Fly (Wild Love Book 2)

by Red L. Jameson

  I shake my head, trying to find the right words. “You guys are nice—”

  H interrupts me. “I know we just met—”

  God, I wish I’d never said anything.

  “We’ll figure this out,” Jay says again.

  And for whatever reason I’m mad. “Yes, I’ll figure this out.” I’d intended to sound bold and brave. Instead, my voice is brittle and cracks.

  Jay straightens, squares his shoulders, his dark brows furrow. “You don’t want any help?”

  “I don’t want to be a charity case.” Damn, damn, damn. Why can’t my voice sound strong?

  “Of course not.” H shakes his head, his hands are still out and he looks like he’s trying to touch me, but can’t quite get himself do it. Maybe too scared I’ll scald him like the water below us would. “You aren’t a charity case.”

  I roll my eyes, not sure why I’m being so confrontational and kind of hating myself for it, but I can’t seem to stop. “Sure, of course I’m not. Sure. You guys are such fucking boy scouts you wouldn’t know how not to rescue someone, would you?”

  Jay crosses his arms and H is now standing a lot taller, frowning down at me. Well, my stupid comment struck a nerve.

  “Boy scouts?”

  Jay nods slowly. “I think we just got insulted.”

  “Fucking boy scouts?” H’s voice is loud. A pack of tourists in matching red parkas glances our direction. “You think I’m some boy?”

  I shake my head, looking at the tourists who are now paying a lot more attention to us than the geyser basin. They’re standing close to a bus that says something in German, I think. And they’re pointing. At me.

  My face flames as hot as the steam below. “I—I didn’t say that.”

  “But you did.” H somehow gets closer, making me crane my head back to look up at him. “You just did. I’m not a fucking boy.”

  “I—I—I didn’t mean that.” Now, of all goddamned times, my voice is fine, finally sounding as strong as I wanted it to earlier.

  Jay touches H’s shoulder, and H glares at him.

  “I—I—I—” God, I hate that I’m stuttering. After clearing my throat, I spit it all out. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, okay? I—you two come rushing into my life because I’m a moron who manages to crash my Jeep—”

  “Anyone would have slid, Dee.” Jay’s voice is somehow tranquil. “The roads were slick as shit. You got your Jeep into the snowdrift rather than the cabin. I know I’ve said this before, but that seriously is real good driving. I don’t think I could have done that.”

  I look at him with my mouth open. All the hot anger of the speech I’d planned is gone. But I, for whatever reason, keep talking, now sounding despondent. “I’m scared all the time. I’m not making money right now. I haven’t taken a picture that’s been deserving of any prize for years. Do you know what it’s like to be so close to actually getting a little recognition for doing something I love and then from there on out nothing I do is good enough?”

  “What do you mean?” H’s brows furrow once again. “You said you work for Nat Geo sometimes and other media.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “You get paid for what you do, right?” H is somehow even closer, and I hate how my body is responding to his nearness. I might be angry at the whole world, but my body likes him. Too much. The apex of my legs is warm, feeling like it’s glowing.

  “Yes, but—”

  “What am I not understanding, Dee?” H shakes his head slightly. “You’re a fucking rock star in my mind. I mean, Jesus, I’ve never met anyone as accomplished as you, and you think you’re not good enough? Am I understanding this right?”

  “I don’t make enough money. I mean, I did. I have savings that I’m dipping into. But I can’t do what I used to do because I’ll have a baby soon. And—and I’ll make even less money. I’m scared, okay? I’m just fucking scared because I want to provide for my baby and I have no fucking clue how to do that. Fuck.”

  “Did you almost say fuckity?” Jay asks, and when I look at him, he’s trying so hard to hide a small smile.

  I smack him playfully. “Maybe.” But I pretend I’m still angry, even though I’m trying to hide my own grin.

  Before I can say anything else, H wraps me in a bear hug, lifting me off the ground.

  “I know we just met,” he whispers. “But I want to help. It’s not because I’m a boy scout. It’s because I like you, Dee. I like the hell out of you, if you just let me.”

