Chapter 9
9
CLAIRE
“Do you want me to drive?” Hudson asked, leaning over my open passenger window with both of his arms propped on the roof. The pose made his shirt stretch across his muscular chest, and I pressed my lips together, worried I might drool just the tiniest bit. Minute one and this was already the worst idea I’d ever had.
“I’m fine driving,” I said quickly, needing the excuse to not look at him. Every time I thought too hard about what we were about to do, I felt the anxiety creeping up my throat, trying to choke me. I had no idea what I’d been thinking when I asked Hudson to be my pretend boyfriend. Obviously I wanted to get my family off my back, but seeing him here, triceps long and thick where they lay propped against the open window, the worry crept in. If I thought this week would lead to anything other than sexual frustration and potential heartbreak, I was an idiot.
“Great,” he replied, stepping back enough to open the car door. I rubbed one temple, trying to clear my head, but Hudson scrambled all my senses. I had always thought I could trust my gut about men, until Dan proved my intuition worthless. In the time since we’d broken up, my gut had taken a much more passive role. Until now, because the damn thing was full steam ahead where Hudson was concerned. It was only my brain who kept pointing out that guys as good looking as he was were man-whores ninety-five percent of the time.
I glanced in Hudson’s direction as he slid into the passenger seat, an action that should not have been sexy, but was. “I was thinking,” he began as he turned to face me, holding up his phone, “that we should post a picture of the two of us.”
I nodded. He was right. If we’d been dating for any amount of time there would’ve been a digital trail. I had to clean out more pictures of Dan than I cared to count when we broke up. “You post a lot?” I asked, leaning to the middle of the car and smiling. He grinned cockily, tilting his head closer to mine, and snapped the shot.
“I used to do a lot of videos,” he replied. “During quarantine. It was a fun way to pass time, but I haven’t had the time or patience lately. I’m sticking with stills for now.”
“I haven’t posted much lately,” I said, purposefully vague. He held the picture out for my approval, and it looked good. So good. I nodded.
“I’ll share it with you, but you don’t have to post it. If your family doesn’t expect a constant stream of updates, we’re cool.”
“They won’t.” I heard a ding as he airdropped the picture to me. I knew without a doubt I would be staring at that thing for a good, long time later.
“I should probably call you my girlfriend here, right?” he asked, pausing and looking up at me.
I swallowed hard. Was it too late to tell him to get out of the car? To give up on this whole embarrassing charade before everyone found out? “I suppose you should,” I said, pulling out of the parking spot and steering us out of the parking garage. What would I tell my family? This was already a runaway train of stupidity. There was no turning back now.
A thoughtful hum was his only reply, and then Hudson was quiet for a full minute while he crafted the post. My fingers tightened on the wheel, wondering what lies he might consider posting. “How about this?” he said finally. “Road trip with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”
I shot him a look, hoping the hot flush I felt wasn’t visible in the dark of the parking garage. “A bit much, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “I’m sticking with it. Do you want me to tag you?”
I shook my head, an instantaneous response. “No. I’m good. I only let my family and friends see my account.”
There was a long pause, long enough that I looked at him. He was smiling crookedly. “You should probably friend me,” he suggested.
Shit. I should’ve friended him days ago. “Can you do it?” I asked, offering my phone up between us as I maneuvered onto the road.
“Sure,” he replied, holding up my phone. “Look here.” I glanced over for the moment it took the lock screen to recognize me, and then there was another round of silence as he tapped between the two devices.
In the elevator, we’d fallen into peaceful silence more than once, but now the silence felt suffocating. “Should we talk about the ground rules?” I asked nervously.
From the corner of my eye I saw him glance in my direction, lips curling. “Nah. We’ve got a four-hour trip. Let’s relax for a little while first,” he suggested. Relax first? I was more likely to sprout wings and fly out of the sunroof. I looked over at him, brow raised, and he shrugged. “It’s a long ride. We’ll work everything out between now and then, but if you’d rather get started…”
“We could work on our backstory,” I suggested quickly.
He grinned. “You’re going to stress until we nail down every detail of this, aren’t you?”
“Probably also after that,” I confirmed, letting out a deep exhalation. Five minutes into this trip and Hudson probably thought I was miserably uptight. “Did you know romance scams are the costliest types of fraud?” I asked. It wasn’t exactly a subject change, but maybe it would take his attention off my neurosis for a minute.
