Fly (Wild Love Book 2)

by Red L. Jameson

  It’s gotten dark while I slept, and the blue-black twilight is wrapping me in a blanket of fantasy. I can’t help but think about how much I like Jay and H, how I hope to see them after tonight.

  “I’m sorry I feel asleep.” My voice is soft and dreamy. I like it. It sounds feminine, compared to when I’m more awake. Not that I have a brassy voice. I just…I wish I were soft and dreamy in real life, compared to the girl who’s always too eager, too talkative, too needy.

  Jay glances down, but it’s H’s voice that answers me. “That’s all right. Are you sure you feel okay?”

  Jay holds me close as he walks into the bedroom where I’d managed to put my suitcases earlier. This lodge has five other bedrooms, but this one has an en suite bathroom, complete with a giant hot tub with jets bath. Although, I’m not sure if a Jacuzzi is good for me while I’m pregnant. I have to look that up still. But I could take a bath in the big tub. My mother got that part right, I hate to admit.

  I nod as I notice H holding the door open for Jay and me, he’s hurrying to the bed and opening the covers. But it’s the first time I’ve seen Jay without his black skull hat, and I’d love to run my fingers through his dark sticking-straight-up hair. It’s a lot shorter than H’s. He must have shaved it before he started his hike through Yellowstone. So it’s about an inch long and completely wild. I love it.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I’m just sleepy. You guys don’t have to do this.” But I love being nestled into the soft bedding by Jay. I wouldn’t pick orange for my own sheets, but they’re a rusty color. They seem earthy and I like them. God, I like everything right now, don’t I? But since I’ve become so nose sensitive, I’m loving how the sheets smell—detergent clean mixed with lavender. And my stomach immediately gives me a reprieve from the constant nausea. This will be my nest, I think.

  “Of course we do. You’re tired.” H shakes his head at me like I’m not thinking straight.

  “I am. So tired.” I say, closing my eyes, but I slit them open to see H taking off my boots, Jay attempting to remove my jacket. They’re so sweet. So kind. So good. “Oh my gosh, and I never fed you.”

  H looks up. “Don’t worry about that right now.”

  “But I’m going to. You must be starving.”

  “I got something for us to eat. Don’t worry—” He cuts himself off from saying more. And I swear he was going to call me a name. Something that starts with an s.

  Maybe sweetie? Sandwich? I’m being silly now.

  And, I don’t know if it’s because I’m so tired or from my brain just short circuiting, but from my mouth pops something disastrous that I hadn’t planned at all. “Will you two stay with me? Stay in my huge cabin? With me?”

  Jay somehow did take my jacket off, but he’s holding it mid-air, and H is still after he placed my boots by my bed.

  Oh, I don’t want them to have heard me. Maybe they didn’t.

  But I know from their jerky movements they did.

  They glance at each other. Jay looks down at me, and for a moment our gazes catch. His intense blue eyes have darkened even more. Maybe that’s because of the twilight. I can blame this time of night for everything—my crazy invitation, Jay’s eyes mesmerizing me.

  “Of course,” Jay says quickly.

  I blink and glance at him.

  He’s not looking at me but down at the bedding. “Yeah, we should stay, take care of you.”

  I shake my head, which brings back the nausea. “No, you don’t have to take care of me.”

  “You need sleep, Dee,” Jay says, covering me with the soft bedding, and I can’t keep my eyes open yet again.

  “Yeah, Jay’s right.” H’s voice is tight, nerves probably. Or annoyance?

  “You don’t have to take care of me,” I repeat. “I don’t want to be a burden.” I wish shaking my head wouldn’t cause nausea, because I’d like to give it a vehement shake.

  “You’d never be a burden.” H’s voice sounds surprised.

  I fight and open my eyes long enough to see him reach down and hold my covered foot. He’s staring at where his hand is, something passing through his eyes that seems…wistful. But I doubt that.

  “Just rest, Dee,” Jay says. He’s still tucking me in, although the covers have been comfortably on and around me for a few moments now. And for a second, I wonder if he’s going to reach down and kiss me, my forehead. He doesn’t, so that’s just fanciful thinking. Damned twilight.