  That’s when I realize my mistake. I’d thought, like some cartoon story, he wanted to sweep me off my feet and rescue me from being a single mother. But he’d just wanted to help. He just likes me. He’s being friendly, that’s all.

  My brother was one, if not my very best, friend. But besides him, I’ve never had any real guy friends. Oh, I thought I did. But eventually, I’d end up having a pathetic crush on the man, or he’d want sex, I’d give in, and then I’d never see him again.

  Maybe I’m finally grown up enough to have male friends. Real friends.

  “Aw, that’s so sweet,” says a foreign female voice.

  H drops me and we turn to the group of German tourists now crowding us on the walkway for the view of the basin.

  “They made up,” the woman says. She’s in her fifties, beautiful blonde hair, and kind of reminds me of my mother. Only, this woman oozes warmth and mischief. She smiles at me. “Young love, yeah?”

  I shake my head, which for whatever reason makes her laugh all the more.

  “Can’t fool me, American girl.”

  Then someone from the group starts singing “American Woman.” Before I know it, the whole group is either laughing, talking in German and pointing their fingers at H, Jay, and me, or singing the song. And that’s when I notice Jay wincing and shaking his head.

  “Es ist nicht was Sie denken.”

  I recover from my jaw hanging open enough to ask Jay, “You speak German?”

  But the blonde German tourist says something quickly to him then laughs hard enough to turn her lovely face a light shade of beet.

  Jay is cringing all the more and nods at me.

  “What’s she saying?” H asks, taking a protective stance and shouldering me behind him.

  “Tell him, handsome,” the blonde woman says, clapping her hands. Then two men, both blond, both about her age, wrap their arms around her shoulders.

  “What trouble are you getting into with the Americans, wife?”

  She laughs all the more and points to the men beside her. “Es besteht keine Notwendigkeit zu befürchten. Sie sind unter Freunden. Freunde, wie Sie sind.”

  I look at Jay, and oddly enough, pink is gathering in his cheeks while I gaze at him.

  “What did she say?” I ask, even though I’m fairly certain the woman is somehow embarrassing Jay.

  “They’re swingers,” he says quietly.

  “Nein!” The woman protests by shaking her head and finger at Jay.

  “We’re not swingers.” The husband of the talkative tourist says, also shaking his head. He laughs at something his wife whispers, then nods towards us. “My wife is under the assumption that the three of you are in a poly relationship as we are.” His accent is amazing, slight, crisp, making everything he says sound fascinating. Then again, who’s not a little intrigued when the word swingers is thrown around? After a beat, the man continues. “I’m Werner. This is my wife, Greta, and her other husband, Johan. We are poly. Does this translate?”

  “Yes,” I say, trying very hard not to break into a fit of giggles.

  “We’re a poly tour bus,” Johan adds, his English clipped and much harder to decipher.

  “Ah,” is all I can say, because what more could I say?

  Okay, I already feel like my maturity is that of a junior high schooler. And this conversation requires a hell of a lot more levelheadedness that I’m not sure I possess.

  But, because I’m me and always wants to feel included as well as a people p
leaser to the core, I blurt out, “My sister, er, sister-in-law is also poly.”

  All three of the tourists say, “Ah!” like I just told them the cure for cancer. They’re excited and talking between themselves. The crowd has somewhat disbanded around us, but someone is still singing “American Woman” while taking pictures of the bubbling mud puddles.

  “She is married to your brother and another man?” Werner asks. “We didn’t know American laws were so permissive.”

  My heart tugs my ribs as it always does when I have to talk about my brother. “No.” I shake my head. “My brother passed away a little more than two years ago. But she is now dating three men—I think, living with them. At once.”

  Werner says something to his wife and Johan. Greta turns to me and before I can blink she’s wrapped me in a firm embrace.

  “Es tut mir leid,” she whispers.

  “She’s sorry for your loss,” Jay translates. “And I’m sorry too.”

  I glance at him and smile, while a strange but very nice German lady strangles me in her tight embrace.

  Greta peels away but still holds my arms, smiling. “My English isn’t so good, American beauty.”