He laughed. “Should I be worried you’re after my money? Because I can tell you, I don’t have much.”
I smiled, finding his laugh oddly soothing. “It’s more women getting conned than men, as you could probably guess. And it’s especially bad around Valentine’s Day, because people are lonely, you know?”
He shrugged one shoulder, then leaned his body on the console between us, lowering his voice as if he were sharing a secret. “Listen. I can ensure nothing like that happens to you. Just Zelle me three hundred dollars, and I’ll make sure you’re protected.”
I laughed, making a face, and he sat up, grinning. “Hit me up at Valentine’s. I’ll probably be an easy target,” I joked.
“I figure we met in the elevator,” he said, shifting easily back to the original topic as he sat back in his seat once more, but I was shaking my head before he could get the whole sentence out.
“I told them we were dating before the elevator,” I reminded him.
“Ah, yes,” he replied, and though I couldn’t look directly at him for very long, I could see the smile on his lips was self-satisfied. I couldn’t believe I’d admitted using his name as a fake boyfriend. Maybe Hudson had been wrong and the elevator was running low on oxygen at that point. I couldn’t think of any reason to share that tidbit other than lack of oxygen to the brain. “Before we got stuck,” he said. “We’ve shared the elevator plenty of times.”
“And?” I asked.
He chuckled. “And what? And one time I took a shot and asked a beautiful woman to go out for dinner.”
“In,” I corrected.
“I’m sorry?” he asked, clearly confused.
“You ordered take out and we had it at my place. My family knows I generally avoid eating at restaurants since…” I flicked the mask that hung from my windshield wiper switch.
“Fair enough,” he replied. “At your place, though, not mine?”
I shook my head. “Going to your place makes it sound like I slept with you right away.”
“ Have we slept together?” he asked, his lips curling up into a sexy smile.
In my brain? So many times. One better than the next. My lips curled between my teeth—holding those thoughts in, since I obviously couldn’t be trusted not to share my private thoughts with Hudson—until they popped back out with a tiny kissing noise that made me blush. “Statistically speaking, the majority of people sleep together before meeting each other’s families.”
“Statistically speaking?” he asked, laughter in his voice.
I felt heat creep up my neck, remembering all the times Dan had rolled his eyes at my statistics. This was not the part of me men found attractive. It was the part they tolerated. The part they complained about during fights. The part they asked me to “be aware of” at parties. “I have a very good memory and I love statistics,” I answered slowly, cautiously. “My brain collects them like some people collect…I don’t know.” I shrugged. “What do people collect?”
“You collect them like boys collect baseball cards,” he offered.
I nodded my agreement. “That’s good. Can I steal that?”
“Of course.” He turned the air conditioning up on his side of the car, but was quiet. My stomach turned as I waited for him to say something—anything. “Is it rude that I want to hear some?” he asked finally, turning slightly in his seat. “It’s like finding out you do a cool magic trick. I’m just curious now.”
I swallowed, glancing at him a few times to try and figure out if he was making fun of me, but he didn’t appear to be. His face was relaxed, his eyes dark and sparked with interest.
“The average American eats more than twelve pounds of ice cream per year.”
“Really?” he asked, his head cocking to one side. “I guess that makes sense. I probably eat that much.”
“Not me,” I replied, “but I have more than my share of brownies, compared to the average.”
His brow winged up, amusement written on all of his features. “This is oddly delightful. Pray tell, how many brownies is the average?”
“Little less than five.”
“A little less than five per tray of brownies?” he asked, and I laughed, a big sound that popped the little bubble of anxiety lodged in my chest.
“Pretty sure that’s a total number.”
“In a year?” he asked, incredulous. “I’m not a sugar fiend or anything, but that seems very low. If I’m anywhere near brownies, I’m eating more than four.”
I shrugged, the smile lingering on my lips. “Me too. Maybe most people are avoiding brownies because they’re so good.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, and I relaxed into the natural lull in the conversation, until he said, “But back to our sex life.”
If he saw the brownie-to-sex connection—as in, probably so amazing I’m avoiding it at all costs—he said nothing, and my fingers tightened where they held the wheel. “Right.” I said, measuring my options. “I don’t intend to share any details with people, but I would say we’ve had sex, if someone asked.”
“Claire,” he said, the word sending heat through my body like a sip of whiskey on a cold night, “couples who are having sex behave differently.”
