by Elaria Ride
Oh.
I give her a dazed stare as she bounces in place. Somehow, she’s made me forget about food. “S-sure,” I manage, swallowing. “I made Penne Arrabiata. I hope you like—”
“I like everything,” she assures me, that grin still stretched across her face. I smile in relief. If she hated what I’d prepared, I’d feel pretty damn useless.
“Well,” Autumn amends a second later, cocking her head. “I’m not too big on coffee right this second, but—”
I laugh, cutting her off. “Understood.”
I stride to the table to help her into her seat; after all, I’d grown up with a father who did most of the cooking. This instilled a lifelong appreciation for serving meals promptly on time — especially to your woman.
I gulp as I pull out her chair. My woman.
Fortunately, she interprets my cue to sit, even as I suddenly I feel like I’m drowning in a slew of a million competing feelings.
“Been a long time since someone offered me a seat!” she remarks, scooting in the rest of the way by herself.
That takes me aback — and I’m grateful for the distraction. Watching her bounce over here had done nothing to bolster my already fraying concentration. “Really?”
“You know what they say. Southern hospitality stays in the South!”
I shake my and reach for the wineglass in front of her place setting. “Well, I hope that this little weekend getaway will prove that we also treat our guests with hospitality here in the Pacific Northwest.”
She giggles, and some water drips from her brown ringlets, further darkening the front of her white t-shirt. Shit. All I can do is clear my throat and try very, very hard to focus on pouring the Merlot…
“Where’s the wine from?” Autumn asks. “I don’t recognize the label from Sam’s Park and Eat.”
I chuckle and pass her the glass. Sam’s Park and Eat is the local grocery store. They cover the basics, but you won’t see much beyond gut-rot liquor and overpriced crappy wine. “Yeah. Sam’s is… local,” I allow, “but if you want the good stuff, you need to go to a real winery. And,” I add seriously, “I’d like to give an unbiased recommendation to check out Bosco Winery. You may even get a family discount!”
Autumn takes the glass from my hand. “I might do that. But I’d hate to go alone.” She finishes with a little pout, and even I’m not thick enough to miss what that means.
As much as I love the flirting, the thought I’d be a casual hookup — even on a date, even if things didn’t go far — is too much. I gaze across the table at Autumn’s heart-shaped face, at her big brown doe eyes, at slowly drying curls… no. Now more than ever, I can’t possibly walk away from this with anything casual in mind.
So I clear my throat and raise my glass in a toast. “To this blizzard,” I say, meeting her eyes. “Because life in the wilderness is both amazing. And fucking terrible!”
She giggles and toasts me back before taking a sip, but a look of disappointment flickers across her face. As I bring the first bite of Penne Arrabiata to my lips, her own words ring clear in my memory: “I’m a virgin. What can I say? Dudes are hot, but relationships are messy.”
Nope. Much better to keep this at a low level of flirtation… and to hope the tension doesn’t bring us to a breaking point.
“Ooh!” Autumn exclaims from across the table, jolting me from my daydreams. “Asher. This is seriously delicious. Why didn’t you tell me you could cook, too?”
She sounds so adorably incredulous that I almost don’t take offense at her level of surprise. Almost. “First, I fed you last night, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember much,” I note, taking another sip of wine. “And second, are you usually this shocked when men treat you with a shred of decency?”
I take a particularly large swig of wine before giving her a cautious glance, but to my surprise she’s not offended.
“You have a point,” Autumn admits, mulling it over. “Like I said… Southern hospitality stays in the South! But seriously.” She meets me with another dead stare. “This is fucking delicious.”
I smile and finish my glass. “I’ll be sure to tell my father. He’s the one who taught me!”
Autumn takes a sip of wine herself. “Well, that’s another difference between here and Georgia. I think my mother would die if anyone else took over making dinner.”
I chuckle and refill my glass before topping hers off, too. “I passed through Georgia on the Appalachian trail. Don’t think I met your mom, though.”
She giggles. “Is that a thinly veiled yo-momma joke?”
