Mountain Man's Virgin

Home > Other > Mountain Man's Virgin > Page 12
Mountain Man's Virgin Page 12

by Jay S. Wilder

“This bitch is finding another place to stay, asshole!”

  He grumbles something and flops into the same bed I just woke up from. The dickbag is snoring by the time I grab my travel bag, gather up the rest of my things, and bolt from the damn room. If I have to check into a seedy motel tonight, that’s what I’ll do.

  After getting dressed in the ladies’ shower and change rooms, I have breakfast at the student cafeteria, then I spend the rest of the day like a homeless person. I bounce around between the common room of the co-ed dorm, the house where the frat party was last night, the side of Meg’s car, and the doorway of the dorm room we have for the weekend. No way am I stepping foot inside the room with those boys.

  The frustration I feel is overwhelming. I gave up a relaxing, sex-filled weekend with Savage for this? Where the hell is Meg? Is she even alive right now? She doesn’t call, she doesn’t text from someone else’s phone, and she doesn’t show up anywhere that I think she might be.

  At around eight in the evening while I’m slumming in the sofa of the dorm’s main floor common room, Josh and Bryan show up. They’re bright eyes and dressed in fresh clothes, ready for round two of the wild parties.

  “You coming with us?” Bryan asks. I won’t dare look at Josh or acknowledge he fucking exists. As drunk as he had been acting, he sure as hell must’ve known what he was doing when he practically dry-humped me earlier.

  “Nope. Have fun,” I tell him. “Oh, and if you see Meg, would you mind telling her to get her ass back here?”

  He nods dismssively, and they turn to leave. “Will do.”

  Now that they’re gone, I weigh the option of returning to the room. From their moves last night, they probably won’t be back until morning. But I can’t bring myself to move from this well lit, very open section of the place to risk being mauled again. I roll up a few tops inside my bathrobe for a makeshift pillow, take off my shoes, put my legs up, and hope Meg finds her way to me before anyone tells me I can’t sleep here.

  I eventually drift off with my mind on Savage. He was right that I shouldn’t have gone at all. I wish I had even a few minutes to react to Meg dropping the bomb that we weren’t going on this trip alone. And gosh, I really wish Savage hadn’t acted so forcefully about me leaving with the guys. His eyes were so cold, so empty. God. I’d probably be at home all weekend, spending time with my dad or cozying up to Savage, not experiencing hell on earth while dodging dickbag one and dickbag two.

  I spend Sunday morning doing exactly what I did all day Saturday. Searching for Meg. I also have a job to get back to Monday morning, so by two in the afternoon, I make up my mind. I’ll take a taxi to the nearest bus station, and a bus back to town. By then, the forty-eight-hour waiting period will be over, so I can call the cavalry to start looking for Meg.

  Around four o’clock, I leave a note on the glass window of Meg’s car to let her know where I’m going just in case she turns up. Slinging my travel bag and purse over my shoulder, I start walking toward the campus taxi pickup and drop-off area.

  Meg drives up beside me in her convertible as I’m about to hop into a taxi cab.

  “Look who it is,” she shouts, a big grin on her face. Josh and Bryan are with her.

  “Meg? Meg!” I say her name but can’t speak another word to ask where she was.

  No. Just no. I’m relieved that Meg is fine and seems to still have all her fingers and toes. I really am. But I can’t handle seeing her act so nonchalantly about leaving me stranded all weekend. I don’t want to ask her what happened, because if she wasn’t abducted, pistol-whipped, drugged, and held against her will, if she says she was kicking back in some guy’s frat house bedroom, I’ll have to strangle her.

  “Get the fuck out of the front seat!” I scream at Bryan.

  “Take a chill pill and jump in the back like a good little girl,” he replies.

  My cheeks are burning. I don’t have any patience left. Turning, I walk over to the taxi cab. I’ll find my own way home.

  “Jane,” Meg shouts, parking her car in front of the taxi. “Come on. Don’t be like that.”