  While looking into her eyes, almost the same hue as my mother’s, looking at a woman who reminds me of my mother, my heart almost snaps in two at the compliment. And I do what I always do when I meet a woman who’s older than me. I imagine my life, what would have been, if I had been born to her. Greta’s enthusiastic and affectionate, I think. And I wonder if I would doubt myself the way I do if she had been my mother.

  “But,” Greta begins again, “you are not poly? I thought…” She points at H and Jay, finally releasing me from her hold.

  Then I shake my head. “Nope. Just good friends.”

  She leans forward, her mouth an inch from my ear. “They look at you not as a friend, but as lovers would.”

  She’s said this loud enough for my mother to hear all the way back in Laramie. So I know H and Jay have heard her. Hell, the squirrel and mockingbirds probably know what she’s talking about.

  Yellowstone is over one of the largest volcanoes in the world. It has sinkholes everywhere. And I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one hoping for one at that very second. Yep, as I check Jay and H from my periphery, I know they’re hoping for a cavity in the ground too, somewhere to hide while our humiliation wanes.

  12

  Driving back to my cabin is about as tense as if I’d told H and Jay they were the fathers of my baby. Complete silence encompasses us as the scenery shifts from white to light blue to the darkest azure of night.

  When we escaped the poly German tourists, who I’d promised to meet again in order to get away, I’d tried to make a few jokes, something to ease the tension after Greta had said H and Jay look at me like lovers would. But H and Jay hardly laughed at my feeble humor. And wouldn’t look at each other. And barely at me.

  By the time we’re close to the cabin, I’m pretty sure I’m going to tear my hair out.

  I almost jump from my Jeep when H turns to me as I open the car door, asking, “You sure you want us tonight?” Then he cringes, probably rethinking what he just asked, considering our meeting with the poly tourists.

  “Yeah,” I say quickly, trying to not think of the innuendo. “Yeah, I’d like it if you guys stayed.”

  “You don’t have to—” H argues.

  But I interrupt. “I know. But I’d like the company. That is, unless I’m keeping you from…”

  “You’re not keeping us from anything.” Jay says, leaning forward.

  “But I don’t want to be a bother.” H glares at his friend.

  “Neither of you are a bother to me. As I said, I like the company.” I smile, trying to look reassuring. And, yes, it’s true I want the guys to stick around, although I’m not sure why. Yeah, they’re nice. And friendly. But it’s that friendly part that’s kind of killing me right now.

  I’d had to explain to Greta how H and Jay were just my friends. Only friends. They only looked at me as a friend would. I’d said those things over and over again. And, yeah, I’d said it many times to make sure it translated for Greta. But more than that, I said it because I needed to hear it myself. These two guys couldn’t possibly be interested in me. They were just friendly.

  Friends.

  And I need friends right now.

  But why does it hurt so much to think of them as merely friends?

  Because I’m a spoiled rotten girl, I remind myself. Besides, being a friend is all I can offer, anyway.

  “What are we going to have for dinner?” I ask, trying to change the subject and walk away from the tension that’s still inside my car.

  Jay and H leave the Jeep. The Wrangler’s beeping noise lets me know that H has locked it. Then his hand is in my pocket at the front of my hip, returning my keys. As we’re still walking, we lock gazes.

  Even with the midnight blue and a flash of scarlet on the horizon, I can see his dark eyes have turned into sparkling gems. Heat flushes through my face, scuttles down my spine, low into my belly. As H slowly extracts his fingers from me, I want to brush my thighs together. Squeeze them. Do something to alleviate this crazy lustful sensation.

  I swallow, stumble a little, and Jay catches me by my elbow. Then my waist.

  “You okay?” His voice is back to that gravelly tone that makes my nipples bead.

  God, could my body respond to these men in just a tiny bit less of an inappropriate way? It’s embarrassing how much I want them.

  I nod and somehow find myself in the cabin, back in the kitchen.

  “You want to make that cucumber salad you were talking about yesterday?” H asks, placing one of his big hands on my hip, pulling me aside so he can look in the refrigerator.

