23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Trey
When I bought my new house a few weeks ago, it was impulsive.
I know this about myself. But it’s a twenty minute drive from Hudson’s place, and I couldn’t wait to come home officially for the holidays.
It still feels kind of weird to consider a place I’ve never been or even seen in person yet as home, but part of that is also wildly exciting.
The high of buying a new place and hiring an interior designer made me feel like one of those guys on those design architecture shows.
Hudson doesn’t know where my house is, just that I bought one close by.
I know he hates surprises, so I asked if we could do the reveal together, and he said yes.
I’d paid my designer a hefty tip to stock the fridge and pantry with enough fresh food and perishables to last us a few days, since I’ll be home for a whopping two weeks.
Two weeks off… I haven’t had this kind of break in a long time, and part of me feels a little guilty that I’m spending it in Minnesota with Hudson and not my mom.
But when she heard the condo in Miami was going to be empty for the holidays, she’d decided it was the perfect time to have my aunt and her best friends come to visit, being as there’s more than enough space and it’s right on the beach.
The more I think about walking into my new home with Hudson, the more nervous I am.
What if he doesn’t like it? What if he hates it?
I mean, I can always redecorate, I guess, but…
this is nerve-wracking. I’ve brought people home before, but this is different.
It feels like more than just giving my friend a key to my place or bringing a significant other over to my humble abode.
But I try not to think too much about it, or I’ll just drive myself crazy.
So instead, I pull my phone out to tap out a quick text before I turn on airplane mode.
Me
On the plane now. Will be there soon.
I hover over the emojis. I can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious, even though I know no one is watching me or seeing what I’m typing. So I take a deep breath, and at the risk of sounding like a stage five clinger, text him how I really feel.
Me
I can’t wait to see you later ;-)
It’s funny, I never questioned texting women. I just wrote whatever felt genuine at the time and yeah, maybe I’d go hard on the emojis just to make sure I was getting my point across, but this is different. Talking to Hudson is just… different.
It feels natural. Warm. We talk all the time, but even since we decided to do this— try an actual relationship, we’ve kept the flirty texts to a minimum. As in, we haven’t said anything remotely romantic or sexual in our texts at all.
I twist my lips, overthinking what I should say and decide I’m just about to turn the airplane mode on when a text from Hudson comes in.
Huds
Can’t wait to see you, either :-)
The moment I get off the plane, the chill hits my body down to my fucking bones.
I curse myself for not bringing a coat instead of my pullover, clearly not thinking about the difference in weather.
But when I get off the ramp and exit to my gate, that chill disappears quickly.
I all but sprint across the carpet toward Hudson and he does the same.
I wrap my arms around him and nearly knock us both over, but I don’t care.
It feels good. His heavy, warm body against mine, his rainwater scent invading my lungs.
I don’t want to let go—even though we’re standing in a busy airport with tons of people rushing by us.
“You’re crushing me,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound angry. In fact, he sounds relieved.
“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat as I let him go, and then his demeanor shifts.
I watch that bright grin turn to a stoic one, watch his amber gaze turn a little more serious.
I try not to feel offended because I know the holidays put him in a weird mood, but part of me feels that it’s because of me.
Was it the hug? Was I too over the top? Maybe he didn’t want me to hug him? Or maybe just not in front of all these people…
I don’t know. He said he was fine with this, and we both agreed that while we wouldn’t purposefully hide our relationship, we agreed to keep things a little on the down low until we are both comfortable with being more open about it—since it’s new for us both.
And now I’m wondering if I somehow went overboard and made him uncomfortable. Shit.
“Do you need to get any more bags or—”
I shake my head. “Nope. I travel light and anything I need I can get while I’m here if I don’t have it, plus… I had the designer stock the closets with a few basics.”
“Designer?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, yeah, I, uh… hired an interior designer to, you know… decorate the house. My house. And then I asked if she could like… stock the fridge and stuff, maybe fill the closets with a few things—”
Hudson blinks, shaking his head. “Wow, okay.” His voice is a little defensive.
“What? Is that a problem?” I tense, worried I’ve somehow done something or said something that pissed him off.
