Page 110 of Game On
She shakes her head, biting her lip hard enough that it might bruise. Trembling fingers dig into my arm, her other hand clutching at the table. Those hips rock in rhythm with my hand, pressing against my palm.
There’s a flush spreading across her cheeks now, her lips parting, and when I curl my fingers one final time, she presses a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her coming.
“That’s my girl,” I whisper. “Being so damn good for me.”
We stay like that for a minute. Once her breaths have steadied and the flush in her cheeks has toned down to a soft pink, I retire my hand, zipping her jeans back up for her.
“Enjoying the night?” I ask, a smirk on my lips.
“I like dancing, but I’m, uh, I’m not much for clubs, usually.”
“Hmm,” I murmur, offering her a knowing smile. “I would have guessed the opposite. Seems like you’re wholly enjoying yourself.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, Hudson, I wonder why.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ella
We’re less than two months away from Daytona, and the pressure is cooking up a storm of nerves in my belly.
We’ve only gone full-out on our group routine three times so far, and the goal has been upped this year by Coach Morgan. She wants us to perform forty-five times before April. To complete the routine from start to finish with full energy and effort, as if it were the actual competition.
It’s hard work, grueling and relentless. It drills into our muscles, our hearts, our tired bones. But we push through it, again and again, because that’s what champions do.
Hudson and I have been working on our partner stunt for months now. Our hands are rough and blistered, our bodies bruised in places most people might not even think about—sides, hips, shoulders, inner thighs. But when I’m up in the air, when Hudson’s gray eyes are focused solely on me and we move as one, it’s a dizzying feeling. A worthy feeling.
It’s late after an extra practice at Skyline, the place we’ve spent most of our nights in the past few months. We’re bothsweaty and tired, our clothes clinging to our bodies as we sprawl out on the mat. An average two-a-day training session doesn’t even come close to the level we’re at now.
“You did good today,” Hudson says. His voice is quiet, almost gentle.
“Wedid good,” I correct, turning to him with a weak smirk.
But there’s something in his gaze that makes my heart skip. It’s that same look he gives me when talking about his dreams of graduate school, of traveling the world, or when he watches me from the sidelines during practice. It’s like he’s memorizing every detail, as if he fears he might forget.
As if he knows we won’t have this forever.
I realize only now that it’s a look I return more often than not. When I watch him nail a stunt, when he taps me on the shoulder during lecture, when his head is down and buried in some old Greek classic. Or when he cuddles up with Sourdough at the end of a long night, petting him with a tenderness that makes my chest tighten.
“This will all be over soon, won’t it.” Hudson’s voice sounds hollow, echoing my thoughts too accurately.
“Yeah,” I admit, my voice a mere whisper against the deafening silence of the gym. “But we can make the most of it while it lasts.”
His hand finds mine, fingers moving lightly over the calluses that have formed over the weeks and months.
“You know,” I start, tugging at the hem of my shirt nervously, “it’s strange. Jamie and I … we were together fornearly six years before he ended things. But you and me? We’ve been together for only a few months, and somehow it feels like a lifetime. Like it’s always been this way.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I think so. I mean, with Jamie … he was my constant, my safety. And then, just like that, he wasn’t.” Hudson’s fingers stiffen around mine, but I continue anyway. “I thought he was it for me, you know? That we would end up together because that’s how it’s supposed to go. The childhood sweethearts who grow old together, never knowing a love that could make them question what they have. It was safe, predictable, in a way.”
I half-expect Hudson to pull away, to put up walls like he used to before. Instead, he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Life doesn’t always go the way we plan, Ella. I learned that the hard way.”
“Yeah,” I say, glancing at him with a sad half-smile. “It’s weird, though. It feels like it should be harder to let go of something that was such a big part of my life. But now, all of that seems so far away.”
His thumb traces the back of my hand, a silent promise that he’s still with me. “Maybe it is a dream,” he says softly. “Maybe this is too. Reality is …”
“Terrifying?” I suggest, looking at him to find some kind of confirmation.
