“Okay,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.
“Okay?” I ask, my entire body thrumming from his grip, his touch, his breath on my skin.
He nods.
He’s agreeing… to do this with me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hudson
I need to do something, so I go for a run. I promise Trey I will be back soon, and change into jogging pants, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt. Trey watches me the entire time, staring at me as I lace up my shoes. I’m halfway out the door when I turn back.
“I’ll be fine. I just need some time.”
He nods, watching me like he thinks I won’t come back. It’s my house; of course I’m coming back.
I close the door and go. I just run, pushing myself as hard as I can. I haven’t worked out consistently in a long time, but as I get going, I remember why I loved running so much. Why I liked working out. Why I liked football. Expelling the energy this way, it feels good. Feeling the ache in my muscles and the sweat onmy skin? It’s relieving. Freeing. It clears my head and just makes me feel better.
Cars pass me as I go, and I lose track of time. I get tired quickly but I keep pushing—until it’s too much. I stop, bending over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. My lungs burn and my legs are starting to cramp. I should have stretched first. I shake out my limbs, stretching a little to help with the pain, then I turn around and head back in the direction of my house.
My thoughts are clearer as I walk back, though I still don’t know how to feel about what happened today. Warning my mother not to speak about it wouldn’t have gone in my favor, but not telling her did the same thing. It’s not something she usually brings up, so I assumed I’d be safe.
I’d thought of telling Trey. I wanted to. Okay, part of me did. But I wanted to do it on my own terms and on my own time. I didn’t want the bomb dropped like that. It’s the exact thing I didn’t want because now he’s going to make it a big thing because I hid it. No matter how I explain this to him, he isn’t going to understand. He’s just going to be offended that I kept it from him and he’s never going to believe that I was going to tell him because I didn’t get to start the conversation. All I can do is be honest, but that won’t mean he’ll think the way I want him to.
Trey jumps up from the couch when I open the door.
“You okay?” he says.
“I’m fine,” I say. “But I need a shower.” I go directly to my room. “We can talk when I get out.”
“Okay,” he says, sounding unsure.
I pause before getting into the shower, wondering if I should talk to him now. I feel bad that he’s upset, even if he’s acting like he’s not. But there is no way I can focus with my body covered in sweat, so I take a quick shower, and change into clean sweatpants and a t-shirt.
He’s sitting on the couch with a beer when I get out, and I drop beside him. I feel his gaze on me, but mine focuses on the TV even though I don’t see what’s on.
“How was your run?” he asks carefully.
“Good. I should do it more often.”
“I like to check out the gyms at all the hotels I go to. Some of them are pretty nice and it gives me something to do when I don’t have much time to go out and explore.”
I nod, thinking back to what he said about us being together… like in a relationship.
“So, I was thinking about what you said earlier. About…” I clear my throat and he shifts his position next to me. “How would this work?” I point from him to me. “Between us.” I can’t help but feel a little bad at the way his smile falls.
“I’m not saying we can’t try, but what is this going to look like?” I add. “You travel all the time. I live here. I work a lot, especially during football season. We’re both very busy.”
“Yeah, but that’s okay,” he says. “I mean, I could… you know, move here.” He twists his lips, glancing up at me from under his lashes. “I mean… if you are okay with that.”
“You’d do that? Sell your house and move here?” I ask.
He glances at me. “I’d probably keep the condo in Miami. My mom loves it, and she goes there more than I do, so it makes sense.” His gaze holds mine with a seriousness that I’m not used to seeing on him.
“So, yeah. To give this—us—a chance? I would move here. If it would make things easier.” His gaze drifts to my mouth, and he chews his bottom lip like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. I speak, cutting through the weird tension.
“How often are you home?”
