Page 67 of Pictures in Blue
“But the whole concept of them giving puppy dog eyes is ridiculous.”
“How? They can totally make their faces expressive to the point of manipulation. They know they're cute and know how to get someone to sneak them a few pieces of popcorn.”
“But—”
“Hudson, why are we arguing about this and how did we get here?” I say, smiling at the most ridiculous conversation I have ever had with a man. The only conversations James ever wanted to have were in-depth serious ones, which were good ones to have, but there was never any balance with him. If I showed him a post or a picture I thought was funny, but funny in a stupid way, he would scoff and ask how a person could find humor in stuff like that. And every time it happened, I’d draw into myself, chest caving, arms folding and shrink. He never noticed, of course. His attention would be back on his phone the next second and he’d go back to whatever business email that needed answering at 8 o’clock at night on a Saturday.
“You brought up puppy dog eyes, I just stated my opinion on the matter,” he says, tossing a few peanuts from his fist, into his mouth. Why is that attractive? A simple action like that should not be as attractive as it is.
We sit in comfortable silence as the episode plays and each time a contestant does something out of the ordinary, Hudson mutters under his breath.
One puts their sugar cookies in the oven, “Oven isn’t on. Not going to bake in time.”
Another doesn’t roll out the dough thin enough. “Those aren’t going to bake all the way through. The middle is going to be raw.”
A contestant doesn’t mix the royal icing properly (apparently). “Nope, that’s going to be way too runny.”
By about halfway through the episode, his commentary has raised to a normal volume and I find myself once again surprised by the man sitting inches away from me.
“Okay, do you bake or something too?”
He glances over, a look of surprise on his face like he forgot I was here or he just didn’t realize how loud he was talking. “I dabble.”
“Youdabble?” I repeat, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, I help Fran when she needs it in the bakery.”
The ice continues to chip away, falling down the cliff, shattering on the surface below, my resolve crumbling like one of the contestant’s cookies on the screen.
“You…help Fran…bake?” I can’t wrap my head around him in the back of the bakery, side-by-side with Fran, sleeves rolled up, kneading dough for bread, or gently mixing meringue for a pie topping, forearms exposed and covered in patches of flour, an apron tied around his waist, his hair tied back into a high bun, and ooohhhh turns out Icanwrap my head around that image.
“Is that so hard to imagine?” he asks in a sultry tone like he knows exactly the thoughts that just went through my head.
“N-no,” I stutter.
He moves closer to me until he is a breath away from my ear. I have never stayed so still in my life. I am a statue, hard and unmoving. I close my eyes and revel in the feeling of the warmth from his skin. “There are a lot of things I can do, Sunshine.”
Hudson makes motions to leave, but thinks twice before leaning back in, this time putting his finger under my chin, his thumb resting under my bottom lip. He draws my head back to look at him and I oblige. His eyes are a dark green now. Dangerous and taunting.
“Feel free to take the couch if you’re too comfortable to move or you can go to the guest bedroom I have ready upstairs. Third door on the left, but it’s right next to mine and the walls are thin. Just so you know, in case you call Charlotte again to talk about my masturbation habits.” He places a feather light kiss on my cheek and turns away to head up the stairs, leaving me utterly speechless.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HUDSON
It’s 2 a.m. and all I have managed to do since coming into my room is think about how Avery is sleeping one room over. Or I assume she is. I don’t think she stayed on the couch downstairs and I swore I heard all five dogs stampeding up the stairs after her, following her into her room. Traitors. They should form a club with Ethan.
All of the beings who used to be loyal friends to Hudson Waters.
Avery’s flannel pants and oversized sweatshirt circle in my head until I am dizzy with attraction. I didn’t even know I had a thing for a woman swallowed by a sweatshirt, but the way she wore it, sleeves rolled up halfway to her elbows, her soft skin exposed, blonde hair knotted on the top of her head, cozy. There is something effortlessly sexy about her being comfortable enough with me to just be herself. No pretense. No expectations. Just unequivocally herself. She didn’t put on a show for me. She’s unafraid to be herself around me and I like that.
I likeher.
I pull a pillow over my face and apply pressure before tossing it to the ground. The next two weeks are going to be hard. Harder than… well, harder than I am right now imagining what she looks like while she sleeps. Fuck, I sound like a stalker. I need to clear my head.
I sneak out of the house as quietly as I can and avoid the creaks in the floors. I pause outside of Avery’s room to see if she is maybe awake too, but decide against it and manage to get outside without startling the dogs.
Hands shoved in my pockets to stop them from shaking, I walk down the gravel road leading away from my house and go toward the campgrounds.