  “Don’t ask me to relax! You’re all chummy with these two pricks, you don’t even apologize for leaving me all fucking weekend? I was terrified for you. I had no idea where you were, or if you were hurt, or worse. And you want me to smile and go with the flow?” I’m panting hard, breathless as I scream out each sentence. “What happened to you? I get that you’re mad at me because I didn’t tell you about Sa—” I pause and don’t say the rest of his name. Josh is in the back seat. I can’t afford for him to know. “Because I didn’t tell you I was seeing someone. Fine, be mad, but it doesn’t give you the right to treat me like this, or to let his guy talk to me the way he has, or to be so deluded to think he can ever be a better friend to you that I’ve been!”

  “I never said he was a better friend,” she starts, but I can’t take another second of this crap I’ve been dealt all weekend.

  “I love you like a sister, Meg. But I refuse to subject myself to those two for another three-hour drive. I’ll figure out how to get home on my own.”

  Meg jumps out of the driver seat, hurriedly rounding the back of the car. I try to swat her hand away when she grabs my travel bag off my shoulder, but she’s too quick for me, and I’m so mad that my shaking hands can’t do anything right. She clicks open her trunk, removes the guys’ bags, and drops mine inside.

  “All right boys,” she shouts over to them. “End of the line for you. My best friend and I need some alone time, so have fun finding your way home.”

  Josh starts cussing. Bryan leans to one side and drags out his wallet. He holds up three crisp hundred-dollar bills toward Meg. “Come on, sweet thing. I don’t do commuter travel. Look, I’ll cover gas and throw in some cash for the hassle. Just give us a ride back to town.”

  “Um, nope,” she answers. “Not worth the headache.”

  Bryan turns to me, his eyes all soft and pleading, but I have zero compassion left. “I’ll add a couple more hundies for you too. Please?”

  While I’m standing there, semi-contemplating his offer, I see Meg pick up their bags and place inside the back seat of the taxi. She taps on the driver’s window and waits for him to lower it. “Hey mister, my friends here want to offer you a three-hundred-dollar flat fee to take them on a three-hour trip. Are you up for a nice fat payday?”

  The driver scratches his square jaw, thinks about it for a second, then he nods. “Make it four hundred, and it’s a deal.”

  Meg kicks out the guys, and although I still want to strangle her, I get into the front seat of her convertible, somewhat satisfied.

  I clear my throat and try to push down some of my anger, buckling up for the ride home. “Before you drive away, please find a parking spot somewhere. I deserve an explanation, Meg.”

  “Of course,” she answers as she settles into the driver seat. “I’m really sorry.”

  “And all I’ll say right now is you’re going to be spending a long, long time making this up to me.”

  She sure as fuck will.

  17

  Savage

  I’m angry and on edge for the entire weekend, but there are two emotions wreaking havoc in the pit of my stomach that I haven’t felt in a long time.

  Regret, then fear, then regret again.

  They bounce back and forth, and I feel like a damn fool because of it.

  Because I should know better.

  The night my parents and little sister died in a car accident, before they left the house, I had a huge argument with my mom, then a massive blowout with my dad. I was a real rebel in my early teens, trying to be a badass to impress my friends, with more attitude than I care to admit. That afternoon, I had hitched a ride up to the cabin after school. My friends and I got wasted on booze and weed at one of the empty cabins, then I drove my friend’s car—under the influence and without a driver’s license—down the mountain to buy food at the nearest convenience store.

  It was a dumb move, but
I was a piece of work in those days. On my way back up the mountain, the Sheriff caught me behind the wheel. He hauled my ass into jail and called my parents, who came to the police station to bail me out. Because my dad was good friends with the Sheriff and it was my first run-in with the law, they let me off with a stern warning.

  My parents and I fought all the way home. Mom cried. Dad, I’d never heard him raise his voice that way before that night. There was also the question of how my friends would get home, since the car we drove up there was impounded, because of me. Dad wasn’t going to leave them up at one of his friends’ cabins to do more damage overnight, so he decided to drive up the mountain to pick up my friends at the cabin and drop them off at their homes in town. Mom was still so upset with me that she left with him. She took my little sister with them because she had woken up from all the ruckus as Dad and I argued.

