Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
Hudson
I had been dodging Reagan all week, and it seemed I was running out of places to hide. Sooner or later, I'd have to talk to her. Presley wasn’t making things any easier either, completely ignoring my existence, and that both annoyed and concerned me. It was hard to miss how she’d been spending more time with Evan, slipping away with him for those so-called private moments. When I saw them disappear again, that familiar jealousy crept up, tightening its grip on me.
But here’s the thing—it's not like I needed anyone else’s attention. The other girls were buzzing around me like bees to honey. They were interested, but I wasn’t. I only had eyes for Presley. I’d always had eyes for her.
I’ve been stuck on Presley since we were twelve. I could still remember the taste of her lips, cherry-flavored from the lollipops she always sucked on. Every time we kissed, her tongue would be red from recess, her lips sticky and sweet. We might’ve still been together if my dad hadn’t gotten transferred. I know it.
Neither of us had phones back then, no social media to keep us connected. That came the year I turned thirteen. My mom got me a phone for Christmas, like it could somehow make up for my dad leaving.
I didn’t even use the damn thing much, except to tell her if I was running late after grabbing a burger at the Snack Shack. Then Alex showed up, and everything changed. Mom stopped working so much, and she was home more often. Things got better.
My daydream shattered when I felt fingers curl into my hair. I turned, and there was Reagan, her eyes gleaming with that familiar, insistent look.
“Where have you been hiding?” she asked, slipping into the seat next to me like she belonged there.
I took a sip of my Coke, trying to keep it casual. “Nowhere. I’ve been around.”
She didn’t buy it. Reagan wasn’t the type to let things slide. “Not for me. I texted you, and you didn’t answer.”
Of course she had texted. I deleted every single one of them.
“My phone’s been sitting in rice for the last three days,” I lied smoothly. “Dropped it in the sink while my mom was doing dishes.”
She arched an eyebrow, but didn’t question me. I exhaled in relief. Reagan might have been relentless, but at least she wasn’t going to press the issue. I hated lying, but sometimes it was necessary to keep people at arm’s length.
“There’s a party at my house tonight after the game,” she said, her voice dropping to a lower, sultry tone. “You’re invited. Special guest.”
She emphasized the word “special,” and I knew exactly what she meant. Reagan wasn’t subtle. She wanted more than just company tonight, and her invitation was loaded. If I wasn’t so caught up on Presley, maybe I’d go for it. Maybe I’d take her up on the offer, just for the hell of it. Rumor had it Reagan had her share of partners, and she didn’t seem to care.
“You blew me off last time,” she continued, leaning in closer, “but not tonight. I expect you to come.”
There was no mistaking what she meant. I shifted in my seat, glancing around the room as if that might somehow help me avoid the intensity of her gaze. Part of me wondered if Presley had said anything to Reagan about our history, or if Reagan had just put two and two together on her own. She was always playing catch-up, trying to be two steps behind Presley, but never quite in the same league.
I still remembered her from when I used to live here. She’d hover around us, desperate to be included, while Presley and I would sneak away, her hand curled tight around mine as we slipped behind the building to steal a moment alone. Reagan never stood a chance, not then, and not now.
“What time’s the party?” I asked, playing along even though I wasn’t sure I’d show.
“9 p.m.,” she said with a sly smile, “but you can come early if you want. The game’s over at 8, and I’ll be showering at home.”
I could see exactly what she was doing. She was setting the stage, laying it out for me in clear terms. She wanted me to show up early, be there when she stepped out of the shower, wet and wrapped in nothing but a towel. The invitation was as obvious as it was tempting, but I wasn’t biting.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I muttered, keeping it vague.
Reagan placed a hand on my knee, her fingers squeezing just a little too tight. “You could help me get things ready,” she suggested, her eyes searching mine for any sign that I might agree.
I gave a noncommittal nod, pretending to consider it. “Maybe.”
Her smile grew wider, but I could already feel myself pulling back, the lie about my phone sitting heavy on my tongue. Lies had a way of catching up with you, and Reagan wasn’t the type to let anything slide forever.
