“Hudson, it’s me… Trey. I know… I know I’m early but—”
I wait a second, thinking I hear footsteps, but the door doesn’t budge.
I check my watch, noting it’s nearing 11:15. We have to leave in half an hour…
I knock again, this time speaking louder.
“Huds, you up? Everything okay?”
There’s a loud thud, followed by a curse, and then the door flies open. Hudson stands there—with nothing but a damn towel wrapped around his waist, and I think my heart actually stops at the sight.
His dark eyes fill with panic, his hair wet and sticking out in tufts; water clinging to his jaw, his neck, his chest.
Hudson has always been a big guy, and he still is, but now he looks less like a young collegiate trying to fill out his uniformand more like the guys I sign for endorsement deals. If I’m being honest, he probably looksbetterthan some of the guys I sign.
“Good morning,” I say, my throat going dry. My body is strangely warm.
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in the lobby. Not here,” Hudson says, his voice sharp and full of edge.
He fists the side of his towel on his hip, and I realize how heavily he’s breathing.
“I got your text,” I say, my voice coming out softer than it should.
Hudson doesn’t move, and I’m acutely aware of how close we are to one another. I smell the shampoo and body wash radiating off of him, but there’s something else there, too. Something I can’t quite place, but whatever it is, I like it. It’s… oddly comforting.
“Thought maybe you could use a little pick-me-up.”
Hudson’s lips form a harsh line.
“You oversleep or something?” I ask as he looks at the cup in my hand.
For a moment, I think he’s not going to take my offering. That he’s going to tell me to fuck off, instead, or that he’s changed his mind, or maybe his flight changed, or…
“Or something,” he grumbles, and it’s only then he looks into the hall and grabs me by my shoulder, all but dragging me and my suitcase into his room.
“Get out of the damn hallway,” he snaps as the door slams shut.
I look into his room, and it’s… a bit of a mess.
Clothes strewn over the bed, the sheets upturned.
Did he…
Was someone… here? With him? Last night?
The thought makes a surge of heat strike through me.
“Looks like someone had fun last night,” I say as he snatches the coffee out of my hand.
“Hardly,” he says. “I slept through my alarm and—”
“Hey,” I set my coffee on the edge of the table with my bag of food. “It’s all good; we still have time. We’re not that far from the airport, and I promise you I’m a fast driver. Mario Andretti has nothing on me when I’m on my way to an important meeting,” I joke.
Hudson’s gaze softens as he stands there, hands wrapped around his coffee cup, his towel barely hanging on by a thread.
I look at him—really look at him—as the person he is now.
It’s clear something is still bothering him, and he looks on the verge of a breakdown or something. He stares at his coffee, his shoulders tense.