  They never made it up the mountain.

  A drunk driver hit their car head-on ten minutes away from our house in town. The rest was a fucking disaster. They lost their lives because of me. They wouldn’t be in that car, on that road, if it weren’t for me. I never got to tell them I was sorry, to make things right. And my sister, she was completely innocent in all this. She lost her life before she could start living it, because of me. Ben, the Sheriff, and a lot of my parents’ friends and family all tried to tell me that it wasn’t my fault. That accidents happen, and I can’t blame myself. But they were wrong.

  That night, that disaster, it’s all on me.

  To this day, it eats me up inside. If I could take it all back, I would.

  But I can’t.

  And right now, all weekend long, I feel that same knot twisting up in my gut.

  I’m letting history repeat itself.

  With Jane.

  The urge to see her, to talk to her, to make things right, it’s over the top. It sits on my chest like a sack of coal, stealing my breath, compelling me to do something before it’s too late. Fuck, I’m even willing to let her call the shots indefinitely about when to tell her dad about us. This is the first weekend ever that I’m tempted to drive into town, buy a cell phone or find a payphone, and give her a call. I don’t want to spend another fucking second without her. All I want is to fix this.

  But I don’t, for one reason only.

  I’m caught in a catch-twenty-two.

  The only friend of hers that I’m aware of is away with her. I never needed her phone number before this, because, well what point is getting someone’s phone number if I don’t have a phone to call them with? So, every scenario to find Jane involves asking her parents where she is, or asking them for her phone number, which would entail my telling them about us. Its the one thing Jane begged me not to do. Not yet.

  The weekend drags by because of this. I go through the motions with my usual chores and routines, angry and short-tempered about every fucking thing. A few times, Ben has come by. He’s all alone at his cabin this weekend too, as Rachel is away on business, and Jane’s gone too.

  His visits are yet another reminder that Jane’s not here.

  I’m so on edge that when he bugs me about heading into town for a beer on Sunday evening, I cave and agree to go with him. Maybe I need a drink. Or four.

  Ben usually likes the sports bar, but at the last minute, he stops at the local saloon in town where a group of our coworkers are having drinks. We sit a few tables away, and I relax a little. But in a town this small, going out can be a fucking bad move. There aren’t that many options to choose from, so you’re liable to bump into people you know. People you might not want to fucking lay eyes on.

  We’re there for less than an hour before Josh shows up. He and his friends sit at the table next to ours. They’re all wasted, except for a guy I never saw before who they introduce as their designated driver.

  Ben and I drove down here in his truck, so I tell Ben that I’m not feeling this place anymore, and suggest that we call it a night.

  “We just got here. Relax, those kids are harmless,” he tells me.

  If only he knew.

  “I’m not into this scene,” I insist over the country song blaring through the speakers.

  “Have another beer with me. Then we’ll leave,” he answers. “Drinks are on me. But first, let me take a leak.”

  Ben excuses himself, and I contemplate finding another table or sitting at the bar. Anything to stay the fuck away from these kids. Of course, for a split second, the question of where Jane is and whether she’s back in town is at the edge of my tongue. But I don’t ask. I sit there and listen to them make asses of themselves. The kid who had been in the front seat of the convertible whips out his phone and shows everyone pictures of their weekend at the college, or as they call it, their frat boys and bang girls weekend.

  Bang girls. Does it mean what I think it does?

  Josh starts to brag that they took two bang girls with them, and it was mission accomplished, and then some. He tells his friend to show everyone the pictures of the four of them at some frat party. I don’t want to see anything, but the fucking phone is passed around and lands on my table, and I can’t fucking look away. I see one shot of them dancing in a crowded frat house living room. Not dancing. More like groping. Their hands are all over the girls.

  My girl, and her friend.

  I don’t think I can hold in the rage running through my veins, constricting my chest. I thrust the phone into one of their hands and drag my chair back, getting up to leave. Josh gives his friends clumsy fist bumps on account of their excessive inebriation. I’m mad enough to break bones and bash in some skulls, and the only upside of the current situation is that Ben isn’t around to hear what these disrespectful fucks are saying about his daughter or to see those photos in the guy’s phone.

