Page 17 of Frog Hog
I’m sitting at my desk in the spare bedroom finagling code on one of the computer monitors. I have on an overpriced sweatshirt courtesy of Greer and no pants. My yellow glasses, which help my eyes after hours upon hours spent in front of a blue screen, are leaving indents on my nose. I worked out before I came home, so my hair is piled on top of my head in a bun the size of Texas. It makes perfect sense Hutch would video call me right now.
The ringer startles me as it’s not the normal chime, it’s the video call ringtone. I grab it quickly and slam the green button to silence the disturbance as quickly as possible. It’s not until I’ve already accepted that I realize what he’s about to see.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whisper, tossing the glasses onto my desk. I rub the bridge of my nose to no avail. I’ll look like I’ve had ski goggles on for twenty-four hours straight. His smile pops up on my screen and I face the camera toward the ceiling.
“Why are you video calling me? It’s the same thing as stopping by in the middle of a work day. What did I tell you about that?”
“That you don’t have on pants. Am I right, or am I right? Let me see your pretty face,” Hutch says. I see the upholstered headboard behind him. He’s in his hotel room. “The lack of pants isn’t even on my radar.” He waggles both brows seductively. “Though I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to show me. As proof, of course.”
Sighing, I center the damn camera on my face. “I’ve been working. I don’t have on any makeup. I was at Greer’s house all day, and then the gym, and now I’m logging the hours so I can go out to lunch with my friends tomorrow instead of being squirrelled away inside my house.” I prattle on, and realize how petulant and vain I sound, but I can do nothing to stop it.Here I am. In all my fucking glory.
“You look beautiful, baby. That’s all I wanted to see. Your face.” If he doesn’t stop, I’ll blush from my toes up to the top of my head. “It would make it even more arousing if you’d smile.” That gets me. Grinning, I take the phone with me to the living room where there’s more light.
“Sounds like you had a nice day,” he says, sighing as he tucks a hand behind his head. He’s shirtless and tan, and his glorious muscles take up most of the screen. Mentally, I chastise myself for being unable to write code to travel across time and space.
I pull my lower lip between two fingers. “I did. It was great to see Greer. I miss her all the time.” My conversation with her from earlier bubbles back, and I’m feeling gun shy. Does he know I have feelings for him? He says he can read people, but can he tell I’m keeping this from him? Greer reads hearts, can he read minds? “You look tired. How was your day?” I turn the conversation around.
“Ah. It was a long one I was up before the sun rose to jump out of airplanes. I need a nap. Almost dying ten times really takes it out of ya’.” My eyes widen. “I was perfectly safe, Valen.” Hutch knows I need reassurance because of how I look. Fuck, he is good at reading people.
Clearing my throat, I lean back. “Obviously. I don’t know how you can do it more than once a day. There is no way I could ever do that.” The risks I take are rarely more dangerous than wearing a bold red lip during day light hours.
He laughs. “You could. And you’d live. It’s second nature for me now—like walking, or chewing. If I only did it once per day, it wouldn’t be second nature and I wouldn’t be able to perfect it when need be.” The smile falls from his face and we’ve officially crossed into work territory. A place he holds close—afraid to scare me away with too many details.
“You remember why I was attracted to you to begin with, right?” Grinning, I lick my lips. “You can talk about work with me, Hutch. I’m not some frail flower who is going to wilt.” It’s debatable. There was this one time at summer camp, Josie McClure tripped in our bunk and hit her mouth on the edge of a bed. Blood was everywhere. I raised her blood and added my own vomit. Our cabin counselor was traumatized and we spent most of the afternoon cleaning up gross body fluids. I like to think I wilted that day, so I’d never embarrass myself that horribly, again.
Hutch leans his head to the side, and averts his beautiful green gaze from the screen. “You say that, but you really have no idea. I get back on Friday. You ready for dinner out that night?”
“Subject change level: expert,” I exclaim, holding up one finger to make a check mark in the air by my face. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. We’re meeting with Greer Saturday. Are you ready for that? Baz can come if you tell him to act civilized.”
“I wasn’t changing the subject. Leaving you for long periods of time…makes me nervous. That’s what I feel when you ask me about my job.”
“But skydiving doesn’t make you nervous? Now I’m questioning your sanity. You understand how it doesn’t make sense at all? I’m fine by myself. Look,” I bring the camera up close to my face. “I don’t have to wear makeup.” Standing I walk back into the office and reverse the camera to show him the computer setup with multiple screens. “I have more than enough work to occupy me.” The yellow lens glasses are sitting there so I slide them on my face and show him the work Valen. “And who would want this anyways?” Crossing my eyes, I stick out my tongue and make a gagging noise. “Mind blowing geekiness, really.”
“You’d be surprised who wants that,” he replies. Simple words. Honest words. They make my heart flutter with suspense. He feels the same way about me. My fear is that everything happened so fast and furious that there’s no way love could take hold, let alone anything that sticks. Maybe Greer is right. “I want that. I want tokeepthat. Being away for long periods makes that difficult.”
“You can keep something without having it in front of you.”
“How,” he asks, swallowing hard. We’re encroaching on shaky territory. That weird place where emotions meet practicality and the discussion must be had. “I’ve never been able to figure that out.” I sit down in my high-backed computer chair and remove the dick blockers from my face.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Why can’t this be a normal fucking voice phone call? He can see my face. He’s watching it intently—gauging my every blink, twitch, and eyelash flutter. I can’t hide from my feelings, and now I can’t hide from him. I lick my lips and pull my knees up to my chest. “Trust.”
His eyes widen, and he nods. “You’re right.”
My eyes water and I damn myself for taking off the glasses. “It’s simple and it’s probably the most complicated lesson anyone learns. Can you trust me?” I ask. My voice warbles a little.
He takes a deep breath. “I don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Do you want me to trust you?” he asks. “Once I trust you, that’s it. You have me.”
I blow out a breath. “I want you to have me.”
Hutch presses his lips into a firm, hard line. I know he does this when he’s trying to make a decision. The thing with his decisions is that they’re final and fast. Once he calls it, that’s it. With my personality, I can’t fathom the way his mind works. How can you possibly weigh all of the different possibilities and outcomes in a short amount of time? “You’re mine,” he says. “It’s settled.”
Smiling, I prop my chin on my knee. “Do you want me to trust you?”
“That would be fair,” he says, swallowing, switching the phone from one hand to another. “Trust for trust.”
