Roughing It

8. Blakely

CHAPTER EIGHT

blakely

Things that suck about sleeping in a one-room cabin? There’s only one room. Want to take a bath? I hope you don’t mind clingy shower curtains because that’s all that separates you from the open air. Need to use the bathroom? There’s a door, but you know exactly who was in there before you. And when. And for how long.

Not to mention, when you almost kiss someone, and they reject you, there’s nowhere to run. Oh, and you have to sleep next to them. Because in addition to only having one room, you only have one bed.

I always loved the one-bed trope, but it’s clear to me now—all those authors are snake-oil peddlers who sold me a lie. It’s not cute. It’s not romantic. It’s. The. Worst.

Now I have to sleep on this cloud of a bed under the family heirloom quilt his grandma made and act like our near kiss didn’t happen. It’s a good thing I have excellent denial skills—on the outside, anyway. Internally, I look like The Scream come to life.

I’m actually reconsidering the devil’s couch at this point. But that would mean going inside, and right now, I’m glued to the porch swing spiraling from Hudson’s dismissal. A litany of past humiliations—a mental playlist I like to call Blake Lee’s Epic Fails—starts as if cued by a director.

Young me, sitting on the rotten front porch of our trailer house while my mother combs nits out of my hair, crying and begging her not to do this outside where people can see. Getting my period at a sleepover and not knowing what to do, so I stash the stained blanket in a closet and run all the way across town to get home. An evening spent with an older guy at the lake, and he has to explain what sixty-nine is because when he asks me to turn, I think he means my back to his chest.

Eesh. And these aren’t even bad memories, just embarrassing ones.

While I’m frolicking down shitty memory lane, the sun sets, and the temperature drops. It’s October in the mountains, and the difference between Austin and Trail Creek is apparent. But I can’t bring myself to go inside. Partly because of the smarting slap of rejection, but also because I didn’t lie in my livestream when I said I love it out here. It really is the best part of the cabin. The stars and moon are out, casting the clearing in a soft, ethereal glow. In the distance, the faint gurgle of running water sounds, along with the subtle bristle of the leaves and the rustling of animals. It’s peaceful; the flotsam left from my brain-o-shame journey fades away more quickly than usual.

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp, clean air—the heady scent of pine and earth. Goosebumps prickle on my arms and legs, and I fight off a shudder, wishing I had on more than leggings and a thin long-sleeve shirt.

The quiet snick of the door and creak of the porch draw my attention. “Brought you a blanket. It gets cold out here. ”

Damn this man. I can’t take him being nice to me right now. I’d much prefer he call me spoiled or stubborn. Anything but standing in the glow of the moon, worried about me catching cold. When I don’t say anything, he drapes the blanket over my shoulders before disappearing into the cabin.

For a moment, I think about not using it. Leaving it abandoned on the porch. Sitting out here freezing for the rest of the night to prove a point.

But considering I’m out here alone, I’d only be proving the point to myself. So I wrap up in the blanket the grumpy, infuriating, ruggedly handsome man I almost kissed left me.

I don’t know how long I sit, but when I come inside, Hudson lies on his back, staring at the ceiling. Without a word, I climb into bed as well, hugging the edge, curling my body as far away from his as possible.

“Goodnight, Spitfire,” he whispers.

DAY THREE

Despite my plan to cling to my half of the bed, Hudson and I wake up wrapped around each other again. His arms band around my waist, his hard cock pressing against my ass. I resist the urge to wriggle, despite how good, how right his touch feels.

A part of me wonders if it isn’t a sign, an endorsement from the cosmos—or at least our subconsciousness—to go for it. But Hudson wordlessly pulls away, acting as though it’s nothing.

Which is fine. Totally fine. Lesson learned, remember Blakely? He doesn’t want you. Or he does want you and can’t admit it, but also, it’s a terrible idea and has shitstorm written all over it.

The sound of running water catches my attention, and I shift to my side, the silhouette of Hudson’s thick frame visible behind the thin shower curtain. Not wanting to be a voyeur, I stumble into the kitchen and pour myself a cup of daily motivation.

With each boosting sip, my senses come online. And that’s when I smell it: orange blossom, gardenia, and honeysuckle.

My shampoo.

I can’t say it’s my most rational moment, but I stomp to where Hudson is showering. And in some sort of out-of-body experience, I yank back the shower curtain. There may be a snarl involved.

“Are you using my sham—” The words die on my tongue as my brain finally processes what’s in front of me.

Hudson’s large hands massage his scalp into a sudsy lather as water drips down his broad chest. My eyes follow the droplets as they journey through the slightly more than a smattering of dark hair all while a litany of naughty, naughty thoughts fills my mind.