“Do you… want it to be?”
There’s a pause.
Then, thankfully, we both burst into laughter.
With that, any lingering discomfort evaporates. Autumn and I banter and joke and eat and drink, the words slipping as gliding as easily as butter on a hot skillet. By the time we’re finished eating, we’ve also finished the whole bottle.
I rise from the table and bring our plates to the kitchenette. I’m feeling the alcohol more than I thought, but Autumn’s flush tells me she’s feeling it too. She’s really cute when she’s tipsy.
“So uh… you got any more bottles over there?” she calls innocently, ripping me from my thoughts. By now, though, I know better than to trust that she’s actually as angelic as she seems.
“I might,” I drawl, submerging our plates in the sink. I hadn’t exactly planned to spend all of tomorrow with a hangover, but at least I’ve got a bunch of pain meds on hand.
Pain meds. Oh!
I turn to her, ashamed I’ve forgotten. “How’s your head?” I ask, managing to sound serious despite my slight inebriation. “I don’t want you drinking too much — ”
She cuts me off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Asher, it’s fine.”
I snort and cross my arms over my chest. “I watched you fall, darling. That didn’t look fine to me. And last night, you were…”
There’s another pause. My face reddens. Last night has more implications than one.
Autumn rolls her eyes and puts down her empty glass. “I was an EMT once upon a time. If it were something serious, we’d know by now. Besides, all I took was ibuprofen, and mostly for my legs. Not like we’re mixing serious pain meds and alcohol, here.”
I know I’ll have to be satisfied with that; Autumn isn’t the type who’s easily persuaded.
“But if you want to make sure there’s nothing wrong… you can always monitor me for the next few hours.”
As she strides towards me, I know how inappropriate it is to stare… but fuck, I just can’t help myself. She’s as beautiful as ever in my pajamas, all bouncing and curvy and gorgeous. I grip my fist at my side and she slinks over, her eyes never leaving mine. I can’t decide if bringing alcohol into this was a mistake or not… but to say the least, it’s lowered my inhibitions.
She comes to a stop in front of me just as the fire gives a loud crack. “What do you think we could do while you monitor me, Asher?” she purrs, tracing a hand down the side of my face.
“I can think of something,” she continues. Then she stands on her tiptoes and drapes her arms around my neck — and although I know it’s awful, I know it’s a bad idea, I know this will get me into trouble — I don’t fight her.
Not on any of it.
If anything, I encourage her.
“Oh?” I reply, my hands naturally dropping her her waist. As soon as I touch her, a quiet moan escapes from my parted lips. I know I’m beyond pathetic… but honestly, do you blame me? All I can see is the way she’d looked underneath those clothes, all creamy skin and curves and those perfect, perfect breasts…
“Mmm,” Autumn agrees, leaning in even closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“What—” I squeak, my voice breaking. I clear my throat, looking away; what is it about this girl that always reduces me to a hormonal teenager?!
“What did you have in mind?” I repeat, hoping my voice sounds low and sultry, even as my fa
ce floods bright red.
That catlike smirk says on her face; she’s not fooled. And clearly knows the effect she has on me.
“Oh, I dunno,” she says, bringing her hand up to play with the hairs on the back of my neck. I suppress a shudder; one involuntary bodily reaction (actually squeaking when she spoke to me) was embarrassing enough. But then Autumn leans in close, her mouth scraping the shell of my ear… and this time, I feel a jolt of electricity straight to my cock.
“If you want,” she breathes, and I feel my hands clenching around the flesh of her waist. “We can… play cards!”
Then pulls back with an enthusiastic bounce, clapping her hands together.
Wait, what?!
I give her a dumbfounded stare, my cock still painfully hard in the confines of my jeans.
“Play… cards,” I finally manage.
Autumn responds with a grin and a nod. “I think what we need is a fun game of strip poker? It’s only fair, after all… I think I deserve to give you a good whooping. And to balance the scales a bit, seeing as how you’ve seen me nearly naked.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. I’m not sure what the hell has come over her.
