and get ready. You’ve got nine minutes, Spitfire.”

Spitfire.A shiver courses through me as the lingering memory of my dream creeps to the forefront of my mind. When Hudson lumbers into the kitchen, mere feet away fromthe couch, banging around cabinets, I’m pulled back to reality.

With a sigh, I make the quick trip to the Jeep and rummage around. Despite Hudson’s semi-compliment about not needing makeup, if I’m going to be on camera, I have to at least do the key points. Slim my cheeks and nose and plump my lips. If I can dress in three minutes, that leaves six minutes but zero to do anything to my hair.

Okay, if I leave my hair alone and only contour my nose, I can always use a filter for any pictures to slim my cheeks, but that doesn’t solve the issue of a video or live. Ugh, I need a physics degree to figure this out.

“Eight minutes.” Hudson’s warning snaps me to action. I scramble, my arms full, as I sprint to the small bathroom. A delicious aroma hits my nose as I throw on clothes and do a half-assed speed job on my makeup.

Coffee.

Thank goodness. At least one thing about this morning is coming up Blakely.

Eight minutes later—seriously, what’s up with this man’s internal timer—Hudson knocks on the bathroom door.

“Time to go.”

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