  Jay nods and glances at H while he continues. “Just rest. We’ll be here if you need anything.”

  They leave the room on a quiet whisper. The door’s closed not quite all the way, and I can’t fight the fatigue any longer. My body relaxes even farther into my nest.

  But then I hear them. They’re not quite whispering, but trying to be quiet.

  “You want to take the couch, be close in case she needs anything?” H asks.

  Jay grunts.

  “I can take the bedroom across from hers, or you can take it.”

  Jay says something I can’t quite catch, then, “…she’s so fucking beautiful.”

  My lids spring open. Did I hear him right?

  Something in my heart flutters happily.

  “I know.” H snorts a laugh. “She makes my chest feel too tight when I look at her. I mean, she’s…you know, glamorous, gorgeous.” But then he sighs. “You think we’re taking advantage of her? Taking care of her like this? I mean she can’t argue with us. She can’t kick us out. She isn’t feeling well enough to say no. But, fuck, it’ll be nice to sleep in a real bed. Or even the floor. Indoors.”

  Taking advantage of me? I ironically worried the same. The guys are such boy scouts.

  Jay, again, says something I can’t make out.

  “Yeah, maybe she does have jet lag, from traveling or something,” H says. “You don’t think she got hurt in the crash? Like maybe knocked her head on something?”

  “No, her pupils are fine. No head injury,” Jay answers. “But I’d like to be close, make sure she’s okay. I’ll take the couch.”

  “Taking the couch to make sure she’s okay, huh? Not because you can sneak into her room when I’m asleep?”

  Jay softly chuckles.

  They don’t talk for a long time, and I realize I’m holding my breath. I let it out slowly, trying to calm down. I’m eavesdropping and I shouldn’t be. But it’s just too tempting not to. Fucking beautiful, huh? And H is teasing Jay about sneaking into my room. My heart keeps fluttering around in my chest. And making it even more difficult to hear H and Jay is my heart beating so loud it’s like a drum in my head.

  “I think she’s into you,” H says slowly.

  “Nah, you’re her type.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  The men laugh.

  “But this trip isn’t about women,” H drawls. He must be getting tired, his speech is slower and slower.

  “Why not?”

  The men, of course, don’t talk for long seconds.

  Finally, Jay says, “I mean, this is supposed to be about feeling normal, right? But when was the last time you felt like that? I sure as shit haven’t. But she…when I look at her…I feel…”

  “Me too,” H says, although I have no idea what either man means and I really, really want to know how I make them feel.

  “You too?” Jay asks.

  H grunts in the affirmative.

  And I’m too awake now. I have no idea how I’ll ever sleep. And sleep with this baby has not been easy. The overwhelming fatigue to take naps has helped, but during long stretches of the quiet night, I worry. Sure, I could live off my mother’s money. Life would be easy then. And I might suck it up, for the baby, and do that when he or she is born. But I want to work again. Only, how the hell am I going to travel to Turkey or Russia or Iraq with a baby in tow?

  I lift an arm and place it over my head, thinking how much easier life would be if I were a man. I could have a wife to take care of my baby and never have to worry about being called a bad father if
I wanted to do my job. Now, I’m looking at being only a local photographer, which means weddings, graduate pictures, and that doesn’t pay much. I can do the occasional outdoor picture, especially if I decide to live in Wyoming where the wilderness is my backyard. But what if I want to live in a city? I’m fucked.

  Besides, I’m not sure I want to keep globetrotting. Not because I don’t love it, because I do. But I’d hate to miss one thing about my baby’s life. I want to be there every step of the way. Which will change my career. I might have to think about doing something without my camera. And facing that feels like death. That might sound silly to someone like my mother. But how can I explain that I’m only complete with a camera in hand? I’m not me without it. And to take that away, even for my baby—well, of course I’d do it. It just would feel like losing half of me. Hopefully not the half that carries my heart.