I swear I do my best to keep my eyes on his face in the few seconds I have the curtain open. But…

Have I been wondering what Hudson Brooks has between his legs since the moment we met? Yes. Did I make a calculated guess based on the outline pressing against the front of his pants and my hip in the morning? Also yes. But seeing it live and in person? There’s no comparison.

Then, the realization of what I’m doing hits me. I’m perving. On Hudson. In the shower. I’m violating his personal space and being a total creep. I shut the curtain with a jerk, but it’s too late to unsee.

Behind the safety of the thin barrier between us, I press my fingers to my temples and groan. “I’m so sorry.”

His gruff chuckle sends chills down my spine. “I get there’s no door, but you could at least start with hello. ”

“Right. Good morning.”

“Need something?”

“It’s stupid, but in for a penny, in for a penis. Wait, no! Pound. In for a pound.” Ohmyfuckinggodwhatiswrongwithme. I bump my fist against my forehead and mumble, “You’re using my shampoo.”

“Sorry. Grabbed whatever was closest.”

A flash of annoyance tempers some of my shamebarassment. “Seriously? I only brought one bottle, and it isn’t even a full bottle, and what if I run out? I can’t use whatever three-in-one store-brand garbage you have! Plus, it’s seventy dollars a bottle.”

The curtain snaps back. “Seventy dollars? Princess, you got ripped off.”

“It’s specially made for me. Customized for my hair and with scents I selected.”

Hudson’s face is torn between amusement and horror. “Are you shitting me? It doesn’t smell that good.”

“You are such an asshole. And you’re wrong. It smells amazing. I smell amazing.”

With that brilliant parting shot, I stomp away, muttering. “Stupid jerk, using my shampoo. And has the audacity to say it doesn’t smell good. What a… a… ugh! I can’t even think of a word to call him.”

“You seem fond of asshole.”

I spin, a thousand lashes on the tip of my tongue, but they shrivel to dust at the sight of him clad in a towel. He’s still damp and too damn beautiful. It isn’t fair.

Scrambling for my phone, I drop onto the couch. I need to talk to literally anyone who isn’t Hudson Brooks. And there’s one person who always answers my call.

Kirk’s smiling face greets me. “Blakely! How’s my favorite social media maven doing today?”

“You picked the biggest asshole on the entire planet, possibly the entire universe, for this! You did it on purpose. Admit it.”

“BB, calm down. What happened? You were fine the last time we talked.”

“Things change, buddy.”

The back of the couch shifts as Hudson leans against it. “The princess is upset I used her fancy-ass city girl shampoo.”

“Don’t call me Princess!”

“Apologies, Spitfire. Or should I call you Peeping Tina?”

Kirk cocks his head. “I might be missing some information here. Hudson, where’s your shirt? Blakely, are you still in your pajamas? What exactly is going on out there?”

We both mumble, “ Nothing ,” in perfect unison.

My manager holds his hands up. “Okay, my bad. Let’s take a calming breath.”

Hudson plops down next to me, his bare leg burning against mine. The towel strains to keep his thick thighs contained. “It’s all good. Just a misunderstanding.”

If I had the power to shoot eye daggers, Hudson’s body would be pinned to the wooden walls right now. “Don’t speak for me, jackass.”

Our eyes lock, and I’m caught in his orbit, the crushing weight of his gravity pulling me closer and closer. Chests heaving. Bodies ready to collide.

“I know I’m on the outside looking in here, but you two should kiss and get it over with.”

Kirk’s tease snaps the tension between us, and I slam the phone on the table without saying another word.

One awkward moment of silence later, Hudson asks, “You called your boss to tattle on me?”

“He’s my manager, and no. I wanted to talk to anyone who isn’t you. ”

Hudson slumps back into the cushions, and for a second, I worry I offended him. Add it to my karmic tab, I guess.

“Hudson, I’m sor?—”

“Sorry about using your shampoo and shit. It, um, smells pretty good.”

From the table, muffled words that sound suspiciously like did you two kiss yet have me diving for the phone.

“Hang up, Kirk!”

A husky chuckle pulls my attention. “How about we start today over?”

Taking a deep breath, I swallow my pride. “I’m sorry. I overreacted to the shampoo, peeped on you in the shower, and called and told on you to Kirk.”

The panty-dropping smirk he gives me has me squirming on the couch. “I knew you called to tattle.”

Waving his words away and rising from the couch, I say, “Can I make you a cup of apology coffee?”

“My second apology coffee in three days. At this rate, you’ll be making my coffee the rest of your time here.”

I roll my eyes and pour us each a cup, his black like his soul, mine sweet and creamy. Carrying the drinks to the couch, I say, “Yeah, right. Don’t get used to it.” As he takes his cup, an electric zing snaps through my fingertips where our skin meets. I suck in a gasp of air and stare as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He feels it, too.

