Hungry Mountain Man

by Charlize Starr

  First, there had been the scaffolding at one of our warehouses that had come apart and toppled with me on top of it just as soon as I’d reached the top. Sure, it was old and needed work. It was just old, I’d told myself at the time. But it had also fallen right when I was on it and the first time I’d been in that warehouse in months as part of a trip that had been planned weeks in advance. Luckily, I had grabbed a shelving unit and pulled myself to a ladder on the other end of the wall or my limbs might have been just as shattered at the scaffolding bits.

  Then there had been the incident with my car, a fault in my brake line that had sent me squealing towards an overpass, unsure if I’d stop in time. The mechanic had said it looked like the brake line had worn out. Maybe it had. I’m sure it had. That sort of damage can happen at any time. It causes accidents every day. But I’d just gotten the car inspected, complete with new brakes, earlier that year. I usually left the car locked in my garage, but Calvin has broken into my house drunk more than once in the past, and I know he has so-called friends who are capable of much worse.

  When an entire wall filing cabinet unit had crashed onto my desk just two days later, only missing me because I’d gotten up to refill my coffee, I couldn’t shake the feeling anymore. They were all things that could be accidents. All things that would have looked like freak accidents had they actually killed me. Like really convenient, tragic, random accidents. And I just couldn’t get that fight that Sunday afternoon out of my head every time one happened. It looked like Calvin was carrying his threat through and it wasn’t just something he’d said in anger. Like maybe he really had wanted me dead.

  I knew I was talking crazy, thinking like that. Of course, they’d been freak accidents and nothing more, just a string of bad luck on top of my terrible year thus far with the company and the music festival PR debacle. But I’d decided I need to leave to get some space. I thought if I left, Calvin might see some sense and stop his behavior. I didn’t want to turn my suspicions over to the police. I didn’t really have anything to go on other than a hunch and a childish shouting match, and most likely all I’d end up doing would be hurting my father and making things with Calvin so much worse, accusing him of trying to do something as outlandish as conspire to commit murder against his own brother. I shuddered to think of what he’d tell those magazine interviewers, the PR mess I’d have to clean up for the company if I made a scene and it turned out to be nothing. If anything, the paranoia was surely a sign I needed time away from the company to let the whole situation fizzle out and hope Calvin would finally start to grow up a little in the interim without me to lean on.

  So, I’d told everyone I was taking a leave from the company and finally, finally going on that months-long backpacking trip my friend Todd had wanted us to take since college. Todd lives off the grid, no social media, no real contact with a lot of people other than the ones he meets on his world travels, so I knew he’d be a safe cover story. No one would be expecting me to be posting Facebook pictures of the exotic sights I was seeing if I were with Todd, and I’d hoped the absence would be enough of a statement to Calvin about how serious I was about being done with his behavior.

  I told my father that work was starting to make me so stressed that I was getting anxiety and I needed the time away for my mental health. I didn’t tell him anything about Calvin.

  I’m hard on myself now, thinking about how I should have handled it differently, but I’m not sure how I could have done so. I don’t know how a confrontation wouldn’t end with one or both of us getting hurt over what’s probably nothing, and I don’t know how involving anyone else wouldn’t destroy the family and maybe the whole company. I can’t imagine what the press would make of a brother-versus-brother episode of violence. I don’t want to imagine it.

  But the interviews Calvin has given since I left make it clear he hasn’t let it go, and it’s frustrating me more with each one. Little jabs about me to the press, some of them almost sounding like threats, are made constantly. Comments like, Well, Julia, I think everyone can agree that I’m the future of whiskey or we’ve shaved off some of the dead weight around here lately are played off as jokes, but that I can’t help but think are meant for me. Like he knows I might be reading them and he wants me to know he’s still after me.

  It’s not fair to Mia to bring her into a situation like that. Not only can I not take her out or even see her – it could be dangerous for her, too. I’m sure if Calvin knew I was seeing somebody, it would make Mia a target. I can’t subject her to that.