Or me.
Or us.
But if she wants to keep dancing around this, I’ll oblige.
“Well, the good news is that I may have a spare deck of cards, but” — I spread my palms in surrender — “the bad news? I have no idea how to play poker.”
If Autumn is phased by my total lack of Rugged Wilderness Man credentials, she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she just winks and changes tactics. “I guess it’s time for another favorite, then… strip Go Fish!”
An hour (and a bottle of wine) later, Autumn and I are both wearing considerably less clothing.
If you were to compare us, you’d instantly understand she’s winning. I’ve stripped off both my socks, my shirt, and the spare flannel bandana hanging out of my back pocket; she’d allowed me to count that as an article of clothing, but assured me it was a one-off opportunity.
I haven’t played Go Fish (or any card game) since I’d left home. And it shows. Autumn has stripped off her pajama pants, but that’s it. Based on the way my hand is looking, I doubt she’ll lose any more clothing before the night is out.
For me, this is both a blessing and a curse. I discard a pair of Aces and reach for my wine glass. Autumn’s muttering to herself and shuffling some cards around, and even though I know she’d probably do this a lot more easily while sober, I can’t help but find it cute.
“Aha!” she proclaims a second later, a grin splitting across her face. She places her final pair down on the table — her second pair of Queens. She looks excited, but for the life of me I don’t know why.
“I’m the winner, Asher!” She beams, spreading the rest of her hand out. “You can’t possibly win now. Might as well give up!”
I laugh; mathematically, I’m sure she’s right. Not that I’m surprised. “Well, I’d never doubted that much. I went easy on you. Being concussed and everything.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She winks, collecting both of our cards in a pile. “That’s what they all say, Asher Bosco. Don’t be a sore loser, now!”
I act affronted. “Me? A sore loser?”
We pause, staring at each other from across the table. I can’t see the expression on my face, but I’d wager I’m wearing the same stupid grin she is. The firelight dances in her eyes — and for the umpteenth time in two days, I’m sure that if I don’t say something very, very soon, I’ll do something very, very stupid…
I clear my throat and rip my head away. My eyes land on my empty wine glass… and even though that’s a weak foothold, it’s a foothold nonetheless.
“Luckily we’re fully stocked on booze,” I attempt, keeping my eyes focused away from her. “My brother and sister-in-law make sure I never go dry.”
“Oh?” she asks, her tone returning to that same dreamy quality she’d used last night.
“Yeah,” I reply. “The story of Harrison and Marina is… well, actually it’s kinda cute.” Another grin spreads across my face; this was a good topic switch. I could talk about those two for hours. “Long story short, Harrison owns the winery on Biggal Mountain. Marina used to work for him, they fell in love, etcetera etcetera. Anyway, they had a baby girl last month.”
I reach down and tug my wallet from my jeans. “Evelyn Graciela!” I say proudly, holding open the leather flap containing a picture of my niece. “Cutest baby girl ever born. No way you’ll convince me otherwise!”
Autumn giggles and reaches for it across the table.
“Adorable,” she admits with a fond gaze, trailing a finger down the side of the photo. “But I’m not sure I agree with your assessment. My nephews and nieces are pretty damn cute too, if I say so myself.”
I finish my glass of wine and set it down on the table — and in retrospect, I fully blame the alcohol for what comes out of my mouth next.
“Well, your nephews and nieces would have to be cute if they’re related to you.”
I hear a gasp from across the table as I run a hand down my face. I need to remedy this — and fast. Making her uncomfortable is not what I want to do, even if I’d put my cards (ha) on the table earlier today.
I turning an apology around in my head when I look up at her again. My eyes travel from her heavy-lidded eyes to the startled smile on her lips to the bra straining against my white t-shirt. Any semblance of rationality leaves my brain as quickly as it had arrived.
And perhaps because I’m so intent on distracting her, perhaps because she’s staring right back at me, my wallet slips from her fingers, clattering to the ground.
