Page 21 of Hale

Me: All of them, nerd.

Hudson: I like the third one.

I smile as I read his text. The third one was my favorite too.

Hudson: How are you? You haven’t had any more of those thoughts, have you?

Heat flushes across my skin.

Me: What?

How does he know?

Hudson: Hurting yourself, Ry. You haven’t thought about it anymore, have you?

I let out a ragged breath of realization. Those thoughts. Not the shameful ones. Got it.

Me: No. Not really.

My phone starts ringing and I hurry to answer it. If Aunt Becky knew I was staying up until two in the morning texting, she’d take my phone away. Again. It took apologizing and helping Aunt Becky pull weeds to make up for smashing her mirror, but I eventually got my phone replaced and privileges back.

“What?” I whisper.

Hudson chuckles. Deep and throaty. It vibrates straight to my core. If I said I only touched myself twice that day in the shower, I’d be a liar. I’ve touched myself every time in the shower since.

“Most people say hello when they answer the phone,” he says, amusement in his tone.

“I’m not like most people.”

His laughter dies and he grows serious. “Rylie, what does that mean? ‘Not really?’”

My heart rate picks up at his concern. “I just meant that yes, I get sad a lot, but talking to you helps.”

He lets out a heavy breath. “Don’t ever say shit like that to me again.” He pauses for a moment. “I was so fucking scared when I got the call from Aunt Becky. I thought I lost you too,” he murmurs.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I really am.”

“You should be in bed,” he grumbles.

“Iamin bed.”

“Smartass.”

I slide my hand under the blanket and delve into my panties. My fingers lightly brush against my clit as I try to steady my breathing. “Will the hurt ever go away?”

“I hope so.”

We’re both quiet for a moment.

“I miss you,” I whine, tears threatening. I’m overwhelmed by thoughts and sensations. I want to cry and crawl into his lap. I want to touch myself and think of him. I want to scream and destroy my room. I want it all. All at once. It’s maddening as I try to sort it all out in my head.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promises. “You should get some sleep.”

Lazily, I rub myself between my thighs, enjoying the sparks of pleasure that buzz through me. It feels forbidden to touch myself while talking to him. “Did you tell Amy yet?”

“No.”

“When are you going to tell her?”