Hudson shifted next to her and her skin sizzled as she braced for contact. But Hudson simply crooked his arm so that he could lay his head back in the palm of his hand.
"I love the sounds after dark in Texas," he said. "The night birds, the coyotes howling... You get nothing like that back in Boston."
Ariana smiled. A future music major like himself would notice nature's own lovely chorus.
"Tell me about music," she said, rolling over onto her side. She bent her arm under her head and propped herself up.
"What do you mean?" Hudson asked.
"Well, why music, exactly?" she asked. "How did you get into it? What do you love about it?"
Hudson pushed himself up as well, mirroring her pose. Even in the dim light coming off the pool area lamps, she could see the spark of excitement in his eyes.
"It's the only thing I've ever loved to do," he said. "I tried to get into sports as a kid because my dad wanted me to, but it never interested me. I would be running down the field in football, staring at the marching band, wishing I could try out the tuba or something. Got my helmet knocked off a few times that way."
He chuckled and Ariana grinned.
"It's like anytime I'm not doing something else, I have to be playing music or listening to music or writing music," he said.
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"I used to write poetry," Ariana said wistfully.
"Used to?" Hudson prompted.
Ariana's heart clenched. Why had she brought that up? It wasn't something she wanted to talk about. She glanced at Hudson. His gaze was so intent, she realized that he wasn't going to just let it drop. But she couldn't tell him the truth. Hardly. She decided on a reasonable stretch of the truth.
"I used to keep these journals full of poems," she said, thinking of the standard-issue notebooks she'd been allowed to use at the Brenda T. "I'd write between classes, in the middle of the night, whenever something came to me. Then one day my father found them. A lot of the stuff was personal and some of it was kind of dark, you know?"
Hudson nodded.
"Anyway, knowing he had read that stuff just sort of made me freeze up. I haven't been able to write a word since," she said, picking at a pull in the blanket.
"God. That sucks," Hudson said.
"You have no idea," Ariana replied.
In fact, it had been Dr. Meloni who had told one of the guards to remove her current journal from her cell a few months ago. Then he had proceeded to read the poems to her in session, laughingly, trying to get her to analyze them herself. It had been one of the most degrading and humiliating experiences of her life. She hadn't written a word since.
"So what's the dream?" Ariana asked, trying to take the focus off herself.
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"The dream?" he asked, his handsome brow knitting.
"Yes, the dream," Ariana said. "Do you want to play in an ensemble or are you going the rock star route? Or do you want to compose or play for a certain orchestra?"
Hudson blinked. It seemed as if he'd never really considered this question before. Then he grinned.
"Your dreams are very specific, aren't they?" he asked.
"Aren't everyone's?" Ariana replied, confused.
At that Hudson laughed, then leaned in to kiss her. Ariana was unsure what she had done to merit a kiss, but she didn't ask. Instead she let herself enjoy the moment. Every single touch sent a tingling sensation of giddiness through her core. How had she forgotten how incredible kissing could be? For so long the very idea of love had been so tied up with the idea of hatred and death.... She hadn't even considered the possibility of getting close to anyone.
But being close to Hudson felt so right. He didn't expect anything from her. Hadn't promised her anything. So there was no way for either one of them to be disappointed. No way this could turn for the worse. So Ariana simply focused on the now, on the kiss, and nothing else.
"So what's your dream then?" he asked when he pulled away. He touched her cheek with his fingertips, roughened from playing his various instruments.