BONE

by Rocklyn Ryder

  Until this trip, I hadn't really been camping for more than a weekend since I was 12 when Dad used to take me on long fishing trips over summer vacation. Of course, then I hit puberty and started having periods, and camping for a week at a time with my dad and no bathrooms? Yeah, that wasn't something I was interested in anymore.

  They sold their house a few years ago to do the full time RV thing, got themselves one of those big ass 5th wheel trailers. The damn thing's bigger than my apartment. Nicer too. I tell them it's not really camping just because they park it in the woods.

  As I reflect on things, I pull on my hoodie and crawl out of the tent. It's freakin' cold out here at 5 in the morning. Colder than I expected it to be. Last week I was about as close to Canada as I could get without my passport and it wasn't this damn cold.

  Of course, I'm not surprised that this place isn't open yet. I've probably got at least another hour, maybe 3, before whoever runs the place unlocks the door standing between me and a fresh pot of coffee.

  That's too long to wait, so I pull my little backpacker stove and fuel canister out of my bag and look for a place away from the gas pumps to start boiling some water.

  As the sky begins its transition from nearly pitch black and still full of stars to a lighter blue and then on fire with gold and pink over the hills east of here, I get a chance to take in my surroundings in clearer detail.

  It's still hella cold, I've got my hood cinched tight over my head, my riding gloves on and my hands wrapped around my mug full of boiling hot-but-rapidly-cooling black coffee like my life depended on it as I start roaming what I'm pretty sure is the perimeter of the property.

  The store is a 2 story building with wood siding that's rough from weather. There's a coat of paint on the lower section where the little store is that looks like it used to be blue and white, but mostly it's just faded and peeling now.

  The store itself has big windows set on either side of the door. A variety of neon signs hang unlit inside, one of them the "open" sign that I'm most interested in.

  I walk up the steps to the boardwalk style porch that runs along the front of the store. The architecture reminds me of a saloon in an old western-- with a porch over the lower story that serves as a balcony for the upper one.

  Not that there's any sign of life upstairs.

  Standing in front of the windows, I can see the store is small. There's a sofa and a big screen TV set up in the far corner-- like a makeshift living room.

  Makes sense. If you have to hang out all day minding a store that probably goes for hours without anyone coming through the door, you don't want to be stuck in a folding chair behind the counter the whole time but it's probably not a good idea to wander too far off either.

  Everything inside is dark. I stare longingly at the commercial coffee maker sitting on a counter next to a fountain soda machine and grip my hands tighter around my mug. My own coffee has cooled down considerably and I'm almost as desperate for the coffee pot in the store to be full as I am for my gas tank to be.

  There's hardly any traffic on the road running in front of the store. Every so often a semi rumbles past or a pick up truck, but no one even looks twice at the closed store, the freezing woman standing in front of it, or the tent set up by the gas pump.

  Probably par for the course, I think as I watch them roll past.

  Somehow, exploring behind the store feels like I'm invading the owner's privacy.

  I do it anyway.

  Making my way to the back of the building, I find a big Ford truck parked next to a wooden staircase that leads to a door on the upper floor.

  Looking up at the second story landing I mostly just see a solid wooden door that has a very locked feel to it. There are a few windows upstairs on this side of the building, but none downstairs. The upstairs windows share the "no one's home" feel that the door does.

  At least the truck is here, I think as I make a circle around it. Hopefully that means someone's actually here and the store will open soon.

  The truck is one of those heavy duty types, with 4 full size doors, 4 wheel drive, and a long bed. It's not one of those jacked-up bro-dozers that I see back home, it's got a very serious look to it. Not a toy for a 23 year old guy who doesn't have a mortgage and a family to spend his money on, but a serious work truck.

  The bed is scratched up, some dried mud caked in the corners. It looks like it gets used to haul more than inner tubes to float the local river in the summer time.

  The tires are sporting some serious-looking tread, all terrains. Something with tooth for making easy work of whatever winter in this part of the world throws in the way.

  Pretty standard vehicle for this part of the country. I've seen a lot of pick ups on this trip but then, I've also seen a lot of America's back roads on this trip.

  That just reminds me I have to get home.

  I carry my empty coffee mug back to where I left my camp stove set up out front and check the time. 6:34. The sun is over the hills now and it's finally starting to warm up.

  Another cup-- or 7-- of coffee stills sounds amazing, but at least I don't need it to keep my hands from turning to ice anymore.

  I gather up my stove and things and head back to my tent to start packing up camp and get everything tied back down on the bike.

  At least it's warm enough I can shed the hoodie now.

  No sooner do I have the sweatshirt peeled off and am starting to pack it away with my sleeping bag than I feel something bounce off my knees. Looking down, I find what I can only assume is a real-life Tasmanian devil spinning in excited circles a few feet in front of me and then throwing itself against my legs again.

  If it wasn't making high pitched barking noises, I'm not sure how long it would have taken me to recognize it as a dog.

  "Hey pup," I hold out my hand to the hyper little thing as I squat down so I'm at its level, "what's your name?"

