Chapter Twenty-Two Hudson
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Hudson
Halloween’s coming up, and the leaves are turning a fiery orange, crunching underfoot as fall fully settles into Nashville. The air has that crisp bite to it, and every porch seems to be decorated with pumpkins except for ours.
Levi, ever the master of persuasion, has talked me into hosting a party at our place. I’m not thrilled—too many variables, too much chaos—but disappointing Levi feels worse. Besides, I’m not about to let my own hang-ups rain on anyone’s parade. So, compromise it is.
We’re keeping the event confined to the backyard.
The house is strictly off-limits, especially the upstairs—no exceptions.
The only indoor area guests can access will be the downstairs bathroom.
This setup minimizes risks: no forgotten lights, unattended candles, or rogue appliances left plugged in.
We’re scrapping the idea of a bonfire, too. No open flames to fret over, just festive string lights safely strung up, per Levi’s adamant request, high enough to avoid any drunken mishaps.
The guest list is intentionally slim—we’ve invited the upperclassmen from the team, some of the cheer squad, and friends of friends. Ella promised to show up, too. The last couple of weeks since Lexington have been a whirlwind of hookups between us.
We’ve both been busy, but we’ve been working overtime to slip in a moment or three where we can. Now that we’ve reached an agreement, it’s nearly impossible to keep my hands off her.
That’s a big part of the reason why I have my head between her legs now. She’s all twisted up in the passenger seat of my truck. The windows are fogged, the air thick with our shared breaths. Her back arches as she grips the edge of the seat, her soft moans filling the small space.
We’re meant to be driving to a late-night practice at Skyline.
But after I picked her up at her apartment, I placed a single hand on her thigh, and she looked at me with those eyes of hers.
Then she gripped my hand and slid it up higher.
Before I could think any wiser of it, I was pulling off the road into this deserted parking lot.
“God, you’re good at that.” She moans, head tipped back against the window.
Her words send a shiver of satisfaction up my spine. I look up at her, grinning from between her thighs. Her cheeks are flushed, hazel eyes clouded with pleasure. It’s a sight I could easily get addicted to, one I’m halfway hooked on already.
“You taste so fuckin’ good. That’s why.”
I lick her again, and she giggles, a low, throaty sound that sends a jolt straight to my core. One hand dips down to stroke my hair, and I lean into her touch. Savoring it. Relishing it. Her fingers stumble mid-caress as she jerks, a half-muffled whimper escaping from her lips.
Her thighs tremble around my head, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she rides my tongue.
Her whole body tenses, back arching off the seat.
The sounds she makes—the soft, breathy moans, those whiny little cries—drive me absolutely wild.
So much so that I have to dig my fingers into her hips to keep from losing it.
I’d rather not be too quick on the trigger, rather not ruin my favorite pair of sweats.
When she comes a few minutes later, I think she actually rips a strand or two out of my scalp.
I don’t mind, though; I bury my face deeper, grinning as I lap her up.
I take great pride in the fact that I can get her to this place.
That she’s able to let loose and completely unwind.
That her control finally breaks, if only for me.
It’s all sorts of intoxicating. A drug I’d gladly break all the rules for.
By the time we finish up, we’re only a few minutes late for practice. I won’t be joining her tonight, though it pains me to say so. I have other obligations. Namely, studying for an upcoming Classics exam.
Ash, Ella, and Luke are knee-deep in preparations for spring competitions, anyway.
They don’t need the added distraction of me hanging around.
I’ve been missing Skyline, though. The grueling practices, the charged atmosphere, the extra bit of time I got to spend with Ella.
It stings, but that’s just the way life goes.
We’re in the trenches of our own season, and every minute of my day is accounted for. There’s no room for extra trips or incidental hobbies. No matter how much I crave them.
Ella and I have managed to keep things light for the most part. Hooking up whenever we find the time, and then compartmentalizing the rest. It’s strictly sex—fantastic sex—between us, which I thought would be the ideal scenario.
Still, there’s this gnawing feeling that I can’t quite put my finger on.
This sense of unease that creeps in when the lights go out and I’m left with my thoughts.
I usually try to push it aside, dismissing it as nothing more than the consequence of a busy schedule and the ongoing stress of the application cycle.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about her—her infectious smile, her energy, her way of making everything seem a little more vibrant.