  “Did you get a piece of that sexy HR intern?” one of the guys asks.

  “Course I fucking did,” Josh brags.

  That’s when I fucking lose it.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I warn them, but they’re too wasted to pick up on my state of mind.

  “Don’t hate the player,” Josh slurs. “Hate the game. She was begging for it, anyway.”

  My vision blurs, and the next time I can see straight, I’m down on the floor on top of Josh. His face is busted up, and my knuckles are throbbing and bloody. Three of my coworkers are around me, trying to pull me off the kid.

  I don’t stop fighting them off until Ben’s stern voice sounds out behind me.

  “Savage! Stop! Right now!”

  My weight shifts to one side as I let my three coworkers drag me away from Josh.

  I should be sorry, but I’m not. This kid has been asking for it for weeks. It doesn’t take me long to calm down, but the men hold me down for a while. Josh’s buddies grab him and stagger off, leaving the bar.

  “What the hell was that about?” Ben ask me once my breathing starts to feel normal again.

  “That fucker doesn’t know when to shut up.” That’s all I can manage.

  “And you don’t seem to know when to walk away.”

  I can’t argue with him. Not without something slipping out about Jane. I drop the subject and head to the bar to settle up with the bartender.

  “We need to leave,” I tell him, straightening my clothes and wiping my aching knuckles with a paper napkin.

  He shakes his head. “Ya think? Let’s go.”

  “Sorry about losing it,” I say, following behind him on our way out the front door.

  He stops halfway to his truck. “Not as sorry as these boys will be.”

  “Who?”

  He lifts his chin toward the truck, and I squint, searching the dim area to see what he’s talking about. Shit. Josh and friends must be drunk and high as fuck. They’re standing around, waiting beside Ben’s truck.

  Waiting for me.

  “Get in your car and head on home, boys,” Ben instructs them. “You men have had enough action for one night.”

  Josh points at his own face. “You’re gonna let
Savage get away with this?” he shouts.

  I should let Ben handle this, but these kids are so fucking out of line that I move ahead of Ben. “You should do what he says,” I warn Josh and his friends. “Unless you want another ass whooping.”

  Whatever he’s on, it’s a hell of a drug. Josh charges me.

  I’m ready. Instead of taking him down, I step to one side, and pull his arms behind his back to immobilize him. He’s cussing and screaming his ass off, and Ben is shouting beside me, trying to talk some sense into Josh. But we all freeze at the whirring sound of an approaching cop car.

  Josh’s friends disperse in no time, long before the town sheriff and his deputy can stop their vehicle a few feet from us and jump out.

  “All right. Break it up, men,” says the deputy, working to end our altercation while the Sheriff steps off to one side with Ben.

  I let go of Josh, but the little fuck starts pleading with the deputy, begging to be let off the hook. “Look at my fucking face!” he shouts. “I’m the victim here.”

  “Is there any truth to what this man is saying?” the deputy asks me.

  I’m not up for a night in jail or a criminal record, but I won’t lie either. “He’s not wrong,” I answer. “He was talking trash, so I fucked up his face to shut him up. Then he waited out here with his buddies for more, but it looks like his designated driver might’ve driven away without his ass.”

  Josh is riled up by my comment, and it’s probably the drugs and alcohol, because he completely ignores the fact that the cops are right here, and charges me again. The deputy isn’t prepared at all for Josh. I’m pumped up on adrenaline, so acting on impulse, I grab Josh and shove him to the ground.

  Probably not a good idea either.

  The sheriff comes to my side and tells me to put my hands out. For the handcuffs on his fucking belt. I don’t resist. After getting in the patrol car. The deputy picks Josh up off the floor, puts him in handcuffs too, and shoves him in the back seat with me. Before the door closes, Ben tells us he’ll meet us at the station. I can’t look at his face. Not now. I haven’t seen him so disappointed in me in years.

 

‹ Prev