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Chapter twenty-five

Daphne

Hudson’s friends are a great group. I don’t remember the last time I laughed as much as I have today, so much, my sides ache. It’s a good feeling. I can see why he wanted me to meet them and, honestly, aside from Liv, I haven’t had the time to make many friends outside of class, so this is perfect.

Liv always jokes that I need to schedule in fun on my calendar, but she might not be wrong. I’m about to spend at a minimum of eighteen years not having a lot of spare time, so maybe it’s a good time to take advantage of the time I have now.

“I have a question,” Hudson begins as we walk back to my dorm.

“I’m listening.”

“Hypothetically, when the baby is born. Let’s say I’m so overcome with emotion that I kiss you. Is that okay? Like, would it be allowed even if we’re friends?”

I pause my steps, staring at him. “ That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, that and how to avoid our parents until the kid is at least eighteen.”

I chuckle. “And how’s that going?”

“Not well.”

“Well, I can always come up with some ideas, like moving to Alaska, for example? My dad would never go somewhere where it was cold a lot of the time.”

He taps the side of his head. “I’m storing that as a backup plan, for sure.”

We both laugh, and although he doesn’t ask about the other part of his question, I don’t want to ignore it either. “As for the…kissing part,” I say, tapping my chin and pretending to think it over. I stop walking again, this time facing him fully. The teasing glint in his eyes makes it harder to stay composed. “I think that if you were overcome with emotion, then…” My words falter as I catch myself staring at his lips. God, have they always been this full? “…maybe there could be…” Why is it so hot all of a sudden? I trail off, losing my train of thought entirely when his gaze dips to my mouth. The air feels heavier, thicker, and before I even realize it, I’ve leaned in. My chest brushes his, and it’s not until I feel the warmth of him that I register how close we’ve gotten.

“Daphne?” he asks softly, his voice so low and gravelly that my stomach flips.

I blink, snapping out of whatever spell I’d fallen under. “I’m sorry, that was, uh…” I stumble over my words, stepping back quickly, looking anywhere but at his stupidly pretty face.

“A moment where you were overcome with emotion?” he offers with a smirk that I can hear in his voice.

I shake my head, refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m not answering that,” I mutter, though I can still feel the heat of his gaze, like he’s daring me to admit he’s right.

“Hm, shame. I would’ve let you have that moment if you’d let me have mine.” He dips low behind me to whisper near my ear. “And trust me when I say I’ve thought about those lips a lot, princess.”

The nickname he gave me from that night makes me weak, softening my defenses, pulling me back to the moment it was born. It shouldn’t have this much power, but it does. It tugs at the reminder of that night’s reckless heat between us and the way he took care of me, held me, made me feel so good. Now, hearing it again, my heart stumbles, my pulse tripping over itself, chasing the memory of us.

Then he breezes past me, leaving me with a racing heart and a missed moment I’m kicking myself for.

***

We’ve been back at my dorm for almost an hour and Hudson hasn’t left yet. I mean, I invited him in, because he bamboozled me earlier, and I don’t know… He lingered in the doorway when we arrived, and maybe I didn’t want to say goodbye yet.

Are proximity baby hormones a thing? Because I quite like to just be near him, and I’m 99% sure that’s because of his baby in my belly. Our baby. Yep, still not done freaking out over that yet.

He’s laid out on my bed, scrolling on his phone, his long limbs hanging off my ditsy floral covers, looking completely out of place and yet somehow like he belongs there. His fitted Henley stretches across his broad chest, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, and his smart joggers sit low on his hips, emphasizing just how effortlessly good he looks, even when he’s doing nothing at all.

What really gets me, though, is the sight of my childhood cuddly tucked under his arm, held loosely against his side like it’s second nature. I can’t help but smile, biting my lip as I take it all in. This giant football player sprawled out on my flowery bed, snuggling with my stuffed animal, while I sit beside him, scrolling through articles from the school’s social media sites.

I should be organizing my overflowing emails and class assignments, but I can’t seem to focus. My once vibrant planner lies open and forgotten on my desk while I scroll through CLUSports social media, using it as a distraction. Well, that’s how it started, but now I’m invested.

Cedar Lakes loves reporting on its male teams, but only occasionally—I’m talking, hardly once a season—on the women’s teams, and I’ve learned since being here that there are plenty to rave about. Last year, Remy Hernandez, the women’s soccer star forward, was a MAC Hermann Trophy winner, and she got a measly interview and one post. While the equivalent on the male team has at least three posts I’ve found where he talks about getting nominated, winning, and what life looks like for a trophy winner. Tell me how that’s fair? I’ve also done a deep dive on a few senior athletes on the lacrosse team and two of them have children. Why haven’t their stories been told yet?

“You look like you’re mad at your screen,” Hudson says. His phone discarded now, eyes firmly on me.

I sigh, long and deep. “I am a little mad. Did you know that women’s sports don’t get half the exposure of male sports here?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t know that, but it sucks because the women’s teams here kick ass. I’ve been to a few soccer games, basketball games, you name it, and they’re killer athletes.”

“Exactly,” I say. “So why isn’t anyone reporting on that?” I gesture toward my screen, scrolling through the sparse posts on women’s sports. “It’s like they’re doing the bare minimum to acknowledge them, but the guys get full-on features.”

Hudson sits up slightly, his legs still hanging off the edge of my bed as he props himself up on an elbow. “You’re studying PR, right? Does that include getting the word out and making sure people actually pay attention to stuff that matters?”

