Page 35 of Roughing It

“Huds—” Before I get his name out, he jerks his head toward my phone. I plaster on a smile, and with a high-pitched giggle, I say. “Okay, that’s it for now, BBs. Don’t forget to like, share, and save!”

When I end the live, I dump the eggs and bacon back onto the communal plate, picking at the fluffy biscuit.

“There you go again.”

“What are you growling about now, Bear?”

“You didn’t eat any of the food you raved about.”

“It’s not like I wasted it. You already made it. I wouldn’t have eaten it even if I didn’t do the live. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is you put on this ridiculous show. You made a pretend plate of food. You sat over there for half an hour putting all that shit on, changing the way you look. When the way you look is beau—” He shakes his head. “For what? For strangers to fawn over you? To feel good about yourself? You that needy, Princess? Mom and Dad could only afford state school, so now you have to get your ego stroked online?”

Anger and hurt battle for hold. In the end, though, anger wins. I push back from the table, my chair clattering to the floor. “You don’t know anything about my mo—” I stop myself from saying the wordmom. “My childhood. And this show, as you call it, is my job, asshole! I’m sorry if it offends you, but this is how I make my living. It seems shallow and vapid to you, Mr. Salt-of-the-Goddamn-Earth, but we can’t all be jerks who push people away every chance we get.”

Hudson glares but doesn’t answer. Instead, he strides toward the door.

“Oh no, you don’t. I’m not done!”

He makes it to the porch before I catch him, grabbing his shoulder. “You don’t have any room to talk. The Hudson who rubbed my feet, tucked my hair behind my ear, and brought me a blanket—who is he? Is he the real you? Or is the real you the guy who yells and calls me a brat and a liar and is too scared to kiss me? Which is it?”

Suddenly, his mouth is on mine, stealing the air from my lungs. He grips my hips, and I stretch to wrap my arms aroundhis back. His tongue prods my mouth, begging for entrance, which I happily grant.

When his fingers tangle in my hair, I can’t help it, a small moan escapes from the back of my throat while my hands wander his wonder of a body. Then, as quickly as it begins, it’s over. And I’m left alone on the porch, fingertips pressed to my trembling lips.

There may as well be a Hudson-shaped puff of air for how quickly he ran away.

No survival skills testing happens. Instead, Hudson vanishes for hours. I’d worry if his Jeep wasn’t still parked in the clearing—freaking man-baby.

He kisses me and pushes me away like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing.

What’s the saying? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, can’t fool me again. Being shown twice in quick succession I’m not wanted is enough of a lesson for me.

Surely.

I’m tossing stuff into random piles, hunting for headache medicine when he returns.

“We need to talk.”

“Really? You tell me how pathetic I am, kiss me, storm off for hours, and now you want to talk? Whatever could we possibly have to discuss?” I say in the driest tone possible.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? For what?”

“For what I said about your job. I was out of line.” His jaw clenches. “And…”

“And?”

“For kissing you. It shouldn’t have happened.”

Ouch.That stings. “Because you aren’t attracted to me?” Why that’s my question, I wish I knew.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

His fingers flex, and he sways, as if he’s keeping himself from moving toward me. “This can’t happen. You and me can’t happen.”

---