  The thing is solid black fur, not very big, full of energy, and not at all shy. It doesn't bother sniffing my hand, it just throws itself into my arms and, since I'm down on its level, starts licking my face. I go over backwards and land on my ass while my new best friend does its best to make up for the showers I've had to skip for the last 2 days.

  "Ninja!"

  Ever hear a voice and immediately feel like you should recognize it?

  That's how I feel when I hear it. The little dog and I both freeze in place and tilt our heads in unison to listen for it again.

  "Ninj!" This time the voice is more emphatic, more impatient and less searching.

  The black puffball in my arms twists its head to look back at me curiously, as if waiting for me to cover for it, "Sorry, bud," I say, "I'm not your alibi."

  "Dammit, dog, where the fuck did you--"

  The voice is all male. Gruff with the impatience of a man who's trying to hide concern under anger...and failing.

  I see him coming toward us from behind the building, his brow furrowed in worry until he spies me sitting on the cold concrete with his dog between my outstretched legs. Then his jaw settles into a hard line and a scowl darkens his face.

  The hard expression does nothing to make him less attractive.

  No. "Attractive" is not the right word for this guy. Holy fucking shit white-hot is more along the lines of what I'm thinking as he stalks toward me and the little black demon that's still in my lap, wagging its tail so furiously I have to turn my head to avoid getting hit in the face.

  The man stares at me, I stare at him, the dog wags its tail and barks at its owner without budging from my lap like a little kid bringing home a lost puppy asking if he can keep it. Except in this case, it's the puppy asking if it can keep the person it found.

  Looking up at the man staring at us, I'm all for it.

  He's tall. I mean, I'm sitting on the ground, so from this point of view pretty much anyone would be tall. But he looks tall. He's got dirty blonde hair that doesn't look like it's been brushed since he crawled out of bed.

  Speaking
of which, it looks like he just crawled out of bed. As in, he's wearing a pair of sweat pants, some slip on shoes, and not a damn thing else.

  Oh yes-- and it's not my brain that's doing the begging as the thought runs through my body like fire-- please keep me.

  His jaw is covered in a dark shadow of stubble. His body is solid muscle. His skin is bronzed and smooth with just a bit of fur running down the center of his torso, a shade darker than the hair on his head, and disappearing below the elastic band of his sweats that hang loose below his waist.

  Oh my God, do I understand why they call it a "happy trail" now.

  My mouth is watering. Literally watering.

  It's hard to force my eyes up to his. I want to see how thick his thighs are under those loose fitting work out pants. I want to climb those abs like a fucking ladder and I want to drag my tongue across the flat, brown nipples that are tight from being exposed to the chilly morning air.

  I kinda want to bite his shoulder.

  Wait. No. I'm going in the wrong direction...I want to start with the biting and work my way down.

  Damn. I'm being rude. Am I being rude? I should stop staring at his hunky bod and make eye contact.

  Oh. My. God.

  I work on focusing on his face. Really focusing. I'm lost. The man is made out of my dirtiest fantasies from head to toe. All I need is to get a peek at what's under those sweats to be sure, but I'm pretty sure I'm in love.

  "You're a chick," he says in a voice that's nothing short of disgusted.

  If this was a movie, you'd hear the sound of glass shattering. A train skidding down the rails as it brakes hard to avoid hitting a school bus full of kids. A needle being hastily dragged off a spinning record.

  So much for love.

  Stryker

  First thing in the morning, I opened the door and let Ninja out while I get some coffee going and brush my teeth.

  It's not like the little shit to stay outside for long. She's usually bouncing up those stairs, getting under my feet and then running back downstairs at least half a dozen times before I get in the shower.

  When I look back out the kitchen window at my squatter by the pump, I notice he's up already. Wandering around the place with a mug of something steaming in his hands. At least he didn't set up a damn stove next to the fucking gas pumps, even if they are dry.

  From the look of him, I guess he's pretty young. Fuck, he better be at least 18. I hate the idea of having a goddamn minor camped out on my property. If that's the case, I might have to throw that dirt bike in the back of the truck and haul the kid back home myself.

  I watch him wander around for awhile, black hoodie all cinched up around his face, black sweat pants. Got his riding boots and gloves on. Can't get a good look at him, but I guess it's probably pretty cold this time of morning. Teach the kid right for not knowing the limits of his bike and gettin' stuck out here.

  Ninja whines at the door for me to follow her outside and play and then doesn't wait for me before she's back down the stairs, chasing whatever dogs find to chase while I find my house shoes and head out after her.

  When I get downstairs she's MIA. It's not like her to wander too far for too long and I don't like that she hasn't come running back here with one of her toys covered in drool for me to throw for her.

  I hear her shrill barks coming from out front and I know what she's up to. At least I don't have to worry about her anymore, now I'm just pissed that she's not coming when I call her.

  Sure enough, as I round the corner of the store, I see her jumping all over the kid sitting on his--

  Not cool. Fuck. This is not cool.

  I feel my jaw lock as I keep heading toward the two of them.

  Ninja's got her tail wagging like crazy and she's yipping excitedly as she watches me get closer but the little shit won't budge from her new friend.

  And I don't know what the fuck to do next.

  Because the kid with the dirt bike is sitting on the concrete looking at me like I hung the motherfucking moon...and she's gorgeous.