  But I can’t get her off my mind.

  Lately, I feel like Mia is all I can think about. Like she’s in my thoughts all the time no matter what I’m focusing on. Talking to her is my favorite part of every day. It’s been giving me something to look forward to, to fill my days here in this cabin that’s getting lonelier the longer I’m away. It’s starting to feel more like a stakeout than a mental-health retreat.

  Maybe there is some way to talk to my brother and just end this so I can date Mia. So, I can stop hiding and things at the company can finally go back to normal, or at least however normal a day with Calvin around could ever be.

  I know I should wait until I know what that answer is before I take things any farther with Mia, but I don’t want things to stop.

  Chapter Nine - Mia

  Friends of mine have said I’m too bold with men – that when it comes to dating, I should be subtler, play it coy, and wait for the man to make the first move. I’ve always been bad at that. I like to be pursued and chased as much as the next girl, but I also hate playing games. I like to know what a man is thinking, and I’ve found that too much holding back and playing it coy just leads to miscommunications or lost connections. Besides, I’ve never been afraid to say what’s on my mind or ask for what I want.

  Which is why I decide it’s time to ask Jacob about his love life.

  I’ve realized I actually have no idea what his story is, romance-wise. I assume, given that he has hours a day to talk to me, he’s not seeing anyone else, but I don’t actually know for sure. The last thing I want to do is keep falling for a man who is involved with someone else.

  My phone rings just after I’ve eaten and I smile, seeing that it’s Jacob. I settle myself down in my armchair before answering.

  “Hello there, you,” I say.

  “Hi, Mia,” he says. His voice sounds extra gruff today. Gruff and sexy.

  “I’m glad you called,” I say.

  Jacob laughs. “I always call,” he says.

  “Not true,” I say, “sometimes I call you.”

  “You do,” Jacob agrees, laughing again.

  “But I’m extra glad you called tonight,” I say, pushing on.

  “Why’s that?” Jacob asks. I can hear him moving around, like maybe he’s heading to settle in a chair himself.

  “Because I’ve got a very important question I need to ask you,” I say.

  “About whiskey? Or maybe chocolate?” Jacob says, his voice clearly teasing.

  “About you,” I say, grinning through a few nerves.

  “What about me?” Jacob asks, sounding a little guarded even as he laughs.

  “You in that cabin of yours,” I ask, “what you do possibly do to occupy yourself all day if you’re alone?”

  “All alone,” Jacob confirms.

  “Always? Never anyone special up there with you?” I ask, deciding just to go for broke. “Like a woman?”

  “Oh,” Jacob says like I’ve caught him off guard. “No, no. There’s no one up here but me.”

  “No?” I ask, very glad to hear it.

  “Not in a very long time,” Jacob says softly, like a confession.

  “Are you looking for someone?” I ask, whispering a little myself, every word suddenly feeling very important.

  “I think,” Jacob pauses again. “No, because I think I might have found someone.”

  “Really?” I ask I can feel my pulse racing, certain he means me. Surely this means he feel
s the same as I’m feeling.

  “Someone pretty incredible, actually,” Jacob says, and the sincerity in his voice makes me feel a little weak in the knees.

  “Someone you think about often?” I ask, pulse racing.

  “All the time, in fact,” Jacob says.

  “What do you think about… when you think about her?” I ask, swallowing hard.

  “I think about a lot of things,” Jacob says, sounding a little confused.

  “Do you ever…” I start, an idea coming to me. I want to know what Jacob thinks of me, how he does. If he’s thought about me at night, lying awake… Maybe thought about be being there in bed with him. It’s a nice picture to consider.

  “Do I ever?” Jacob prompts.

  “Do you just think about taking her out? Is it all flowers and romance? Or do you ever think about other things you could do?” I ask, biting my lip.

  “Oh,’ Jacob says slowly, like he knows what I mean. “I have, yes. I’ve thought about a lot of things we could do together. But only if she wanted, of course.”

