Page 96 of Roughing It

I shouldn’t give her my energy. It’s something I work on in therapy: not giving the woman who gave birth to me power, not letting her color my present or future. Keeping up the mental and emotional boundaries I’ve set for myself.

But I’m very much a work in progress.

Multiple message notifications taunt me. My thumb hovers over the little red number. Do I open them knowing there’s at least one from her?

Days like this—when the fear of people finding out about my pitiful past, when the stress of maintaining the curated persona and lifestyle and expectations, when the people who should love you turn against you—seem like the perfect time to quit and disappear from the public eye altogether.

My nerves were frayedbeforefinding the comment from my mother, thanks to oversharing yesterday and despite hours soaking in the hot spring and making out. Now they’re in tatters.

So, I do what I do best. Closing out all my socials andlocking my phone, I paste on a fake grin and hold the horn down until Hudson’s grouchy face appears.

“About time,” I holler as I lean out the Jeep door.

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” I do my best to keep my expression neutral and my voice nonchalant.

Hudson rests both arms on the Jeep’s door frame and stares at me. Deep green eyes bore into my heart, seeing so much more than anyone else.

My gaze drops, but his thumb tilts my chin, refusing to let me look away. “What’s with the smile? Tell me.”

My mom is back from the trenches of hell, and it only spells drama and trouble. I’m scared shitless to go into town with you and hate it, or worse, love it.“Can we talk about it later?”

I expect him to push me. Demand to know what’s got me wearing the facade he’s worked to chip away. Instead, he sighs, knocks twice on the roll bar and walks around to the driver’s side.

“What took you so long?” I ask, grabbing the chance to change the subject like it’s my morning cup of coffee.

“Calm your horses. This is the first time in nineteen days you’ve been ready first.” He skims his fingers along my jaw. “Sure hope you aren’t trying to get away from me.”

Goosebumps pebble over my skin.No, I’m looking for reasons to stay.“I’m just excited to go into town and eat at a restaurant for the first time in three weeks.”

“You’re insulting my cooking? After that disaster of a meal you made? Maybe you should fend for yourself for a few days and see how you do.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Already, our bickering has my spirits up. I bat my lashes. “Plus, seeing a new face wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“And now you’re complaining about my face?” He gives mea smile, not a smirk or a lip tilt, but full teeth. Like a wild animal pouncing on prey, I lunge forward. He’s so damn sexy. Always. Butespeciallywhen he smiles.

Our mouths connect, my tongue begging for entrance between his lips. The taste of him rushes over me. Mint, a hint of spice, and pure Hudson. I mean for it to be a quick kiss, but I crawl into his lap, all other thoughts, fears, and anxieties melting away.

He’s electric. Energy and emotions well in me, fed by his live-wire touch, until Hudson breaks the kiss. The quiet panting of our mingled breaths is the only sound. Hudson presses his forehead to mine. “If we start that, we won’t make it into town in time for lunch.” A beat passes, as if he’s as reluctant as me to separate, then he shifts me to the passenger seat, stretching across me to click my lap belt.

Now that we aren’t touching his words register. “We have reservations somewhere?” Hudson shrugs but doesn’t answer. Glaring at the side of his head, I ask, “What do you have in store for us, Bear?”

He flicks the end of my nose and throws the Jeep into gear. “You’ll see.”

I mentally tally the options. Is this a date? Am I meeting someone important to him? Oh god, his parents?

“Is it your parents? Because if it is, I have to change,” I jabber as I tug at my fitted long-sleeve tee and jeans.

“I wouldn’t spring them on you.”

Relief has my shoulders lowering. I’d love to meet the people who molded Hudson into the man he is today, but it’s too soon. And I’m absolutely not dressed for a parental first impression.

Crooking a knee under me, I take in the sights I missed on my initial trip out here, soaking in the passing scenery. The pebbled, rutted path—I refuse to call it a road—is steep andnarrow, and in some places, the ground seems to drop away, leaving only the tops of trees poking up next to us. I’m kind of glad I couldn’t see it that first night. And now I better understand why Hudson rarely takes his eyes off the road.

I record a short video—no narration, no music—just the beautiful and slightly terrifying view. It never hurts to have extra B-roll, and this makes an amazing one.

As we make our way down the mountain, something small darts out from the rocks hidden in the treeline, and I scream and cover my eyes. “Stop!”

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