I wish I had somewhere to go to be alone, to lock myself away and hide from this shitty day, from my shitty circumstances, but as I turn the doorknob, I know that I’ll never find peace here, or at least not with Hudson always circling me.
My footprints stain the linoleum floor as I make my way to the bathroom, eager to remove the stench of river water from my skin. Turning on the shower, water gushes out, the pressure excellent as I stick my hand underneath to wait for it to get warm, but it never gets above freezing. After a minute I twist the nozzle in the opposite direction, but somehow it only gets colder.
“It doesn’t work,” Hudson says, his voice startling me.
“I’m sure you don’t know how to turn it on correctly,” I argue, trying again. I’ve visited enough hotels and Airbnbs to know that hot and cold nozzles aren’t always labeled correctly. And sometimes all it takes is a little finagling to get it going.
“I promise you, there’s no hot water,” he assures me, running a hand through his auburn hair. He’s being his usual approachable, attractive self, the same guy who encouraged me to let my guard down the first time. Men like this should be marked to show they’re in long-term committed relationships. Perhaps they could grow a unibrow or expel a foul body odor that can be detected only by those they’re planning on cheating with.
“Why do you think I came in here with a towel earlier?” he asks, and I’m reminded that thanks to the silk shirt Vanessa loaned me I’m equally exposed.
“Hooking up with one of the party posse?” I reply, holding one arm over my chest.
“Mira,” he says. He’s very close to me all of a sudden. His earthy scent is deceptively comforting, like freshly cut grass aftera shower of summer rain. He stares down at me, the green of his irises flickering like gemstones in the river.
“Cold water is good for you,” I reason, moving away from him so quickly I slam my back against the sink. “It resets the nervous system.”
And since I am still lusting after a liar with a girlfriend, mine definitely needs another reset.
“Now if you wouldn’t mind giving me some privacy.”
“Wait,” he says, palming the door I’m about to shut in his face, “I need to tell you something.”
“What? That you’re riddled with STIs? Don’t worry, I already made an appointment to—”
“Mira, we didn’t sleep together.”
The admission knocks me back as I take a beat.
“But I remember . . .”
“We fooled around a little, but you fell asleep when I went to the bathroom. I woke you up and gave you one of my shirts, which you mocked mercilessly for a few minutes”—he laughs in reminiscence—“but nothing happened besides that, I swear.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” I say, closing the door.
Stripping down, I step into the shower, allowing the cold water to rattle my bones and bring me some much-needed clarity. As grateful as I am that we didn’t cross that line, it didn’t change anything. Because no matter how I feel about him, or how I thought that we could be something, or how deep down I want to know why he’s still bothering to make it up to me, there’s one undeniable fact I can’t ignore. Hudson has a girlfriend.
16 Hudson
“Guess you didn’t smooth things over then?” Adrian asks, taking up space beside me on the second-floor balcony. The peaks of the Tetons glow a majestic purple as the day blends into night, and as much as I’m grateful for the extra hours that come with western summers, I’m thankful that this one is ending because I’m not sure how much more I can take.
I wish I could go in there and scream that this is all a misunderstanding. That over the course of our friendship, I meant every word, every laugh, every well-timed innuendo. That I could take her in my arms and press my mouth in the space right under her ear and have her melt into me again. That she’d look at me the same way she did outside Finn’s. But more than any of it, I just want her to trust me again.
“I think she hates me more than before,” I sigh, gripping the railing, the soft wood splintering into my skin.
“Take this from a guy who doesn’t make friends easily—you’re hard to hate,” Adrian says, pulling out a cigarette and handing the pack to me.
The first and last time I smoked a cigarette was when Grant and his friends invited me to party with them on George’s sailboat one summer. And just like the cigarette, the experience left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“I’m good,” I say, waving them off.
Adrian slips the pack into his pocket, and pulls out a lighter.
“Good on you, mate,” he says, lighting up and taking a drag. “I’ve tried to quit, but occasions like this, with all these people, and the drama, it’s good to have an excuse to go outside for a few minutes.”
He leans his back against the railing, facing me as he takes another drag. “Vanessa told me not to say anything, but I have to ask, man, why are you and Katherine even faking this thing in the first place?”
“The truth?”