  “She does,” I blurt instantly, embarrassed at myself for my enthusiasm.

  “Does she?” Jacob asks with what I think is a hint of a smile – a low, sexy one. “So, does she think about me, too?”

  “She has,” I admit.

  “Good,” Jacob says. “So, if I were to, say, put a hand behind her neck and kiss her, would that be a good idea?”

  “Yes, please,” I say, sounding a little breathless at the thought. “She – ” I start, then shake my head. “I mean, I would kiss you back and grab onto the front of your shirt to pull you in for more.”

  “And if I ran my hand down from your neck, over your back, so I could slide my hand up your shirt.” He pauses like he’s deciding if this is a good idea before he adds, “or maybe down to your ass.”

  “That would be, um,” I say, shifting in my chair a little, feeling my face flush. “I’d like that. I could reach for the buttons on your shirt, start to undo them one by one while we kissed.”

  “I could press you against me, and while your hands were working on my shirt, I could reach up yours again and unhook your bra,” Jacob says. His words have gone all dark and heavy, gaining more confidence, making me feel like my skin is burning in the best way.

  “Good, that’s good. And I could pull your shirt off your shoulders, and run my hands over your chest and feel all your muscles,” I say, my words sound breathy to my own ears, and I can feel myself getting wet from the thought of touching him like that.

  “I would slide your bra out of the way so I could touch your breasts and cup them in my hands,” he says, sounding out of breath himself.

  “Please,” I tell him. “God, I would want you to touch me more, would move my hands so you could get my bra and shirt all the way off.”

  “Good,” Jacob says. “Then I would touch your nipples with my thumb, tease them as I kissed my way down your neck.” He sounds so turned on himself, I imagine he has to be rock hard already. I shudder at the thought, almost whimpering.

  “I would trail my hand down toward your pants – button and zipper and all – to see if I could feel how hard you already were,” I say. I hear Jacob bite back a groan at that, and I slide my own hand, on my own chair, up onto my stomach where my skin feels warm to the touch. “Are you?” I ask him.

  “Yes,” Jacob says, “and I would be so fucking hard if you were touching me like that. If I had my mouth on your breasts. I’ll bet you make the most amazing sounds when someone does that.” I whimper at that and swallow. Hard. I trail my hand into my pajama bottoms, desperately needing to touch myself.

  “I wouldn’t want you to stop, but I’d need more so badly. I’d be unbuttoning your pants, needing you.” I say. I’m soaking wet when I reach inside my own underwear.

  “I would reach--” Jacob pauses and laughs a little, although it’s much deeper than normal. “Wait, what are you wearing?”

  “Make it a skirt. That’s sexier,” I say, huffing out a laugh of my own as I drag my fingers on my clit.

  “Works for me,” Jacob says, laughing again and getting back to the story. “Then I’d slide my hands up your skirt and push your underwear to one side so I could see how wet you are for me.”

  “Soaked,” I say, gasping a little as I pick up the tempo of my fingers. “Soaked as you touch me. I undo your pants and pull them down so I can see you.”

  “I could slide my fingers around, feel how wet you are. Find your clit, watch your face as I touched you right there.” Jacob pauses, his voice so dark and rough its almost sending me over the edge. “As I touched you the way I think you’re touching yourself right now?”

  “I am,” I say. “Are you?”

  “Yes,” Jacob says, and I gasp again, thinking of it, of him holding the phone in one hand to talk to me while he strokes himself like that.

  “Shit,” I say, feeling a little breathless.

  “Let me hear it,” Jacob says, all low, like a command. “As you touch yourself, when you make yourself come, don’t hold back. I want to hear it, okay?”

  I moan. “I can do that,” I say, a bit impatient. “But what’s next? You were touching me like I’m touching myself right now. Keep going.”

  Jacob laughs again, low and rattling, and I close my eyes and imagine it as he continues. “I could touch you until you were crying out, slide my fingers inside you, and your hips would buck against mine, and – ”

  “And I’d beg you to fuck me,” I gasp. “I’d have my hand all over your cock, and I’d need it inside me.”

