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I nod. “Body-brain switch deal. I’m still me with my brain and my personality, but I have his body.”
Hudson’s features furrow. “And his dick?”
I huff out a laugh. “That’s part of his body, isn’t it? I mean, I assume you’ve seen it to confirm.”
Hudson tilts his head. “Why would you assume I’ve seen Tuck’s junk?”
“You’re in the locker room together, aren’t you? Everyone walking around naked?”
He chuckles. “We’re not exactly walking around stark naked with our dicks swinging around.”
I frown. “You’re not?” The disappointment is evident in my voice. “That’s kind of an important element in my fantasies about athletes. All of them walking around together totally naked in the locker room. Maybe giving each other massages.”
Hudson shakes his head, an amused smile playing on his plush lips. “Sorry to disappoint.”
I put on a fake pout. “You should be. Because I’m very disappointed.”
Still nuzzled against him, we walk silently for a while, enjoying the scenery. The sky is a clear, pristine blue and the sun shines its mild warmth down on us, the strength of its rays tempered by the chill in the air.
Fall will be in full swing soon, and I find myself looking forward to it.
Nights spent inside with Hudson when the sun starts to dip below the horizon earlier and earlier; walking across campus with him while leaves fall off branches and pile up on the ground; sitting across the table at a coffeeshop while we study or work on papers on windy, overcast days with hot coffee or tea right at hand to stave off the chill.
Then the winter, and traipsing around in the fresh white snow when it comes … but the thought of winter sends a sudden, unwanted pang sparking in my chest, contrasting sharply with the pleasant mood I was just wrapped up in.
The winter means the end of the semester. The deadline we agreed on to end this fake relationship of ours. What happens at that point? Does Hudson still want to stick to that timeline, cutting ties when the semester comes to an end?
What we’ve been doing sure hasn’t felt fake for the last couple weeks. I mean, sheesh, he just said he’d still like me if I were a worm or a bird with a big ugly beak—but does that just mean he likes me for now? That he’s happy to have fun with me since I’m close and convenient and he can’t pick up any other girls while he’s pretending to date me, but that it doesn’t go anywhere beyond that?
Obviously, these are questions that I could ask him. But things are going so well right now that I don’t want to ask questions I may not like the answers to, and ruin everything.
As for the reason Hudson and I started doing all this, I haven’t heard from Sean since I got back from New York. He had a piano competition one week after mine, and not only did he not win, but he didn’t even place in the top three. I’ve heard that he flipped out backstage, berating the judges.
Not winning and not getting what he wants are two things Sean isn’t used to.
I guess he’s getting a reality check from a couple different directions right now. Maybe it’s what he needs.
“I tried baking again the other day,” Hudson suddenly breaks the silence by saying, tugging me out of my thoughts.
And I leap out of those thoughts into the topic he just brought up. “You did?” I exclaim, excitedly. Then I narrow my eyes at him. “Why didn’t I get a taste?”
He laughs. “Trust me, you wouldn’t have wanted one.”
The memory of those brownies he made resurfaces on my tongue. Maybe he’s right. “Still, I would’ve tried at least a nibble. What did you make?”
“Tried to make blueberry muffins,” he answers. I don’t respond immediately because, for some reason, I have a feeling he sounded like he wanted to say something else before clipping his sentence short. After a beat of silence, he proves me right. “They were the last thing my mom cooked, before …” He trails off, his voice going thin on the final word.
Two distinct emotions swirl in my chest: sadness hearing Hudson talk about his loss, but happiness that he’s embracing doing something that reminds him of the time they spent together, baking.
Another emotion laces into the mixture, too: pride, knowing that he’s now leaning into something he used to avoid, that he can now cherish those memories instead of turning away from the pain of loss.
I want to jump up and down and tell Hudson I’m so proud of him, but I know him well enough to know that’s not really what he responds to. Instead, I wrap my arm around his trim waist and give him a reassuring, affectionate squeeze.
“Let’s bake something together this week,” I say, nuzzling my head against the crook of his shoulder.
“Hm,” Hudson muses. “You might be able to carry me to making something edible.”
With a smile on my lips, I take in the view as we reach a high point on the trail that lets us see far and wide around the surrounding landscape. The whole area is a kaleidoscope of rustic, autumnal colors from the trees that stretch in all directions. The sky is growing pale, the sun quickly careening for the western horizon.