He clears his throat. “No, I just… thought maybe we would do that stuff together or something.”
His words hit me harder than a damn brick. I hadn’t thought once about asking Hudson to help me decorate or buy stuff, because I was so excited and wanted to impress him, and now I feel like a complete asshole.
“I’m sorry, I just thought—”
He shakes his head. “It’s fine. Really. Let’s just get out of here. I don’t like airports.”
I nod as he reaches for my suitcase. His hand slides over mine as he grabs the handle, and for a second he doesn’t move it, just squeezes my hand gently and then pulls it away from my grip.
I follow him out to his car wordlessly, feeling more than a little guilty.
When we get to his car, he tosses my suitcase in the trunk and we get in.
It’s quiet, until he turns to me, his amber eyes a little warmer.
“I’m really happy you’re here,” he says and instantly, I settle a fraction. I give him a genuine smile.
“Me, too,” I say softly. “Are you nervous?”
Hudson looks at me in confusion. “Why would I be nervous?”
“I don’t know,” I say, glancing out the window.
“Are you?” he asks.
“Maybe a little,” I admit.
Hudson starts the car. “About the house or—” His voice is careful.
“The house. Yeah.”
I lean across the center console, unable to fight the prevalent need bounding within me.
It’s been a month. Barely thirty days, but it feels like both the blink of an eye and an eternity.
We’ve talked every day. Texted. Video chatted. It’s not like I left and disappeared, but…
I’m suddenly very aware of just how much I’ve missed him. Hudson’s gaze drifts to my mouth and he leans in a little closer until he closes the space between us and kisses me. My entire body relaxes. It’s not rushed or chaste, but slow and hard. It’s not a greeting, but a promise.
I open my mouth without hesitation and slide my tongue into his as I grasp his neck, his hair tickling the tops of my knuckles.
And then he pulls away and smirks. He clears his throat as he settles in his seat and turns the car on, the GPS coming on the screen. I punch in the coordinates, my heart in my throat.
“Alright, time to go home,” I say nervously.
When we pull up to my driveway, I can’t help but gape in awe.
“Holy shit,” I say as I take in the sprawling cabin.
I’d fallen in love with the modern rustic A-Frame design the moment I saw the photos.
The large glass window that goes from the roof to the stone trim is bigger than I thought it would be, and the Christmas tree is front and center with nothing but lights.
No ornaments or garland, just twinkling lights that cast a glow on the rest of the modernly furnished house.
“It’s so… you,” Hudson says flatly.
I get out of the car, slowly walking up to the front.
Hudson hangs behind me and I hear the faint thud of the trunk.
I slide my hand into my pocket, feeling both keys in there—mine and the spare I plan to give Hudson later…
at some point. I’ve never given anyone who wasn’t my mother a key to my place.
And though it makes sense—Hudson’s here more than me, and I will probably need him to keep an eye on it if only to make sure everything is good once in a while— it still feels big. Bigger than it should.
“Hey, Trey,” he calls out, pulling my attention.
“Huh?” I turn around to see him hold his phone up.
“Smile,” he says nonchalantly.
My lips turn up easily as he snaps the picture, and just as he moves to slide his phone away, I call out to him.
“Come here.”
He drags my suitcase with him until he’s in front of me and I grab his phone from his other hand. He lets me have it, but his eyebrows furrow. “What are you—”
I slide one arm around his shoulders and pull him close to my side.
He stumbles, not expecting the movement, which makes him fall against me.
He braces himself, planting one hand on my chest as the suitcase falls over.
His palm is hot. So hot, I feel it through my pullover.
A few small flurries dance in the air as I tighten my grip on him and use my other hand to hold the phone out in front of us.
“Smile,” I say, glancing at the camera.
His hand fists in my pullover as he steadies himself and leans against me, his blondish brown hair tickling my jaw. I take a few shots before he pushes himself off me and tells me that I don’t need six pictures of the same thing.
I beg to differ, because as I scroll through every photo, I swear you can see his gaze shift from the camera to me the same way mine shifts to him.