I arrived at Reagan’s house around 9:30, deliberately late. She’d bombarded me with texts, demanding I come early, but I wasn’t about to fall into that trap. No way was I showing up as her first guest. As I walked down the block, I could already see the scene—kids scattered across the lawn despite the cold, some kicking a hacky sack, others huddled with red Solo cups. Typical party crowd.
A few people nodded at me as I passed, recognizing me from school. I made my way to the open front door, feeling the blast of warmth from inside. The house was enormous, the kind that screams “rich parents” without having to try. The kind that doesn’t care about the heating bill when the door is left wide open.
The kitchen was packed, two guys from the football team stationed by a keg sitting in a garbage can of ice. I grabbed a cup, sliding it under the spout as one of them pumped the keg. The cheap beer poured out, foaming up at the top of the cup. I tipped some of the foam into the sink, wiping the rim with the back of my hand.
As I moved into the great room, I spotted Presley. My stomach tightened. She was on the couch, Evan’s tongue shoved down her throat. I leaned against the wall, sipping my beer, my eyes locked on her. Presley hadn’t even acknowledged me, not since I’d slipped those notes into her locker. Nothing. No texts, no glances, like I was invisible. And now here she was, all over Evan like he was the only guy in the world. It made my chest tighten, jealousy churning inside me like the cheap beer.
“Sorry,” someone mumbled as my elbow was bumped, spilling beer onto my hand. I turned to see Neil, looking sheepish with his own red cup.
I shook the beer droplets off. “You shouldn’t be drinking.”
Neil gave me a cocky grin. “You are.”
“I’m eighteen. You’re too young for this.”
He snorted. “Drinking age is twenty-one, genius. You’re still illegal.”
Before I could reply, he sauntered off toward the football guys, who were already downing tequila shots. I shook my head, watching Presley and Evan again, my frustration building as Evan’s hand slid up her side, thumb brushing against her breast. My jaw clenched. He had no right to touch her like that, anywhere.
I was about to move when Reagan appeared in front of me, her body close, the scent of alcohol heavy on her breath.
“You made it,” she said, eyes gleaming. “Thought you’d come early.”
I didn’t hug her back as she pressed against me, my eyes still fixed on Presley. “Had things to do,” I muttered, peeling myself away from Reagan’s embrace.
“Wanna talk?” she asked, her voice dipping suggestively.
I took a long sip of my beer. “Where?”
“My room,” she said, a grin spreading across her face.
I glanced around, my gaze darting from one side of the room to the other. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs for your guests?”
Reagan rolled her eyes. “My brother’s around somewhere. He’s home from college for the weekend. I won’t be missed.”
She grabbed my hand, pulling me toward her, but I was barely paying attention. Presley was still tangled up with Evan on the couch, and my body was already betraying me. Part of me wanted to shove Evan out of the way, claim what should’ve been mine. But instead, I let Reagan lead me toward the stairs, her steps wobbly, her grip too tight.
As we climbed the stairs, Reagan stumbled, and I caught her, steadying her with one hand. I placed my beer down on a side table as we reached the landing.
“You okay?” I asked, noticing how unsteady she’d become.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, though her words were slurred.
We passed by couples making out in the dimly lit hallway, some sipping from glass bottles, others lost in each other’s arms. Familiar faces glanced at us, smirking as Reagan pulled me into her bedroom. The room was huge, overly pink, like a bubblegum fantasy with a king-sized canopy bed and all the trimmings. She sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off her shoes with a groan.
Suddenly, she slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “Shit,” she gasped, bolting for the bathroom.
I followed, just in time to see her drop to her knees and hurl into the toilet. I winced as the punch-colored liquid splashed into the bowl. I knelt beside her, gathering her hair into my hands to keep it out of the way.
Reagan groaned, slumping against the toilet. “I feel horrible.”
“You drank too much,” I said, my voice soft, as I helped her to her feet and sat her on the bathroom vanity. I pushed her hair back from her flushed face, smoothing it out of the way.
“Stay with me?” she whispered, her eyes half-lidded.
