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She fucking hit it!
“Fuck yes, Bubblegum!” I holler as I throw the door open and turn off the machine, then rush toward her and pick her up. I spin her around until she’s squealing through her laughter. “I knew you would do it.”
Her arms are wrapped around my neck, her lips hovering over mine, a smile on her beautiful face that I’d pay every damn dollar I’ve ever made to keep there.
“It felt amazing! Holy shit,” she breathes, tossing her head back and letting out a scream. “I have likesomuch adrenaline running through my veins right now. I feel like I could bench-press a car.”
I laugh, the sound vibrating between us. “Woah there, Stone Cold Steve Austin.”
She sighs, a happy, sweet sound against my lips, and I hold on tighter. “Seriously, this was amazing. Getting to see the facility, meet Fisher, bat in a batting cage that freaking MLB players use? The most incredible not-a-date I’ve ever been on. I feel so… alive?”
My smile widens with her declaration.
That’s exactly what I feel like when I’m with Caroline. Alive. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I could take on the fucking world. Like I could face anything just as long as I was with her.
“Just wait till you see where we’re headed next.”
19
CAROLINE
Ithink first “not dates” are pretty much ruined for any man that will come after Hudson Rome.
Today has been…magical.
The kind of “not date” that I couldn’t forget even if I tried. It wasn’t fancy. I didn’t wear the prettiest dress I own paired with my best heels or drink the most expensive champagne in town while eating at a restaurant with a yearlong waitlist.
Yet, it was more incredible than all of those things combined.
It was simple. Low-key.
It was us.
Whatever that means. It was so much fun, and I haven’t been able to wipe the smiles from my face all day. I would spend countless days on “not dates” with this man if they were even half this fun.
“You can’t be a true Chicagoan without having a Chicago-style hot dog, Bubblegum,” Hudson says as we walk hand in hand up to a small cart on the sidewalk. “You look skeptical. Are you doubting my food choices?”
“After Cheesie’s? Absolutely not.”
He chuckles. “Good. Because this hot dog is like an initiation ritual when you live in Chicago. Gene and Jude’s is a rite of passage, really.”
My hand clasped tightly in his, he leads us to the stand and orders for us. The man behind the counter hands over two massive hot dogs and an order of homemade chips for us to share.
“Wait, can I get some ketchup?” I ask.
Hudson freezes, his jaw dropping, his gaze sliding to the attendant behind the counter, who looks just as shocked that I just asked for freakin’ ketchup.
“Ummm… is that a no?”
“Bubblegum, you do not put ketchup on a Chicago hot dog. You just… you just do not,” Hudson sputters, the attendant nodding in agreement.
“Tourists,” he mutters.
Tossing my head back, I laugh. “Oooookay, sorry I had no idea that ketchup was such a taboo idea in Chicago. I thought it was like a universal hot dog condiment.”
Hudson chuckles, and he takes our hot dogs and leads me to a secluded table nearby. I get a good look at the hot dog and see that it’s on a seeded bun covered in mustard, relish, and… pickles? With peppers, tomatoes and onions.
“Alright, I’m doubting you. This looks gross, Romeo.”
