“I’ve learned it’s best to be prepared for any situation. I can’t tell you how many broken straps I’ve repaired, or blisters I’ve bandaged, or stray hairs I’ve smoothed down. I’ve used almost everything in here at least twice.”
“Is that really part of your job description, though? I’d assume that’d be more of the planner’s forte.”
“There’s more crossover than you think,” I explain, echoing the words Phoebe told me when I first started in this business. “It never hurts to be remembered as the one who averted the crisis. Sometimes the memory of being the one with double-sided tape or stain remover outweighs bad weather or imperfect lighting.”
“As someone who is notoriously overpacked but perpetually underprepared, I’m going to need you to stay by my side all weekend.”
“I can definitely do that,” I assure her.
The vinyl sticks to the backs of my thighs as I settle into my seat, and find Hudson standing in front of me, his arms resting over the top of the seat. The scent of his cologne is a reprieve from the odorous bus, the earthy fragrance familiar and comforting. I pinch the skin on my thigh in an attempt to write over this positive association.
“Do you mind if I sit?” he asks, his evergreen eyes alight with the afternoon sun. I consider whether to be impressed by his audacity or concerned by his lack of survival instinct.
I move my bag into the empty space beside me. “I’m not big on sharing.”
I swear I see a flash of hurt on his face before he moves further down the aisle. I wait until he finds a seat in the back of the bus and let out the breath I’m holding.
“That was interesting,” Vanessa says, her eyebrow raised in a sharp arch.
“What?”
Her eyes dart from me and my backpack. “You don’t like sharing?”
“I just don’t like that guy,” I blurt out, the professional filter I try maintaining when I’m working all but abandoned.
“Hudson?” she asks, her jaw dropping in disbelief. “Really? I don’t know a single person who dislikes him.”
“Now you do,” I reply, crossing my arms in defiance.
“But he’s like a golden retriever, if golden retrievers looked like a ginger Paul Mescal. If I didn’t have this one,” she says, clapping her hand against Adrian’s shoulder, “he’d be a top contender.”
“Wow, babe. Good thing I’m not insecure,” Adrian scoffs.
“You know I prefer my men foreign and brooding,” she replies, returning her attention to me.
“How long have you known him?” I pry, hoping to fill in some of the blanks.
“A year or so now. But Adrian’s known him longer,” Vanessa says.
“I worked with him at Elite Elevation before I snagged my job at Duke. But I was only in the customer service department. It wasn’t like I was hanging out with the top brass.”
“Top brass?”
They both stare at me wildly as if I said I have no idea who Britney Spears is.
“His dad owns the company,” Vanessa whispers, inflicting another gut punch.
Over the last few months I thought that Hudson and I were in the getting-to-know-each-other stage of our relationship, sharingall the minute details that make up our lives. Even though he told me how he saw Future Islands at a house party in college, and they subsequently became his favorite band, and he spent a summer working for a brewery in Asheville, learning how to make beer, and that he only wears his Grateful Dead shirt he inherited from his uncle when he’s having a bad day, there’s so much he’s kept hidden. Like there’s always a hint of honeydew underneath his earthy scent. And that he makes the softest, lowest moan when I pull at the hair at the nape of his neck.
“He was head of research and development for new products when I started. But he’s stepping in as CEO next week,” Adrian explains, the words processing slower than normal.
“It’s not nepotism, I swear,” he continues. “He’s crazy talented. Always coming up with the coolest shit and letting anyone in the company try the products. I must have taken home four of those hammock hooks he came up with. Freaking genius.”
“I had no idea,” I mumble.
If Hudson is the heir to a giant corporation like Elite, what was he doing working at Finn’s? Maybe being a barback was his alter ego? Or more likely it was a side hustle to pick up chicks he could cheat on his girlfriend with. The thought makes me gag.
Vanessa rubs her chin in contemplation. “I just can’t believe you don’t like him. Did he say something? Do something? I need to know everything so we can get to the bottom of this. It has to be a misunderstanding of some kind. I swear, Hudson has no enemies.”