  The men have continued talking and I’ve zoned them out. I shouldn’t get so excited listening to them. Besides, they’re men who haven’t seen a woman in months. Of course I’m fucking beautiful to them. A Yeti would be fucking beautiful to them right now. And what did Jay mean about me being similar to the myth of a snowman?

  It doesn’t matter because, ultimately, in time, maybe even by tomorrow, they’ll adjust to civilian life and see me as the weird girl I am. I roll to my left side, like the self-help pregnancy books advise to do. It’s taken a lot to learn to sleep on my left side. But I’ll do anything for this baby, even ignore two handsome men who are talking about me.

  However, I can’t help but hear one last thing H says.

  “No, you have her. She likes you. I can tell.”

  H gave me up so easily. My heart stings because, juvenile as it may be, I’d have loved to hear H fight for a chance to be close to me. But now I’m worrying about money and how to make ends meet. So I close my eyes and drift into the kind of sleep where I’m sure I’ll grit my teeth.

  I’m so frustrated. I wish I could be more normal. I’m not sure what kind of normal Jay is talking about, but I wish I would have gotten married in a huge white ceremony, had a man who knew I wasn’t beautiful but liked me anyway, a man who would support me and encourage me throughout this pregnancy. I hate to admit how resentful I’ve grown towards the women who have something like that. I hate seeing fat diamonds on third fingers of happy ladies.

  I’m so fucking alone.

  7

  Insomnia is the pits.

  I wake sometime around three in the morning, staring at the orange glow of the alarm clock in my room. Before I was pregnant, I could sleep anywhere, any time. I was kind of embarrassed about that, actually. There I’d be in the middle of a hurricane, and I could sleep through it. It’s amazing I took the pictures that I did.

  Now, I either sleep in a coma-like state or am such a light sleeper that I wake from hearing my own breathing. Or snoring. God, pregnancy is sexy, isn’t it?

  I need to pee. It’s after I’m done in the bathroom that I hear something. It’s slight—the wooden floor groaning under someone’s weight. And it’s out in the kitchen, I think.

  I walk closer to the bedroom door, trying to listen.

  In my pregnancy haze, I’d forgotten about the men I’d invited to stay with me. What must they think of me, the weird lady who asks them to stay the night after knowing them less than twenty-four hours? Thank god they aren’t serial killers.

  I hold my breath and hear another floorboard creak on the other side of the lodge, next to the room that’s across from mine. A door clicks closed. I sigh, relieved whoever it is roaming around is done.

  Was I so desperate yesterday that I’d invite danger into my life? I don’t know those men. Sure, they seem nice, and they took care of me, but…I don’t know them.

  I look down at my stomach, promising I will never do something so stupid again. My hormones and loneliness got the better of me, but I won’t let it happen from here on out.

  But, damn, I want a glass of water.

  I’m scared to leave my bedroom, fearful of…well, I don’t think the men will kill me. They’ve already had a chance at that. And I don’t think they’ll become violent, but I’m embarrassed I was so desperate. So silly. And I wish they’d leave so I didn’t have to face that.

  I take a breath. Time to own up to the consequences.

  Tiptoeing out, I’m awed by the black night enveloping the lodge. No one had closed any of the blinds, so with the help of a clear half moon and the stars reflected off the snow, I find my way to the kitchen. I have to change into my pajamas when I return to my bedroom. I slept in my clothes, and I feel like they are wrapped in a disgusting pregnant film of smell.

  Oh well. The better to repel any man.

  I fumble in the dark, opening cabinets to find plates, coffee and filters, but no cups.

  “The glasses are closer to sink,” a man whispers and scares the crap out of me.

  I jump and turn, a package of coffee filters in hand to protect me. Like that would do any good.

  I’m met with glimmering dark eyes, and H is laughing.

  “Don’t hurt me. Damn, filters? You could give me a paper cut with those.”

  I lazily smack him on a very tall and hard shoulder. “Shut up. You scared the dickens out of me.”

  “Dickens? The dickens?” He takes the filters, holding my wrist, somehow standing way too close. He smells good, like the lavender that’s in the sheets at the lodge and detergent and trees. How can he smell so good when I’m pretty sure I smell like an armpit?