“I’m not going to take advantage,” I promised, trying to ease the tension in my own voice.
She chuckled weakly. “I’m not asking you to. Just… stay.”
I nodded, pulling her into a hug as she leaned her head against my chest. Her breathing was ragged, but she seemed to calm down a bit with my arm wrapped around her.
“Let’s get you changed,” I said after a moment.
She giggled again. “You said you wouldn’t take advantage.”
“And I won’t. I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” I assured her, helping her steady herself as she grabbed a bottle of mouthwash, swishing it around before spitting into the sink. I leaned back, sighing, knowing that tonight wasn’t going to go anywhere close to where Reagan had hoped.
I woke with Reagan draped over me, her head resting on my chest, the soft rhythm of her breathing the only sound in the quiet room. The blanket had tangled around us during the night, and the dim glow of the bedside lamp cast a soft halo over her face. She looked almost angelic, her features peaceful, not the seductive vixen she often pretended to be.
I glanced at the clock: 2:15 a.m. Way past curfew. Mom was going to freak. Gently, I slid out from beneath Reagan, careful not to wake her. I needed to get out of here before things got complicated. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I returned, hoping to sneak out unnoticed. No such luck.
“You’re leaving?” Reagan’s voice was thick with sleep, her eyes barely open as she looked up at me.
“I’m late. I should’ve been home almost an hour ago,” I said, grabbing my jacket from the chair.
She stretched lazily, her arm draping across the empty space where I’d been. “Can’t you just stay? I liked sleeping in your arms.”
I hesitated, sitting back on the edge of the bed. Her hair was a mess, strands sticking to her face, so I tucked it behind her ear, trying to soften the blow of what I had to say. “Reagan... I’m not ready for a girlfriend.”
She sighed, turning her face into my palm as if she could avoid the conversation by closing her eyes. “I just... I’m tired of the casual stuff. I want something more permanent.”
I chuckled softly, more out of discomfort than humor. “So... a boyfriend, but no sex?”
“Hudson, I know you want Presley.” Her eyes opened again, piercing me with a knowing look. “But I want someone I can’t have too. Maybe we can help each other.”
My chest tightened. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yeah, it is. I see how you look at her. Hell, I remember from when we were kids. If you stayed here with me, she'd be yours by now.”
I shifted fully onto the bed, crossing my legs beneath me. “I think so too, but she won’t admit it. She’s stuck on Evan.”
Reagan dropped her gaze, her fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. “So am I,” she said quietly.
I blinked. “Wait, you like him?”
“I have since he moved here in middle school, but he’s never taken an interest. And if you haven’t noticed, Presley’s practically a queen around here.”
Her voice was bitter, almost resentful. “You sound jealous.”
“Everything comes easy to Presley, and she doesn’t even care,” Reagan growled. “It pisses me off.”
“Don’t be like that. She’s a nice girl.”
Reagan’s smirk was sharp, cutting. “Nice girl? You mean the one you want to fuck? She’ll give it up to Evan, and you’ll be sloppy seconds—if she gives it to you at all.”
Her words stung. I stood, pulling on my boots with more force than necessary, the anger rising in my chest. “Jealousy can open the blood. It can make black roses bloom,” I muttered, tightening the laces.
Reagan narrowed her eyes. “What? A poem?”
“Yes. A line from The Swarm by Sylvia Plath.”
She stared at me for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Sometimes I feel like a black rose.”
I met her gaze. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Reagan. Be yourself, not some version of Presley.”
Her eyes flashed, sharp and defensive. “Don’t give me advice when all you’re thinking about is getting into her panties. It’s all you want.”
I paused, frowning as her words landed with uncomfortable truth. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough,” she shot back.
Without another word, I turned and headed for the door. The weight of her words settled heavily on my shoulders as I stepped out, shutting the door behind me. Her harsh truth echoed in my mind, but it didn’t matter.
All I could think about was Presley—how much I wanted her, needed her. How much I dreamed of having her under me, the way I’d imagined for years.
And that thought terrified me.