  “That sounds good.” My voice is husky, a little too sexy sounding to talk about cucumber salad.

  Jay’s on the other side of me and opens the freezer section. “Did I see you got one of those rice casserole things you can microwave?”

  H nods. “Yeah, I think it takes a few minutes to cook.”

  “You want this—” Jay pulls out a red box from the freezer, “—chicken, broccoli, and rice stuff for dinner, Dee?”

  I don’t look at the box. I’m just looking into Jay’s bright blue eyes. I wonder if he knows I’m mesmerized by his gaze. If he asked me to strip my clothes off this second, I would. For him. For his eyes, I would. It’s not the first time I’ve thought this about the men, and I worry it won’t be the last.

  “I’d like that, thank you.” I somehow manage to say.

  Then Jay’s microwaving and H is peeling the skins off a cucumber and I’m left standing behind H, wishing I could hold his bum. He’s got this little, perfectly round ass that makes me want to hold it. Jay’s is spectacular too, but H is right in front of me, and I’m scared I just might touch him.

  “Dee.” Jay’s voice is softer than normal, making me look at him. “I—can I ask a question?”

  “Don’t do it, man.” H stops peeling, turning, and frowning at his friend.

  “What?” Jay shrugs. “We’re all thinking about it. Why not just talk about it?”

  H shakes his head, but Jay looks at me again.

  “Okay, I gotta know. Your sister-in-law is dating three men? At once, right? Not just dating three guys, but…they all know it? They’re all okay with…the situation?”

  I nod, feeling my heart beat so hard I wonder if they can see it.

  “Are you okay with her dating? I mean, she’s your sister-in-law. And she—”

  I almost laugh, because I’d thought Jay was going to ask more about Jane being with three men and more about polyamorous relationships, maybe leave not-so-subtle hints of what we could do after dinner. But of course, considerate and merely friendly man that he is, he’s only asking if I’m okay with Jane dating, period.

  “Yeah.” I nod and lean against the counter between H and Jay, stealing a small pile of sliced cucumber pieces. “I want my sister-
in-law—her name’s Jane, by the way—to be happy. I don’t mind that she’s dating. My brother—god, I loved him, but he was a dick to her when they were married.”

  “What do you mean?” H asks, taking a piece of cucumber from my palm and eating it.

  “I mean, he cheated on her. A lot. He cheated on her before he was diagnosed with lymphoma then he massively cheated on her after. I guess, he figured he was dying and may as well fuck as much as he could while he had the time, but it was shitty to do to Jane. I love my sister-in-law, but it was awful to watch. And she just put up with him cheating on her. She even took care of him before he died.”

  “Yeah, that’s not cool,” H says, while slowly nodding and stealing another piece of cucumber from my hand. Efficient man that he is, he’s made a huge pile on the counter in front of him, but he’s eating from me, and I really like that.

  “Yeah,” Jay agrees and takes a cucumber from me too. He crunches on the vegetable and looks at me. “Marriage is…well, I don’t know what it is. What kind of marriage do you want?”

  “Me?” I don’t know why I asked, because he’s only looking at me. I suppose I asked to stall because I’m embarrassed to admit to the parts I have thought of.

  Jay nods, taking another cucumber from my palm.

  I swallow and look down at my depleting pile of cucumbers. “I—this is silly, but the only thing I’ve ever wanted was to be loved.” My cheeks heat up. Yet again. My heart is loud. As it always seems to be around them.

  “Good answer,” H says, and when I shyly peek up at him, I realize he’s serious. I thought for sure one of the guys, if not both, would laugh at me. But H nods, adding, “I think a lot of people have these surface expectations of what a marriage should be. A big house with a nice lawn. Kids that should be hassle free. And a plastic sense that if there’s enough material things, then it doesn’t matter that no one likes each other.”

  My heart pitter-patters all the more at what H has said, but I’m a little sad too. There’s pessimism in his thoughts. And although I have it too, I wish no one possessed that kind of negativity. Because there’s usually a reason why someone becomes cynical.