Page 53 of Roughing It

“What is this?” He’s frowning at his plate while twirling his fork through the noodles.

“It’s spaghetti. Quit changing the subject.”

“No.”

I wrinkle my nose. “No? What do you mean, no?”

“No, this is not spaghetti. This is undercooked noodles with a can of tomato sauce poured over the top. Do you not cook at home?”

“Um, no, actually I don’t. I use a meal service; they deliverall my meals for the week, and I nuke them when I have time or am hungry. But also, we still need to talk about?—”

Hudson cuts me off again. “Give me your plate; I’ll make us something edible.”

Irritation has me narrowing my eyes. He’s clearly refusing to address the masturbating elephant in the room, and he’s insulting the dinner I made. I follow him and watch him dump the food in the trash.

“Hey! I’m sure it tastes fine!”

“Did you try it?”

“No, I didn’t get a chance before you scooped up my plate!”

“I did you a favor.”

“You know what, Bear? I’m not even hungry,” I grumble with my hands in the air. “Make whatever you want.”

I spin and sulk my way to the couch, sinking down with a dramatic sigh.Smug, sexy, know-it-all bastard.

Stretched out on the uncomfortable cushions, I do my best to ignore the delicious aromas. Eventually, though, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I peer over the back of the sofa. Hudson moves around the kitchen with practiced ease, chopping vegetables, mixing something in a bowl, coating some kind of meat in a breading. When he turns around, I dive below the couch back so he can’t see me spying.

“Food’s ready.”

“I’m not hungry.” My traitorous stomach picks that moment to growl.

“Liar.”

Grumbling a few choice words, I peek back over the couch. “I’ll eat, but only if you agree to talk about what happened today.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” I make my way to the table and take a tentative biteof the sweet and spicy chicken. Dammit, it’s delicious. “Thank you. This is great,” I say, shooting him a half smile.

“Hot honey chicken.”

When I raise my eyebrows in question, he huffs and points at my plate. “Hot honey chicken. The meal.”

“Where did you learn to cook?”

He shrugs. “YouTube.”

“Okay, let me be more specific. I want a longer-than-one-word answer. What made you decide to learn about cooking?”

The eye roll he sends my direction is epic. “Mom did most of the cooking while we were growing up, but when we were camping with Dad, we had to fend for ourselves. I spent the first few years fumbling my way through shitty meals, so I figured it was worth it to figure out how to make something that tastes good.”

Once again, things come back to his childhood spent fending for himself and his brothers.

Before I can push the topic any further, Hudson asks, “Want to tell me why you were filming me this morning?”

I snort. “Because I’m a genius.”

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