For example, they don’t quiver at the sound of their name on each other’s lips. “They do,” I conceded, frowning.
“We don’t have to, Claire.”
Like there was any possibility I wouldn’t be aware of him all week. What about when he held me to dance at the wedding? What about— oh, shit . “I probably should’ve thought of this earlier, but I’m sure we’ll be sharing a room at my parents’ house. Is that okay with you?” I held my breath, glancing at the clock. We’d been driving for almost forty minutes. It would waste an hour to turn around and take him home now, but I’d still make it to Mom and Dad’s at a reasonable time.
“That’s fine,” he replied, shocking me out of worst-case-scenario planning. “You’ll find I go with the flow.”
Go with the flow? I’d thought he felt the same attraction for me I had for him. There was nothing go with the flow about the thoughts I’d been having this past week. Perhaps it was just the elevator. Maybe he wasn’t as interested as I’d thought.
“I’m kind of the opposite of go with the flow,” I admitted.
“No shit?” he said, and I looked over to find a huge, playful smile on his face.
“Shut up,” I muttered.
“Opposites attract, right?” he said, and I rolled my eyes. I had no idea if he only meant my attraction to him . “I can sleep on the floor,” he offered.
Oh my god. The man thought I was so gone for him I couldn’t hold it together in a shared space? So gone for him I’d make him sleep on a floor for a whole week? “You don’t have to do that. We can share the bed. I’m sure I can handle keeping my hands to myself for a week.” A mean amount of sarcasm dripped from my voice on that last line, as if he were repugnant instead of achingly beautiful.
Hudson chuckled, like he knew that wasn’t true, and I didn’t know whether to feel guilty or annoyed.
Traffic thinned out and I was finally able to accelerate, but Hudson remained quiet. “I feel like I talked the entire time we were in the elevator,” I said. “It’s embarrassing to know almost nothing about you.”
“What do you want to know?” he asked.
Everything. I want to relax into your voice and forget about all the reasons spending time with you this week is insane. “Tell me about your family,” I said, figuring it was a safe topic. His awkward hum told me otherwise. “What’s up?” I asked, the anxiety creeping back in.
“I don’t know how busy this week is for you, but I saw on the map that I’m less than a half hour from my mom’s house, and if I drive four hours without visiting her, she’ll kill me.”
“Oh,” I said, relief coursing through me, as if I’d expected him to reveal he’d murdered his family. He’d mentioned where he grew up—I remembered that, and remembered it had been close to my own hometown—but somehow it had never occurred to me he’d want to visit home. “Of course. It doesn’t matter how busy I am. You can borrow the car one day. I’ll be fine.”
“You should come with me,” he said, and my heart did a whole stutter-stop thing that probably required medical attention.
“You want…your fake girlfriend…to meet your mom?” I asked slowly.
I might’ve expected him to get defensive, or maybe insulted, but Hudson only laughed. “I just posted about you. My parents and my sister are going to know something is up. Frankly, it seems easier to introduce you and tell them we broke up later than to explain how I came to be pretending to date you.”
The man had a point and yet I didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to lie to his mother or his sister. My mother and sisters—fair game—but it felt wrong to extend this beyond Nora’s wedding. “If I can get free I’d love to come with you,” I replied, suddenly praying Nora would keep me busy, even though I knew she wouldn’t. We were here for a full week. I’d said from the beginning it was unnecessary.
The car went quiet, like maybe Hudson knew I didn’t want to meet his family, and again, guilt wracked me. “Tell me about your sister. It’s just the two of you, right?”
He hesitated, and I realized he probably didn’t want to talk about his family, not that I knew why. “Yep. Sammie. She’s two and a half years younger than me and a teacher in Cranberry Falls—in the elementary school we went to, actually.”
“Do you get along?” I asked tentatively, not sure where the landmine was in this conversation, but tiptoeing nonetheless.
“Sure. She’s nosy and opinionated and a pain in my ass, but I love her. We talk on the phone a lot.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Is it different for you and your sisters?”
“Me and Em are really close like that, but Tess and Nora are both a bit younger, so they’re closer to each other, I think. But we all talk. I talk on the phone with Emily almost daily, and Nora every week or two. Tessa is probably the one I talk to least, but I always have fun with her when we’re together. I think she just hates the phone. How about your parents?”
