Page 103 of The Rehoboth Retreat
“Youalwaysgo full design critique the moment I lose a layer of clothing,” he shot back. “God forbid I take my shirt off without a TED Talk on overhead lighting.”
The song shifted into a remix of something shamelessly pop—an anthem with a beat meant to make people behave badly—and suddenly, we weren’t talking anymore. Just moving. I wasn’t a professional organizer anymore. I wasn’t the divorced husband or the lifestyle guru or the guy who scheduled his showers down to the minute. I was just a man dancing with another man I couldn’t stop thinking about.
Hudson was electric. Lazy in a deliberate way, confident in how he carried himself. He didn’t try too hard, didn’t peacock. He justwas, and somehow, that made him the most magnetic thing in the room. I let myself get pulled into his orbit.
We were close. Closer than I ever thought I’d be with him in public. Our hips brushed. Our shoulders. His forehead leaned against mine for a second—just a second—and then we both laughed because it felt ridiculous and inevitable.
And then we kissed.
It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t a testing-the-waters kind of kiss. It was awe’ve been building to this for chapters, and we both damn well know itkind of kiss.
His lips were warm and a little rough from the night air, and his tongue—that damn tongue—moved with a kind of cocky grace I never knew I wanted. Just the right pressure, the right pull. Slow and sinful, like a promise he had no intention of breaking. One of his hands slid up the back of my neck and into my hair, and I swear my knees almost buckled.
I kissed him back, hard, because how could I not?
The lights flashed around us in a rainbow blur, but none of it mattered. The music kept going, but I couldn’t hear it. It was just his breath, his mouth, the smell of sandalwood, hot musk, and vodka on his skin.
We broke apart for a second, panting.
“Okay,” Hudson said, dazed but grinning. “So, I’m guessing that wasn’t just gratitude for dragging you onto the dance floor?”
“I’m still deciding,” I murmured, before kissing him again.
By the time we finally came up for air, the room was spinning in the best possible way. I was flushed, maybe even glowing. He looked smug. The kind of smugness that should’ve annoyed me but instead made me want to kiss him again until the smugness melted into something softer.
I pressed a hand to his chest. “I need air.”
“Same,” he said, voice hoarse.
We started to make our way off the dance floor, dodging people who were now fully committed to losing themselves in the night. We grabbed bottled waters at the bar on the way out—hydration, after all, is a cornerstone of good decision-making.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we stepped out into the night, the club’s neon wings still glowing behind us like some kind of flamboyant angel had blessed our departure.
“The beach,” Hudson said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
I gave him a look. “Because nothing says romantic debrief like sand in your shoes?”
He shrugged. “We’ve already got beach houses. Might as well act like we own the beach, too.”
I rolled my eyes, but I followed him anyway. He held the door for me as we stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Uber’s two minutes away,” he said, glancing at his phone. “Once we get to Ocean Drive, let’s just start walking the beach back to our places.”
I nodded. My heart was still hammering in my chest. I took a long sip of water to hide the way my hands were shaking.
I kissed Hudson Knight on a dance floor. In public. Likely with cameras around, with strangers watching, with nothing in the way except the truth. And I didn’t hate it. Not even a little.
As the Uber pulled up and we slid into the backseat, Hudson reached over and laced his fingers through mine.
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to.
Miles
The sand was cool beneath my feet.
I had kicked off my loafers the second we stepped out of the Uber, and now, Hudson and I were walking side by side along the beach, the night so still it almost felt staged. Waves curled and crashed in a lazy rhythm, white foam catching the glow from the moon like lace edging on a dark silk sheet. Everything smelled like salt, seaweed, and early summer—the kind of scent that clings to your soul and makes you nostalgic for things you haven’t even lost yet.