Who knows? If she were sticking around longer, maybe I’d consider working on some of my issues, opening up to her more.
But with the way things are—her leaving the country at the end of the year—it’s better to keep it casual, strictly physical.
No strings, no complications. That’s safer for both of us.
Two days before our party, the weather takes a chilly turn. A layer of frost blankets the campus, and I find myself missing the warmth of the last few months. Levi keeps assuring me that this will add to the ‘spooky’ vibe of our Halloween bash, but frankly, it just makes me more anxious.
I’m sprawled on my bed, laptop perched on my thighs as I reread my personal statement for Yale. Sourdough is purring contentedly in my lap, oblivious to the storm of self-doubt raging in my mind. Every sentence I type feels more like a plea than an assertion of my worth.
But my quiet brooding is shattered by the door swinging open. Levi strides in, brandishing a black plastic bag with a theatrical flair.
“Dare I ask?” I mutter, more to myself than to him, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“It’s your costume,” he announces with a grin that spells trouble.
“Aww, come on, man. I said I was just gonna pop on a striped T-shirt or something.”
“How boring.” He throws the bag at me, and it smacks me in the face—his aim is uncanny. “It’s a good thing I’m here to come to the rescue. I’m gonna be Buzz and you’ll be Woody.”
I pull the bag away, giving him a deadpan stare. “Why can’t I be Buzz?”
“’Cause you got that twang I don’t have. Plus, you look more like him.”
“Like a wooden doll?”
“Like a guy with a stick up his ass,” he retorts. “Oh, and you have brown hair.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I even got Sour a little something.” He’s practically bouncing on his heels now, eager for me to unveil whatever absurdity he’s dreamed up for my cat.
With a sigh, I dig through the bag and pull out a tiny alien costume—it’s just a little hat, really. A soft plush thing with a strap that fits around his chin. “Yeah,” I flick it toward Levi, skeptical. “He’s not gonna wear that.”
He snorts. “You don’t know him like I know him.”
“Go on, try it.”
He shuffles over gingerly and scoops Sourdough into his arms. The hat is barely on his head before he’s batting at it, clearly unimpressed. Within seconds, he manages to land a good scratch on my friend.
Levi yelps, withdrawing his hand as quickly as possible, a betrayed look on his face. “Bad kitty,” he mutters, pouting.
“Leave him alone, man.”
He sniffs. “He started it.”
I shake my head. “Don’t you lie on my cat’s good name.”
“Good name? He’s a fucking menace,” he grumbles, rubbing his hand dramatically.
As I pick up Sourdough, the little furball weaves his head into my hand, seeking comfort. Crooning back at him, I scratch behind his ears, and he begins to purr.
I turn back to my laptop, ready to drown myself in the world of admission essays—and more importantly, to get away from Levi’s antics. Of course, he doesn’t take the hint. He plops onto the edge of my bed with a dramatic sigh, his eyes fixed on me.
“Anyway, I’m working,” I try to remind him, hoping he’ll take the cue to give me some peace.
“Essays again?”
“Yeah, thank God there’s no GRE requirement for humanities or I’d be screwed,” I say, tapping aimlessly at the keys.
“Nah,” he waves me off, his voice filled with confidence. “You would’ve gotten a perfect score without even trying. You have one of those brains, you know? The analytical type.”
I pause, looking over at him with a raised eyebrow. “Hmm, and what type do you have?”
“The creative, whimsical, all-knowing type.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn my attention back to the screen, but it’s no use. Levi’s presence is as disruptive as it always is, and when he leans closer, his curiosity blatant, I know I’m not getting any work done.
“If you want me to dress up as Woody and hang out at the party, I need to get some work done right now.”
“Okay,” he says, oblivious to what I’m trying to say.
“Which means get out of my room.”
“Ah, right, gotcha.” He stands, brushing imaginary dust from his jeans. He shoots me a grin that’s all devil-may-care. “Good luck.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Friday rolls in colder than any October evening should rightfully be in the city of Nashville.
The sky is a muted gray, the last rays of the sun struggling to pierce through the thick blanket of clouds.
It’s the perfect backdrop for a Halloween party, yet all I can think about is how I’ll be spending the night sober.
It’s a good thing I’ll have Ella here to warm me up.