“My parents have one of those amazing, impossible relationships that no one can live up to, leaving their children frozen and afraid to commit for fear of failure.”
I laughed a big laugh. Talking to Hudson was so easy . “I know exactly what you mean. That’s how I feel about my parents.”
“Like you wish they would’ve had a dysfunctional relationship so you could have realistic standards?”
“So I take it Sammie isn’t married?”
“Nope,” he replied, the word making a little popping noise on his lush lips. I let out a slow breath, reminding myself I’d promised Hudson I wouldn’t make something out of our fake date that it wasn’t.
“Is Nora the first of your sisters to get married?”
“She is. She’s the youngest and first.”
“Does it bother you?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.
Yes. It was supposed to be me. Me and Dan.
“No,” I lied, but even though Hudson barely knew me, I was sure he could tell it was a lie. “I mean, it’s just not the way I thought things were going to turn out,” I said honestly.
Hudson looked out the window where pine trees whipped by. “I get that. I think the same thing every time I visit home.”
I always found the trip home long and tedious, but today I would’ve dragged it out another four hours if I could’ve. I was dreading home just as much as I was dreading this wedding, and the truth of the matter—the truth I tried not to think about—was that my life wasn’t supposed to play out like this. When I’d been with Dan, I’d pictured us getting married, buying a house a few blocks from my parents, and having kids. It was such a neat and orderly plan, and now I was bringing an acquaintance from an elevator to my baby sister’s wedding, playacting a life I wasn’t exciting enough to earn on my own.
“You okay?” Hudson asked, and I jolted out of my pity party with a start.
“Me?”
Hudson chuckled, looking around the car with one eyebrow raised.
“Okay, obviously me,” I conceded. “I’m fine. Just zoning out.”
“Alright,” he replied, but the crease between his eyes and the way he scrutinized my face when I turned his way for a moment suggested he didn’t believe me. “Are you worried they’ll figure us out?”
I probably should’ve been, but I wasn’t. Between our elevator adventure and this drive, I knew my fake boyfriend better than I’d known some of my legitimate boyfriends. “Not really,” I said. “No one in their right mind would ask a stranger to come to their parents’ home for a week and pretend to be in a relationship, so it seems unlikely anyone will figure us out.”
“You probably have a point.”
“I definitely have a point,” I muttered.
“We still need to talk about ground rules,” he said. Although I was the one to bring it up hours earlier, this was a conversation I positively dreaded. I would almost certainly regret whatever I agreed to right now. If we decided hands off? I’d picture his hands all over me. Hands on? I’d grow attached, like some helpless baby duck imprinting on the first person she saw. “We want people to believe we’re sleeping together,” he said, and the words gave me pause.
It was a part of the charade I hadn’t even considered, and the impulse to drop my head back and groan was nearly overwhelming.“We can’t sleep together,” I protested, instantly embarrassed by how squeaky my voice came out.
Hudson let out a low chuckle. “Noted. I was not suggesting we sleep together, but it will inform how we behave.”
My face flamed red. Of course he hadn’t been suggesting we sleep together. I wanted to crawl into a hole for a while, or maybe just cover my eyes and block out the world like I used to when I’d been embarrassed as a child. Both seemed like a bad plan while driving seventy, though.
When I didn’t offer any suggestions, Hudson continued. “If we were sleeping together, I would touch you,” he said.
This was it. I was going to spontaneously combust. I fought the urge to fan myself. “Touch me?” These words came out squeakier than the last, and I couldn’t bear to make eye contact with Hudson, so I focused hard on the driving.
Hudson politely ignored all evidence of my mortification, continuing with a casual shrug. “If we were actually sleeping together, I wouldn’t hesitate to touch you every opportunity I got. I’d pull you close when we sat next to each other. I’d run the backs of my fingers down your cheek and push your hair behind your ear. I’d kiss you. But I don’t want to cross any lines, so I want to make sure we talk about it.”
There was a moment when I was lost in imagining each of these scenarios, one more delightful than the next, and I wet my lips, pulling the bottom one between my teeth in an effort to curb the desire to reply, Sign me up! “I think it would be weird if we didn’t touch at all,” I replied judiciously, not sure where I was going with the statement. “Let’s not rule out any of those things,” I continued slowly, “but maybe aim for half as many as you’d do with a real girlfriend.” I glanced at him to see how he felt about this, adding, “It’s okay if my family assumes you’re not that into public displays of affection.”