“Hud—”

With a grunt, he’s on his feet. “We’re hiking today. Your feet are in better shape, and you’ve got lighter hiking shoes. Be ready in ten.”

And once again, my Bear runs.

Hike 2.0 is much more in line with what I expected on day one. The path is a gentle slope, covered in pine needles and brush, not feet killing rocks of death. It’s later, so the sun is up, its rays casting shadows on the forest floor around us. Having lived the first half of my life in the plains of west Texas and the second half in the Texas Hill Country, I’m not used to the majesty and overwhelming height of the surrounding trees. Or the altitude.

Let’s be real, a Texas hill has nothing on a northern New Mexico mountain.

So, while my feet are fine, my lungs aren’t, and it isn’t long until I’m begging Hudson to stop.

“Please? I can’t breathe.”

“If you can talk, you can breathe.”

“You have the worst bedside manner in the world, Hudson. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Seeing as I’m not a nurse or doctor, no.”

“R-U-D-E. That’s what I mean.”

“Oh, then yes. One bratty princess said I’m rude after reading a bunch of bad reviews about me.”

Guilt pings in my chest. That was shitty of me. I would cry in the fetal position if someone sat down and started reading the crappy things people say about me aloud. What was I thinking?

And more than that, what am I doing? I’m failing at the tasks Hudson has set out for me, failing at finding myself, failing at everything. So far, all I’ve discovered is I suck at navigation, and Hudson has the power to make me feel completely out of control.

“Luckily for her, I don’t give a shit what people think.” I raise my head to find Hudson watching me. “Come on, Spitfire, a little farther, and we’ll be there.”

We step out of the treeline and into a small clearing overlooking the edge of a cliff. Below us is a glassy lake; in the distance, clouds float like cotton candy wisps around mountain peaks. The trees below us are glorious shades of green, rust, and gold.

It’s flipping amazing. The peace that’s proven so elusive for so long settles over me, and for a moment, I forget about my struggles. It’s just me, the sky, the breeze, and the trees.

A rough finger brushes an errant strand of hair from my cheek and tucks it behind my ear.

Me, the sky, the breeze, the trees, and Hudson.

My skin prickles where he touches me, and I slip closer to his warmth on instinct. Hudson has about seven inches on me, but I know I’d fit perfectly into the cradle of his arms.

“Wild hare.”

I shrug. “Yeah, those damn little front pieces never grow like the rest.”

“What?”

Lifting my chin, I’m met with confusion. “What do you mean what?”

He doesn’t answer, simply shakes his head and points. And holy shit, there’s a family of rabbits a handful of feet away. I grip his arm and whisper-yell, “Bunnies!”

“Not recording this?”

“No.” I drop my hand down the length of his arm, tangling our fingers together. “I want this one for myself. Thank you for bringing me here. It’s amazing.”

We stand in silence, enjoying the quiet, the warmth, the wind.

“Usually, people hold hands before seeing each other naked. ”

Hudson’s words have me dropping his hand from mine and heat rushing to my cheeks. With a glare, I stomp back toward the cabin.

I get ten feet.

“Hey, Spitfire? You’re going the wrong way. Cabin’s southeast .”

In. Suffer. Able.

DAY FOUR

I’m at my slapdash vanity, applying mascara. Turning my head side to side, I check that everything is as close to perfect as possible. It’s time to go live.

Hudson is already at the small kitchen table eating breakfast—eggs, bacon, and steaming biscuits. I set up my phone and put everything in place so I can easily make myself a plate while talking. Once I have it all just so, I fix on my best social media smile and hit record.

“Good morning, BBs! Being out here in the wilderness works up my appetite!” I pause and make a show of adding food to my plate. “I’m so lucky my roomie is also a fantastic cook. He prepared this tasty breakfast for us.”

I nibble the edge of a piece of bacon and moan like it’s the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. Across the table, Hudson snorts. I keep my smile in place, though I once again wish for eye-daggers.

With a sugar-sweet flutter of my lashes, I switch the camera to Hudson. “Tell my BBs what you have planned for us today?”

He doesn’t answer, and I consider kicking him under the table. He sighs in time to save his shins. Barely.

“We’re finishing baseline survival basics testing. Knowing your strengths and weaknesses helps a guide determine which skills to focus on.”

Moving around the table so we are side by side and both in frame, I nod sagely. Then I give the camera a coy grin. I can’t help myself. “What are my strengths?”

“And weaknesses?” He raises a dark eyebrow in challenge.

Gritting my teeth, I say, “And areas where I can grow.”

“Blakely’s weaknesses?—”

“We just agreed to call them areas for growth, Bear.” I cut my eyes to the camera lens, wondering how many people caught me calling him Bear.

