Page 57 of Pieces

“Exactly,” I say. “So why isn’t anyone reporting on that?” I gesture toward my screen, scrolling through the sparse posts on women’s sports. “It’s like they’re doing the bare minimum to acknowledge them, but the guys get full-on features.”

Hudson sits up slightly, his legs still hanging off the edge of my bed as he props himself up on an elbow. “You’re studying PR, right? Does that include getting the word out and making sure people actually pay attention to stuff that matters?”

I blink at him, surprised he remembered. He hasn’t asked about why I chose PR, much less seemed to consider I might already be decent at it. “I mean…yeah, it is. But I’m still learning, you know? I’m not exactly a pro.”

“Okay, but you’re mad about this. Like, it’s bugging you enough to sit there all frowny faced at your screen. Seems like if anyone’s gonna do something about it, it may as well be you.”

Shaking my head, I let out a short laugh. “You don’t even know if I’m any good at this stuff.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says easily. “You’re clearly smart, and you’ve got opinions that matter. You can do something about it.”

I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “You really think I could do it?”

Hudson nods, serious now. “Hell yeah, I do. And even if you can’t fix the whole thing, you’ll at least make ’em think twice about ignoring it.”

He’s right. I can use my voice to do something, and his unwavering confidence in me boosts my own. It gives me a great idea for the project for Professor Vance’s class too.

My fingers hover over my keyboard for a moment, an idea forming in my head, but I shelve it for now and type out an email to the school’s social media team, @CLUSports. If they’re the ones in charge of the posts, they’re where I’ll start.

I hit send and glance back at Hudson. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” He smiles, and my heart flutters a little at the sight. “Actually,” he amends. “If you do want to thank me, you can come to our conference game next Friday. I’ll play better if you’re there.”

I laugh, because Hudson blackmailing me with how well he plays is cute. “You do remember that guy who shouts at you on the field happens to be my dad, right? Pretty sure you’re obligated to play your best whether I’m there or not.”

“I know.” He shrugs lightly. “But I’d still like you there.”

“We’ll see,” I reply, but I know I’m already going.

Hudson smirks, clearly catching it. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He stands from my bed, stretches lazily, and then reaches behind his head to pull his hoodie off in one smooth motion.Holy abs, Batman—how had I forgotten how carved he is? The muscles in his stomach ripple as the fabric lifts, and I have to force myself to look away before I blatantly stare.

“Here,” he says, tossing the hoodie to me with a casual flick of his wrist. “You can wear it if you come along.”

I catch it, blinking up at him, still reeling from that glimpse of his perfect body. “Uhh…”

“It’s not personalized or anything, so no one will know it’s mine. They’re standard school hoodies. No one will know except you and me.” He winks, like this is a perfectly normal thing to suggest, and like my heart isn’t flipping around like an Olympian. I move the fabric in my hands, feeling the soft cotton, when a waft of his scent travels up to me. God, he smells so freaking good.

It takes every ounce of my self-control not to pull it over my head right now and snuggle into it.

“Is it okay if I hang out here a bit longer?” His question is cautious and quiet, and the fact he’s asking and not assuming, rattles something inside me. It’s not what I expected him to say. He’s usually confident, yet here he is, waiting for me to say yes.

“You don’t have anywhere else you’d rather be?” The words slip out before I can think. I already know his answer, but some insecure, self-protective part of me needs to hear it again. Needs to be sure I’m not misreading this.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

I try not to let it show how much that means, but my nose tingles anyway. The emotion sneaks up on me, and I have to look away, so he doesn’t see my eyes tearing. I could blame it on the baby hormones, but I know it’s not that. It’s been a long time since anyone made me feel like I was their first choice.

“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat, needing to change the subject away from my fragile emotional state. “Wanna watch my favorite TV show?”

“Of course.” His eyes light up. “What is it?”

“Usually something trashy, likeMarried at First SightorLove Island.” I brace myself for the inevitable grumble about my questionable taste in TV. I know it’s not Oscar-worthy stuff, but I love it anyway.

“You’re joking?” And there it is. He’s probably going to leave now and I’ve messed it all up. “Have you watched the most recent Love Island episode?”

My head jerks back in surprise. “You watch it?”

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