I’m not sure if it’s good or bad — but the moment is definitely over.
“Oh!” Autumn gets out of her chair and bends to grapples beneath the table. “Sorry, I’m... a little clumsy. As you may have noticed.”
I get up from my seat and reach her in two quick strides. “You? Clumsy? Couldn’t have guessed!”
I drop to my knees to help her, her wry smirk containing as much sass as if she’d flipped me the bird. Autumn turns to pick up the wallet — but before she’s even touched it, her cheeks flood bright red.
“Oh!” She retracts her hand as if I’ve shocked her. “S-sorry! I…”
I give her a curious look and then glance down to where my wallet has fallen.
And then — just as my previous confessions had slipped through my lips — a mortified chuckle bubbles out, too.
Oh, fuck!
I cover my mouth and promptly turn as red as she is. A condom (one I hadn’t even known about) has slipped from the inside of my wallet to the hardwood floor.
Now, you’re probably wondering how it’s possible that I hadn’t even known about a condom in my own wallet, but that answer is simple if you remember my younger sister is simultaneously the best and the worst person alive.
I swear I’m not a violent person, but I could pummel her right now.
Since puberty, Sylvie’s had this cute little ‘habit’ of pick-pocketing the wallets of her brothers (myself included), shoving condoms inside, and slipping said wallets back in our pockets, all before we’ve even noticed. Last night, an extension of this weird little practice had presented itself in the form of an entire bag of toiletries being ready for Autumn to use… but I won’t mention just how useful this had been, lest it encourage Sylvie in the future.
Anyway, Sylvie refers to this fun little wallet activity as “saving the world from more Boscos.” I call it “borderline theft, definite psychopathy.” Tomato, tomato, I suppose!
I don’t know how long the condom’s even been in there. It’s just out on the floor, staring right at us, and despite what we’d shared last night, it still feels… intimate… to address the elephant in the room.
Well, I think numbly, unable to move from my perched position. At least I hadn’t even started on my apology for hitting on her. Or my half-hearted attempt at explaining how I’m not a
huge perv.
Just as I’m debating the merits of claiming that I can’t see the condom (and that it’s a symptom of her concussion), I hear the stirrings of a melodic, tinkling laugh from beside me. I chance a glimpse over at Autumn’s still-red face — but to my relief, I see that now it’s bright red with the strength of holding back an even greater torrent of laughter.
And all at once, I realize that everything about this entire situation is too hilarious to take seriously: I burst out laughing, too.
Before I know it, the two of us are sitting there on the floor, cackling so hard we can barely breathe as we clutch at our sides for relief. Tears are streaming down Autumn’s face as she doubles over, and even though I’m in the throes of my own laughing fit, I can’t help but catch a glimpse down the front of the white shirt I’d gotten for her...
The wine must be hitting harder than I thought, because I don’t even notice I’m still staring until Autumn clears her throat.
“Earth to Asher,” she mutters, looking away.
Shit. I’m struck with that familiar gut instinct to apologize profusely, but then I take a closer look. Autumn’s still blushing, her eyes averted, but the tiniest corner of the mouth is twitching up.
If I hadn’t spent the last six months studying her, I might believe she’s embarrassed. She certainly has all the telltale signs, from the flush of color to the lack of eye contact. But I have studied her — for better or for worse. She’s not looking bashful like she had in the parking lot all those months ago. Instead, her face is exactly like it had been when I’d told her she’d cause an even bigger mess back on the overlook. It’s remarkably similar, even to how she’d looked just before she’d let me taste her…
I swallow, setting my jaw. She’s turned on.
And try as I might, I’m tired of denying it. Regardless of where this leads, I’m done ignoring nature. I’m sick of pretending Autumn and I don’t share primal instincts that are stronger than bureaucracy and red tape and the demands of this job.
All at once, my vision narrows to the beauty in front of me. She’s gorgeous and perfect and lovely as she peers at me through her dark lashes… and if she hadn’t taken things one step further, I might have been able to resist her.