Page 35 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

“You’ve come a long way,” I say, holding my steaming tea in my lap in one hand, the other hand still entwined in Ruby’s fur.

“You say that like I was some delinquent or something.” Hudson lets out a self-deprecating chuckle.

“In my defence, you were voted most likely to end up stripping for money. But it probably had more to do with your physique,” I quip, feeling lighter and lighter as Hudson and I fall back into our usual banter.

“And I’ve been wildly successful. I almost beat Cole at the food bank fundraiser.”

“Not to mention, you won yourself a date.”

“Yeah, Alma really had the hots for me.”

“What a slut,” I say, flashing him a playful smirk. “Hey, speaking of sluts. Where’s Jett?”

“I told him to get lost,” Hudson answers.

“Finally stood up to him, eh?”

“Nah. I lied. He took off back to Banff a few days ago. He’s been looking for his own place up there, and something came on the market.”

“Ah.”

I lean back, and a comfortable silence falls between us again, so I sip my tea, enjoying the moment.

It feels good to have our old dynamic back a little, to feel like friends again.

It makes me feel more like myself, too. The last few years have been nothing but work and climbing the corporate ladder. No room for real enjoyment.

I thought coming back to Heartwood might help me get further ahead in my career. I didn’t think it would make me question why I’ve worked so hard for it in the first place.

“Why didn’t you come with me to university?” I ask. I’m feeling a little braver now. Not brave enough to delve into the ‘why did you dump me and crush my soul’ territory, but this seems like a good enough place to start, unpacking our old baggage.

Hudson shrugs.

“Honestly?” I nod, as if I want any other answer.

“We didn’t have enough money. I knew from an early age things weren’t going to be easy for me.

Mason had asked Dad for money to help him with med school, and that’s where the cash flow dried up.

Sure, Dad was a doctor, but rural doctors don’t make much, and we were always a single-income household anyways.

By the time I was supposed to go to university, Jett was into skiing—not a cheap sport, by the way.

It’s not like going to university was my dream anyways.

I didn’t care—at least, I told myself I didn’t.

I was happy to stay here in Heartwood and earn a living with what I had. ”

Something heavy lands on my shoulders as I consider what it must have been like for Hudson, how different our upbringings were. I’m angry at myself for only realizing this now.

I take in the information I’m learning about Hudson for the first time. We didn’t have deep conversations as teenagers. We were either playing some sort of game, or teasing each other, or making out—once we learned we could. I always assumed Hudson never had the drive or ambition I did.

When I don’t say anything and sip my tea instead, Hudson continues.

“You know, I’m happy with my life.” When I look up at him, he’s peering back, and there’s nothing in his eyes but the truth. “I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. I’m content. Are you content?”

“No.” The answer comes out faster than I would have thought, and it takes me by surprise. “I don’t know if I remember the last time I was content. There’s always this … friction. Like a constant need to set the next goal, except the goal post is always moving.”

“I don’t remember you being that way. You were always so carefree. That’s what I loved about you.” My brain snags on his use of the word loved , how he’s used it so casually here, unlike the bomb he dropped on me the other day.

“I just … grew up, I guess. I made the responsible choice, got a well-regarded career with high earning potential.”

“But why engineering? Couldn’t you have done something else if that’s what you were looking for?”

“Yeah, but there was nothing else I wanted to do. All I wanted to do was draw and paint, but that wasn’t going to get me anywhere in life.

It certainly wasn’t going to satisfy my father.

” Hudson nods, and I don’t miss the hint of an eye roll at the mention of my dad.

“My dad means well—he wants what’s best for me. ”

“At the expense of your happiness.” My spine stiffens in defiance at this truth.

“I can be happy after I get this promotion,” I say. But now I hear it, my awareness of my own faults sharpening. I’m always moving the goal post. Then, a wave of nausea hits me. There may not be a goal post to move. I won’t even be in the running for the promotion. Not after tonight.

“When will you know?”

“My boss wanted to know what the results of the vote would be, so probably tomorrow after it’s announced. If he hasn’t already given it to Brody.” Hudson makes a silent ahh . “I don’t even want to think about it tonight. I can already feel my blood pressure rising again.”

I set my empty mug down on the nightstand and snuggle further under the covers.

“You should get some sleep,” Hudson suggests.

“I don’t even feel tired. I’m still a little wired.”

“I might be able to help you relax.”

“Keep your pants on, Landry,” I say. His eyes search my face for a moment.

“Interesting,” he says, all his attention homed in on my mouth.

“What?”

“Based on the moaning coming from the bathroom earlier, I wouldn’t have thought you’d want me to keep my pants on.

” I squint at him, but a warmth slithers down my centre at the way he’s looking at me right now.

He smirks, and his goddamned dimple pops, and I’m so fucking weak when it comes to Hudson. “Turn over.”

I flash him a suspicious glare, but reluctantly turn over onto my side, facing away from him.

His body shifts, the covers moving around us and his warmth radiating on my back.

“This is something my mom used to do with us when we were little. If we had a nightmare or something. It might help here,” he explains, and I relax further into the mattress.

“Guess what I’m drawing on your back,” he instructs, so I focus on the line his finger makes on my back, mentally imagining the picture he’s creating.

The picture is simple, but still, not being able to see it means I have to focus my mental energy on it, and not whatever I was thinking about before.

He creates a curved line, and then across the bottom, what feels like a bunch of curves with little points at the top.

Two straight lines vertically, and then a bunch of jagged ones jutting out from the top of it.

“I know,” I say, piecing it together.

“Okay, make your guess, Miller.”

“A tropical island.”

“Yes, good guess.”

“Do another.” I like this game. It feels like a game I can win at, and by winning, I’m somehow lowering my stress levels. I almost offer a wager, but I decide it would defeat the purpose. So instead, I enjoy the process.

This time Hudson’s finger draws two circles side by side, and then a long …

“No penises, perv!” I cry, laughing as I turn and smack him. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“You went there, Miller. Not me.”

I stick my tongue out at him and turn around again, letting out a hmph noise as I sink back down under the covers.

But now the penis drawing has me thinking about other …

penises. Namely the one close enough to graze my ass, and I back my hips up slightly, almost subconsciously.

Like my ass is being magnetically pulled towards him.

His hand pauses for a moment, and he takes a sharp inhale of breath at my proximity.

When Hudson resumes his artwork on my back, his hand sends a shiver down my spine as it grazes over each vertebra. It also sends a heavy warmth between my legs, and I squeeze my thighs together at the sudden throbbing.

I can barely focus on the picture now—I lost track of what he was drawing a while ago. He’s moved closer to me now, too, the warmth from his breath creating goosebumps on my neck. His breathing is heavier, too, and the air between us is suddenly thick and heady.

I told him to keep his pants on, but I’m regretting my choice now. And fuck if that doesn’t mean I have to make the first move. We’re at a standstill, almost a game, to see which one of us breaks first. And I’m so turned on I honestly couldn’t give a shit about losing to him.

I reach behind me and find his hand, bringing it around and guiding it, letting it trail over the curve of my hips, up to find the mirror curve of my breast. Hudson’s fingers trace the shape of it, and a groan escapes his lips.

I take it as confirmation he wants this, he was waiting for my cue.

I lower his hand to the soft spot on my abdomen, and without prompting, his hand finds the waistband of my shorts and slips underneath it.