  “So I’d _” Jacob starts, then stops, letting out a groan of his own like he’s as turned on as I am. Like he’s about to come himself. “I’d pull your underwear down and step all the way out of my pants. And I’d pick you up and set you _”

  “Against the wall. Hold me up against the wall,” I request, interrupting him again. I’m being rather bossy about this, but the sound he makes in response says he doesn’t mind at all.

  “Put you against the wall and pull your skirt around your waist so I could slide inside you,” Jacob says.

  I moan again, more high-pitched. I’m so close to coming, so I pick up my own pace again. I slide two fingers inside myself, thrusting them back and forth as I run circles on my clit. I imagine him holding me against a wall, fucking me right there. I imagine him he as he is right now, his hand on his own cock, and the combined images are the hottest thing I’ve ever thought.

  “I’d wrap my legs around you, pull you in closer so you could fuck me hard and fast,” I say, gasping. “Jacob, I’m so close.”

  “Me too,” Jacob says, groaning again. “God, Mia. I would – I would fuck you so hard, one hand holding you up and the other touching your nipples again, and then maybe your clit so – ”

  “Fuck. Oh, god, oh,” I say, interrupting him as I come, crying out and yelling, words turning into sounds and syllables as I come around my own fingers.

  “Fuck,” Jacob says as I’m coming, letting out a long breath and a gasp that I know means he’s there on his end, too.

  We don’t talk for a minute as we both breathe through our orgasms, but just the sound of his breathing on the other end makes me feel even better. I take it as a good sign that nothing feels awkward just being here on the other end of the line with him after like this.

  This is not exactly what I had in mind when I asked him about his feelings for me, but truth be told, I’m not complaining about it.

  Chapter Ten - Jacob

  I can’t get Mia off my mind. I keep seeing her, keep picturing doing the things we’d talked about over the phone. I want so badly to actually be able to touch her. To really know how her skin feels. To feel her breath against me when she makes those sounds she was making last night. To watch her flush and squirm.

  I hate that I can’t. I hate that it’s not safe. I hate the idea of giving her up. To finally meet a woman as incredible as Mia and not be able to do anything real about it feels like tort
ure. I want to be where she is. I want her here with me. I haven’t been serious about a woman in a long time and now seems like the worst possible time for it to be happening again.

  The last time had ended because of Calvin, a pattern I should have seen even back then. Even when we were teenagers, Calvin would slide up to girls I brought home and tell them they’d picked the boring brother. He was a high school freshman whispering in senior girls’ ears, and most of them had laughed and blushed like he was charming, like maybe they agreed that he was the more fun one out of the two of us.

  In college, I’d met Fiona, and we’d been in love. I’d brought her home for family dinners and holidays, and I’d gone hunting with her dad and helped her babysit her cousins. We’d moved in together right after college, and I’d honestly thought I was going to marry her. She was as smart as she was beautiful. She could speak three languages and read books in five, and she loved playing the piano and going to the symphony. She was serious, passionate, and ambitious. She’d started a graduate program, working on getting her master’s in business while I started working for my father. Everyone said we were perfect together.

  I’d come home one day and found her in bed with Calvin.

  She was so, so sorry. He didn’t pretend to be. It had been going on for months. For months I’d been thinking of proposing while helping her study and taking care of all the bills. For months she’d been leading me on and sleeping with Calvin behind my back.

  I couldn’t figure it out. He was in his second year of college, barely passing, major still undeclared. He was drinking every night, already needing dad to bail him out of trouble more than once. He’d get kicked out of his fraternity only a few weeks after rushing for breaking school property as part of a drunken prank, and somehow, in spite of all of that, she’d still been attracted to him. I didn’t know how it was possible Fiona could have been interested in both of us, as different as we were, and it made me question if she’d ever really loved me in the first place. It made question if she more was into me or the money she’d inherit from marrying me.