Page 58 of Roughing It

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear we were a couple. Blakely saves the image to her camera roll, a pink flush on her cheeks.

She ducks her head. “What? It’s a great picture of me.” She wriggles in my lap until we face each other, her legs on either side of my hips. “Want to hear some of the comments?”

“Um…”

“Listen to this one! ‘I swore I’d never follow Blakely Bradshaw, but if she keeps sharing that delicious hunk, I’ll be a follower for life.’ You’re helping me convert the haters.”

When I don’t say anything, she continues reading. Many of the comments mention me or speculate on Blakely and me as a couple.

“They love you, Hudson! You could start your own account and have thousands of followers within a month.”

I listen, frozen in confusion and frustration. This is everything I’ve avoided. There’s a reason I don’t deal with this shit for the business. I don’t want or need a bunch of random assholes talking about me and my love life. Or whatever the fuck this thing is between us.

Minutes pass before she realizes I haven’t spoken. She tips her head to the side. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m gonna check on the fire.” Shifting her off my lapwithout speaking, I skulk to the fireplace. I’m wrong for walking away without talking to her, but I’m liable to say something I’ll regret—something about her only thinking of herself again.

After stabbing the logs with the poker, I hunker on the couch, losing myself in the flickering flames and my thoughts. I signed up for this, but I never planned on people seeing something so intimate. When I brushed my lips against her neck and whispered in her ear, I thought it was just us. Not Blakely, me, and thousands of internet shit stirrers.

The weight of the couch cushions shifts as Blakely perches next to me. She’s close. Very close. For a second, I consider putting some space between us, but then she settles a hand on my thigh and starts talking.

“Hey, you okay? You kind of ran off there at the end of the conversation. I thought we were having fun.”

I keep my eyes on the fire. “I don’t know what to think about all this. It’s fucking invasive.”

“I thought you didn’t care what a bunch of strangers on the internet think of you?”

“This is different. It’s not about me as a guide. This is about what I thought was a private moment between us.” I pause and rub my beard. “I feel a little used. ”

Blakely sucks in a gasp of air at my words. “Used?”

“Being played to boost your numbers, or whatever it is that matters to you and Kirk. Is any of this real to you? Or is it all a show for your job, your persona? It’s so easy for you to flip the switch and becomeBlakely Bradshawsocial media star.”

She climbs into my lap, looping her arms around my neck. “It’s no show. I mean, it’s kind of a show, but I’m not using you. It’s a symbiotic relationship. Each time I post something, your business grows, too. I thought you understood how this works. Do you want me to take the postdown? I will. It won’t stop the reposts or the trending, but?—”

“No. I… fuck.” My head falls forward into her chest. “I don’t know, Blakely. They aren’t even using my name. I’m Blakely Bradshaw’s lumberjack or hunk.”

“Hudson, I promise, you’re so much more than either of those things. I’ve also been pretty damn honest and obvious about the fact that I’m attracted to you.” She lifts my chin and caresses my jaw. “If you think this is me trying to butter you up to get you on camera, or worse, some kind of long con for viewers, you don’t know me at all. You asked me to trust you; can you do the same? Trust that I have our best interest at heart, but also that I want you. With the cameras and without.”

Her words are what I’ve been wanting to hear: that I can trust her, that whatever this mutual attraction is between us, it isn’t some fake romance to get viewers.

As I open my mouth to tell her this, she says, “We’re still learning about each other. How about we play twenty questions? I have so much I’m dying to know about you. And you can do the same.” She waves her hand like she’s shooing a fly. “But in a way less tense way.” She trails off and raises her eyebrows at me. “What do you say, Bear?”

I have a thousand questions I want her to answer, but I can start with twenty. “Fine, but I get to go first.”

“Deal. How about some more whiskey?”

“It grew on you?”

“If you mean can I choke it down? Then yes.” She grins. “It’s a lot like you.”

The idea of Blakely choking me down makes my dick ache, but to cover it up, I give her a teasing push. When she slides out of my lap, I stride to the kitchen and grab the bottle.

When I return, Blakely snags the whiskey before curling up next to me, resting her head on my shoulder and throwing herlegs over mine. Like it’s what I was born to do, I trace lazy circles on her arm while my other hand settles on her knee.

“Alright, Spitfire, question one: how the hell did you end up a social media star?”

She gives me a wry grin before sipping the dark amber liquid. Her little cough is so fucking cute. “I thought we were easing into this.” When I don’t offer her a reprieve, she sighs. “It was honestly an accident. I’d been in Austin for ten years, eking out a living. Then Covid happened, and everything went tits up. I was lucky to keep busy with freelance jobs and work remotely, and thankfully, I had enough saved to keep paying my bills. But I had way too much extra time, so like everyone else during the pandemic year, I started vlogging.”

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