Page 72 of Roughing It

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “How’d you sleep, baby?”

“I like it when you call me baby.”

“How’d you sleep, Spitfire?”

“I like it when you call me that, too.”

“How’d you sleep, Pri?—”

Pinching his nipple, I say, “Don’tcall me that. And I slept well. Surprisingly. I thought I’d have nightmares. Must’ve been all the TLC you showed me.”

A soft sigh sounds as I place featherlight touches over his broad chest, across his solid stomach, and just as I reach the trail of dark brown hair leading lower?—

Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz.

“Fuck. Answer it.”

“Ugh.” I yank the sheet over my bare chest and smooth my hair. Opening the video call, I don’t bother with a proper greeting. “Kirk, it’s six thirty in the morning.”

“Hi to you too, Blakely. Nice of you to answer.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“I’ve been calling you since yesterday afternoon and evening trying to check on you. I even called Hudson.”

“I fell in freezing water; I need to rest and recuperate,” I say, making my best sad puppy face at him.

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it? Try again, BB. Have you looked at your socials? Or have you been too busy?”

Hudson grumbles, “What’s going on?”

Kirk grins. “Glad to see you too, Hudson.”

“Not that I care, but why?”

Rolling his eyes, Kirk asks, “Do you have any idea what’s going on right now?”

“No,” we say in unison.

“Blakely, I expect Hudson not to know, but you, of all people.” He scolds me as if I’m a disappointing child. “Have you really not been online since yesterday?” When I shrug, he shakes his head. “Go look at your account, and once you have, call me. Got it?”

I nod and hit End.

Hudson sits up and rests his head on my shoulder. “Explain.”

“You know as much as I do.”

When I open one of my social apps, the first thing I see is shaky video of Hudson and me. It takes me a couple of beats to figure out what’s happening because the angle is strange, like the camera is moving around and filming us from below.

There in the blurry frame is Hudson tugging jeans over wet skin while I huddle in a blanket. The video goes black beforecatching the gloomy sky. Then it cuts to us, proof of our heated, post-lake kiss caught for everyone to see.

Hudson grabs the phone. “Shit.” He turns his green eyes on me, anger and hurt swirling to darken them to almost black. “You said you wouldn’t post any private moments between us. You swore?—”

“I didn’t post this.” I cover my mouth. “It’s from the boat. The livestream. It was running when I went over the side, but I didn’t think about it catching us in the aftermath of everything.”

The next post is a still shot of us: Hudson cradling my body with his. I keep scrolling; there he is doing the sign-off, and right next to his handsome face is my blanket-clad ass.

“Why do all these other people have your photos?”

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