  “I haven’t heard anyone say dickens in…forever.” He’s teasing me, and stupid me loves it.

  I smack him again. “It’s the middle of the night and you’re going to criticize my word choice? You should be happy I said something PG-rated, fella.”

  My eyes are adjusting to the dark and make out that he’s wearing a white t-shirt and long dark pajama pants. He’s so beautiful in the simple clothes I want to weep. Now I remember why I was such an idiot yesterday. My body sizzles with attraction that I wish I didn’t feel. His nearness is playing havoc with reasoning. I want to lean closer to him, smell him, maybe rest my head against his wide chest. Touch him.

  But, I remind myself that I’d overheard him easily giving me up to his friend.

  And I’m instantly mad. Or frustrated. Or both. Or, actually, hurt. But who likes to admit they’re hurt over something like that? I mean, I hardly know him. And I shouldn’t care.

  He places a hand on my hip, putting the filters away behind me, standing only a few little inches away. “Let me get you that water. That’s what you wanted, right? Or were you hungry? I’ll make you toast. I forgot you didn’t eat.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.” And for once in my life I’m not. Then my voice deserts me. Traitor. I need it right now to tell him to back off, not stand so close. Since he doesn’t want me, then he’d better run away, because I’m a crazy pregnant lady whose body is out of control.

  Somehow he grabs a thick glass cup, fills it from the tap, then hands it to me with one hand. His other is still resting on my hip. Why do I like his touch so much? Why do I achingly love his fingers on me?

  “Your water, milady.”

  I softly laugh at his antics, take the glass, then a sip of the best water I’ve ever had. What is it about mountain towns and their water? Do they tap into a glacier? Is it ancient water that makes it taste so refreshing? So clean?

  “Good?” I think he might be cocking a dark brow.

  “How did you know?”

  “You made a moaning noise.”

  “About water. God, I’m the paramount of sexiness.”

  He quietly chuckles.

  “Did I wake you, trying to get to the kitchen?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. I was already awake. I, ah, sometimes have a hard time sleeping.”

  “Me too, lately. You have any tricks to help with sleep?”

  “Well, finding a beautiful brunette in the middle of the night isn’t working for me.”r />
  Beautiful? There’s that word again. I kind of hate that word now. I know he’s only saying that because I’m the first woman he’s seen in months. Or he’s trying to be nice. So I make a scoffing noise.

  His fingers tighten their hold on my hip while he chuckles again. “Did you just snort?”

  “Probably.”

  “Are you making fun of me? Of the weak guy who can’t sleep because he’s in your presence.”

  Then I really snort. “Stop it, silly.”

  “Now she calls me silly.” He’s shaking his head, somehow standing even closer.

  I sigh, drink the rest of my water, then tell him how it is. “You big dork, I know that I’m the first woman you’ve seen in ages. I could be a goat and you’d probably call me beautiful. So you can cut that crap. Besides, I’m boring as hell and can probably talk you to sleep in no time flat.”

  “Dork? Goat? I don’t even know where to start with that.”

  I laugh. I shouldn’t. But I do.

  He takes the glass from me and sets it beside the sink, next to another cup, which I’m guessing was his and how he knew where everything was in the kitchen. And suddenly I’m not laughing. He’s got one hand on my hip, my backside is against the kitchen counter, and he’s so big there’s no escaping him, or my body’s reaction to him. I want him to kiss me. I want him to tear my clothes off. I want him inside me in the kitchen. I want it so bad I don’t even recognize this desire.

  Oh, I’ve wanted men before. But now that I’m pregnant, my body’s become a different animal. It needs what it needs now. It wants what it wants this very second. And I begin to shake with how much I want H.

  “You need more water?” he asks, his voice lowered. It sounds husky and I’m so scared I’ll do something impulsive. Like jump on him, ripping his pajama pants off. I was already an impulsive girl, but now…god help him. Oh, and me too, I suppose.

  I shake my head.