“Blakely’s ‘areas for growth’”—he actually uses air quotes, the bastard—“are numerous.” His scowl slips into a smirk. “Cardinal directions, for example.”

“That’s not true!” I pout.

Hudson makes a hmph . “It is true.” He isn’t looking into the camera. No, the full force of his attention is on me. “You also need to work on your knot tying, situational awareness, and the other skills we didn’t get to.”

I’m about to snap back at him when he says, “But your greatest strength is your ability to adapt.” His eyes lock on mine. “Throw you in an unknown situation, and you acclimate.”

For a precious few seconds, I forget I’m live. Forget there’s an audience. Forget anything exists except for those green eyes and me. Is this a compliment? Or is he saying I’m a chameleon? Changing myself to fit the situation? Another dig on the persona he says I wear?

“Huds—” Before I get his name out, he jerks his head toward my phone. I plaster on a smile, and with a high-pitched giggle, I say. “Okay, that’s it for now, BBs. Don’t forget to like, share, and save!”

When I end the live, I dump the eggs and bacon back onto the communal plate, picking at the fluffy biscuit.

“There you go again.”

“What are you growling about now, Bear?”

“You didn’t eat any of the food you raved about.”

“It’s not like I wasted it. You already made it. I wouldn’t have eaten it even if I didn’t do the live. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is you put on this ridiculous show. You made a pretend plate of food. You sat over there for half an hour putting all that shit on, changing the way you look. When the way you look is beau—” He shakes his head. “For what? For strangers to fawn over you? To feel good about yourself? You that needy, Princess? Mom and Dad could only afford state school, so now you have to get your ego stroked online?”

Anger and hurt battle for hold. In the end, though, anger wins. I push back from the table, my chair clattering to the floor. “You don’t know anything about my mo—” I stop myself from saying the word mom . “My childhood. And this show, as you call it, is my job, asshole! I’m sorry if it offends you, but this is how I make my living. It seems shallow and vapid to you, Mr. Salt-of-the-Goddamn-Earth, but we can’t all be jerks who push people away every chance we get.”

Hudson glares but doesn’t answer. Instead, he strides toward the door.

“Oh no, you don’t. I’m not done!”

He makes it to the porch before I catch him, grabbing his shoulder. “You don’t have any room to talk. The Hudson who rubbed my feet, tucked my hair behind my ear, and brought me a blanket—who is he? Is he the real you? Or is the real you the guy who yells and calls me a brat and a liar and is too scared to kiss me? Which is it?”

Suddenly, his mouth is on mine, stealing the air from my lungs. He grips my hips, and I stretch to wrap my arms around his back. His tongue prods my mouth, begging for entrance, which I happily grant.

When his fingers tangle in my hair, I can’t help it, a small moan escapes from the back of my throat while my hands wander his wonder of a body. Then, as quickly as it begins, it’s over. And I’m left alone on the porch, fingertips pressed to my trembling lips.

There may as well be a Hudson-shaped puff of air for how quickly he ran away.

No survival skills testing happens. Instead, Hudson vanishes for hours. I’d worry if his Jeep wasn’t still parked in the clearing—freaking man-baby.

He kisses me and pushes me away like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing.

What’s the saying? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, can’t fool me again. Being shown twice in quick succession I’m not wanted is enough of a lesson for me.

Surely.

I’m tossing stuff into random piles, hunting for headache medicine when he returns.

“We need to talk.”

“Really? You tell me how pathetic I am, kiss me, storm off for hours, and now you want to talk? Whatever could we possibly have to discuss?” I say in the driest tone possible.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? For what?”

“For what I said about your job. I was out of line.” His jaw clenches. “And…”

“And?”

“For kissing you. It shouldn’t have happened.”

Ouch. That stings. “Because you aren’t attracted to me?” Why that’s my question, I wish I knew.

“It doesn’t matter. ”

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

His fingers flex, and he sways, as if he’s keeping himself from moving toward me. “This can’t happen. You and me can’t happen.”

The weight of his words crushes me. The kiss between us was a tiny taste, a nibble from a feast I long to gorge myself on. But something is holding him back. So, with a sharp laugh, I gift him the chance to back out of the emotional tangle this conversation is weaving. “Okay. So what? The kiss was to shut me up?”

I silently plead for him to pick up the small olive branch I’m offering. Spar with me, Bear. Push back.

The uncertainty and sadness disappear, replaced by the grumpy frown. “You were yammering on. Seemed like the quickest way to make you stop.”

Grinning at him, I say, “So I didn’t eat any breakfast, and my guide abandoned me without lunch. Any chance you’ve got dinner planned?”

When he stomps into the kitchen, I know we’ll be okay. I study the lines of his broad back, and the memory of our kiss sears me. I want more. But Hudson can have it his way.

No more kissing—for now.