  The black hoodie is gone thanks to the sun getting up over the hills and now I can see the long, golden braid draped over her shoulder and hanging across one of two of the perkiest tits I've ever seen. She ain't wearing a bra either. Her breasts are free under the thermal shirt she's got on, her nips hard as small, sharp rocks poking through the waffle weave.

  Her legs are stretched out straight in front of her and she's bracing herself with one hand behind her while Ninja just stands across the chick's lap like she owns the girl.

  The girl looks like this isn't her first night outside, the braid she's got her hair pulled back in is a mess of renegade strands trying to escape. There's a dirt smudge across one side of her forehead and it's easy to imagine her leaving it as she wipes the back of her glove across her face.

  It doesn't take my overactive imagination to be able to tell she's got a hot little figure on her. Those tits are on full display despite being completely covered, and I can see the way her waist nips in tight and the flare of her ass against the cement.

  I'd like to see her standing up.

  I'd like to see her naked.

  I'd like to see her bent over in front of me while I watch my dick disappear inside her.

  It's been too damn long since I got laid. This chick might clean up damn good, but that doesn't mean she wants to ride my cock all day while we wait for the tanks to get refilled.

  I gotta stop picturing that pouty mouth wrapped around my dick.

  What the fuck am I going to do with some chick hanging out around the place for the next few days while my gas tanks are empty and my balls are full?

  "What the fuck are you doing here?" I don't know how I forget about the small motorbike leaning on its kickstand by my gas pump but I do.

  The look on her face goes from adoring gaze to woman scorned in less than a second as she pulls herself out from under Ninja and gets to her feet.

  "I need gas," she says with a jerk of her head toward the pump while she wipes her hands on her pants.

  There's an edge in her voice that's all sass and sarcasm. It suits her and even though I kinda want to smack her ass just to show her who's boss around here, I also kinda want to smack her ass because now that she's up on her feet I can see it better.

  It's an ass worth smacking.

  She stands by the pump, staring at me and waiting for me to respond.

  "When do you open up?" She points her chin at the store and narrows her eyes at me.

  I finally answer, "Store opens at 7."

  "7?" She gives my shirtless chest a scowl, "Isn't that about 15 minutes ago?"

  Hell, I don't know. I don't have a watch on, I don't bother carrying my cell phone around since there ain't no damn signal out here anyway. I'm not usually standing in front of my store half naked this time of morning with a pounding headache from staying up too late, drinking too much booze the night before while a beautiful woman stares me down like I'm trash.

  So much for any notions I was entertaining about inviting her to stay in the apartment with me while she waits for the tanker to get here. Turns out she's kind of a bitch. Probably one of those man-hating feminazi types that's angry with me just for having a penis.

  Fuuuck-- my eyes can't help but slide down her body, taking their time around those curves-- what a shame, I think.

  "So are you planning on opening this place up today?" Her voice borders on being downright hateful, "I need some gas."

  She jerks her head toward her bike. Some foreign thing with a small engine that's more dirt bike than motorcycle. She's got her tent and stove packed back up and everything's cinched down on the back of the seat so there's just enough room for her cute little ass left for sitting.

  Damn bike probably has a 2 gallon gas tank. It can't have a very good range on it. Where ever she came from, where ever she's going, she must be on a tour of America's lesser frequented gas stations.

  "There ain't no gas," I inform her curtly a
s I turn on my heel and head back to my place.

  "Come on, Ninj!" I call as I walk off. Of course, the damn mutt doesn't budge. She sits her ass down right on top of our new tenant's boots and stares at me like I canceled Christmas.

  "Fine, stay with your new BFF," I mutter under my breath. The girls outnumber me now and apparently neither one of them think much of me.

  Jordan

  "What do you mean you don't have gas?" I start to chase after him but his dog is right on top of my feet. As soon as I try to take a step I trip and almost face-plant onto the concrete on the other side of the fluffy, black obstacle.

  By the time I regain my balance without managing to break my wrist or my nose and without disturbing my new friend from her perch on top of the toe of my boot, Mr. Tall, Handsome, and Misogynist is gone.

  Damn my luck!

  I've been riding my little dual sport bike all over the west for 3 weeks, trying to burn up extra vacation time before I lose it. This dude is the first guy I've seen in a long time that makes my panties feel like they're melting, and he turns out to be one of those assholes that think a woman shouldn't be traveling unchaperoned.

  Like it's 1885 or some shit.

  Fucking pig.

  I want to kick something, but there's not much within kicking distance except for the little black dog staring up at me adoringly. I'm sure as hell not about to kick her.

  "Hey," my whole mood changes when I look down at her. She's so black she doesn't look real. I can't see her eyes under her fur, the only thing that makes it easy to tell one end from the other is the bright pink tongue hanging out of her mouth. I squat down so I can pet her, "So your name's 'Ninja?' "

  There's a heart shaped tag on her collar that confirms what I thought the guy called her.

  "Well, Ninja," I tell her while I scratch her ear, "your dad is kind of an asshole."

  Ninja drops to the ground and rolls over so I can rub her belly. I take that to mean she agrees with me.