I blink at him, surprised he remembered. He hasn’t asked about why I chose PR, much less seemed to consider I might already be decent at it. “I mean…yeah, it is. But I’m still learning, you know? I’m not exactly a pro.”

“Okay, but you’re mad about this. Like, it’s bugging you enough to sit there all frowny faced at your screen. Seems like if anyone’s gonna do something about it, it may as well be you.”

Shaking my head, I let out a short laugh. “You don’t even know if I’m any good at this stuff.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says easily. “You’re clearly smart, and you’ve got opinions that matter. You can do something about it.”

I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “You really think I could do it?”

Hudson nods, serious now. “Hell yeah, I do. And even if you can’t fix the whole thing, you’ll at least make ’em think twice about ignoring it.”

He’s right. I can use my voice to do something, and his unwavering confidence in me boosts my own. It gives me a great idea for the project for Professor Vance’s class too.

My fingers hover over my keyboard for a moment, an idea forming in my head, but I shelve it for now and type out an email to the school’s social media team, @CLUSports. If they’re the ones in charge of the posts, they’re where I’ll start.

I hit send and glance back at Hudson. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” He smiles, and my heart flutters a little at the sight. “Actually,” he amends. “If you do want to thank me, you can come to our conference game next Friday. I’ll play better if you’re there.”

I laugh, because Hudson blackmailing me with how well he plays is cute. “You do remember that guy who shouts at you on the field happens to be my dad, right? Pretty sure you’re obligated to play your best whether I’m there or not.”

“I know.” He shrugs lightly. “But I’d still like you there.”

“We’ll see,” I reply, but I know I’m already going.

Hudson smirks, clearly catching it. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He stands from my bed, stretches lazily, and then reaches behind his head to pull his hoodie off in one smooth motion. Holy abs, Batman —how had I forgotten how carved he is? The muscles in his stomach ripple as the fabric lifts, and I have to force myself to look away before I blatantly stare.

“Here,” he says, tossing the hoodie to me with a casual flick of his wrist. “You can wear it if you come along.”

I catch it, blinking up at him, still reeling from that glimpse of his perfect body. “Uhh…”

“It’s not personalized or anything, so no one will know it’s mine. They’re standard school hoodies. No one will know except you and me.” He winks, like this is a perfectly normal thing to suggest, and like my heart isn’t flipping around like an Olympian. I move the fabric in my hands, feeling the soft cotton, when a waft of his scent travels up to me. God, he smells so freaking good.

It takes every ounce of my self-control not to pull it over my head right now and snuggle into it.

“Is it okay if I hang out here a bit longer?” His question is cautious and quiet, and the fact he’s asking and not assuming, rattles something inside me. It’s not what I expected him to say. He’s usually confident, yet here he is, waiting for me to say yes.

“You don’t have anywhere else you’d rather be?” The words slip out before I can think. I already know his answer, but some insecure, self-protective part of me needs to hear it again. Needs to be sure I’m not misreading this.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

I try not to let it show how much that means, but my nose tingles anyway. The emotion sneaks up on me, and I have to look away, so he doesn’t see my eyes tearing. I could blame it on the baby hormones, but I know it’s not that. It’s been a long time since anyone made me feel like I was their first choice.

“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat, needing to change the subject away from my fragile emotional state. “Wanna watch my favorite TV show?”

“Of course.” His eyes light up. “What is it?”

“Usually something trashy, like Married at First Sight or Love Island .” I brace myself for the inevitable grumble about my questionable taste in TV. I know it’s not Oscar-worthy stuff, but I love it anyway.

“You’re joking?” And there it is. He’s probably going to leave now and I’ve messed it all up. “Have you watched the most recent Love Island episode?”

My head jerks back in surprise. “You watch it?”

He flushes slightly as a coy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he admits. “I love it. That and maybe even 90 Day Fiancé .”

Be still my heart.

I gape at him before laughing. “You’re telling me you’ve been hiding your trash TV addiction this whole time?”

“Not hiding.” He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “More like…waiting to figure out when I can blindside you with my addiction to watching strangers fall in love and break up over the dumbest things? Or how the Love Island challenges have so much drama I can’t look away.”

A giddy warmth buzzes under my skin at his response. “Well, you’re not blindsiding me because I’m obsessed too. Drama, chaos, I love watching people say, ‘I’ve never felt like this before’ after one date. It’s fascinating.”

He grabs the remote to my small TV in the corner, then shuffles back to sit up on my bed. “Shall we, then?”

I sit on the bed next to him, settling close but not too close, already excited at the possibility of sharing this with him. But he frowns, those strong eyebrows furrowing as he assesses me and the space between us.

“Do I smell?” he asks, completely serious.

I bark a laugh and slap a hand over my mouth to cover it. “What? No. Why?”

He waves his hand toward the gap between us. “Because you’re sitting too far away from me,” he says with a little huff that’s actually more cute than grumpy.

“Where should I sit, hm?”

He lifts his arm, biceps flexing under his sleeve, and points to the space right next to him. “Here. Where else?”

My stomach flips. I swallow and slide closer until my shoulder brushes his side. His body heat envelops me immediately.

“That’s better.” Draping his arm around me, he covers me in a little cocoon of warmth and fresh laundry and just him.

I pretend to focus on the TV as the theme music plays to Love Island , but all I can think about is if he can hear my heart thumping in my chest…because I can feel his.