Mountain Man

by Jules Barnard

  That doesn’t sound good.

  I shake my head. “He’s usually out during the day, but he comes home around this time… before he heads out again with his friends.” I hope I’m not getting Tyler in trouble. We’re adults, but the way Maddie is looking at me, I feel like I’m under the parental inquisition.

  I never had that with my mom. She pretty much let me do what I wanted, which is probably why I compulsively self-monitor my activities and attire.

  “Hmph.” Maddie’s mouth twists and she looks off as if worried.

  “Is everything okay?”

  She smiles, though it doesn’t reach her bright blue eyes. “I’m sure it’s fine. Tyler missed a few pre-semester meetings. His employer got in touch with me. They thought something had happened to him. Must be a mix-up.” She doesn’t sound convinced.

  Tyler has been distracted. Not particularly happy, but happy to monopolize our television. He certainly doesn’t act like a guy who plans to return to Colorado anytime soon.

  “Don’t worry about it, honey,” she tells me when I have no answer for her. “I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  I have no doubt Maddie will. Cali’s mom is badass. She reminds me of Maryanne in that regard. No bullshit and not likely to put up with it. I have huge respect for Maddie, and that’s why her words on the slutty front are more reassuring than anything my mom could have said.

  I’ve spent my life trying to not be like my mom. Until Lewis, I kept sex bottled up and compartmentalized. The couple of orgasms I’ve experienced came from the two times the A-hole, of all people, was particularly attentive. Letting go like that requires a loss of control I rarely allow. The A-hole had no hold over my heart. I wasn’t worried he’d damage it, and I was right. In the end, he only hurt my pride.

  With Lewis, intimacy is like a vortex of sensation. Control is the last thing on my mind.

  I’m worried I’m turning into my mother, like some sort of latent sluttiness gene is suddenly taking hold. I’m still not sure how I stopped at Cave Rock. The impending orgasm shocked the hell out of me. With the A-hole, those two times were blips in a stark horizon. With Lewis and the intensity of a simple kiss, I could see it happening all the time, and that would be bad. If I can’t control my body, how will I protect my heart?

  Lewis shows up at the door, wearing a thin heather-gray sweater over a plaid button-down, the sweater and shirt sleeves rolled and bunched to his elbows.

  He had to show off the forearms. He really has no idea what they do to me.

  My hands shake as I grab my purse from the counter and introduce Maddie to Lewis.

  “Enjoy yourselves,” she calls, and winks as we make our way out the door.

  Christ. Why did I mention making out in public?

  “Cali’s mom seems nice,” Lewis says as he veers his car off the strip and winds down a side street.

  “She’s amazing. Cali’s really lucky.”

  He glances over. “You’ve never mentioned your family.”

  Exactly. I try to avoid that conversation. But if the point of going out is to get to know each other… “There’s only my mom.” My gaze flickers to him. “No dad. Never knew him.”

  Lewis pulls into the parking lot of a nice-looking restaurant that has spiraled topiaries on either side of the entrance. “What’s your mom like?”

  And this is why I don’t talk about family. I don’t want people to assume I’m like my mom, but I won’t lie to Lewis. “Eccentric, beautiful, youthful.”

  “Beautiful and youthful I could guess by the look of her daughter.”

  He thinks I’m beautiful?

  “How is she eccentric?” he asks.

  We walk into the restaurant and my neck stiffens at his question—and from the look of this place. It’s French. The kind of over-the-top fancy restaurant my mom drags me to. “Well,” I say dryly, “for one, she’s obsessed with anything French. She legally changed her name to a French surname.”

  Lewis studies my face and follows my gaze, taking in the ornate furniture, white tablecloths, crystal dishware—“Come on.” He grabs my hand and heads out the door.

  “Where are we going?” I glance at the stunned hostess.

  “There’s another place that’ll be better for our first date.”

  I look at him skeptically. “Really?”

  “No.” He grins and opens the Jeep. “But it will be more comfortable.”

  “You don’t have to do this.” I hold the door he’s trying to close.

  He leans down and kisses me softly on the lips. “I want to make you happy.” A warm sensation fills my chest. “I’m no good at dating.” He gestures over his shoulder to the restaurant. “I heard this place was nice, but I don’t care where we go as long as you’re with me.”

  Wow, that was… pretty perfect.

  He shuts the door and I wonder how deep I’m getting myself, and if that’s wise. And what exactly did he mean when he said he wasn’t good at dating? He’s only had the one girlfriend, but I figured he went out.

  A few months ago I would have shied away from prying questions, but now I need to know. With Lewis, I want to know everything. We drive for a bit before I bring it up. “Why do you think you’re not good at dating?”

  Lewis shrugs as we pass the state line into Nevada. “I don’t take women out.”

  Yeah, about that. Maybe this will explain more of the Mira issue. “Why?”

  “Part of the reason is—” He clears his throat, his gaze flickering to me. “I never needed to. You know, date. To be able to spend time with women.”

  “So how did you… Ohhh.” Of course he didn’t. He’s a rugged mountain god. Women throw themselves at him. Jesus, like I did. “You went home with women, not out with them.”

  He squeezes the back of his neck. “I told you I had a girlfriend in college,” he says as if to lighten the fact. “The last couple of years I haven’t had a strong enough connection with anyone, and I, well, have obligations.”

  Is Mira one of his obligations? His only obligation? I can’t think of anything that would prevent a guy from getting close to women for such a long period of time. Only, that’s what I’ve done, isn’t it? Kept my distance? I’ve had relationships, but I have never let guys know me until Lewis, and only then because he’s seen things I didn’t intend him to.

  “You’re not attracted to women anymore?” I tease to lighten the mood. If we’re both new to this, how will we know what to do? Will his obligations allow whatever this is?

  He glances over with a sardonic smile. “You know that’s not true.” He lifts his eyebrow and I blush. He grins, as if pleased by my reaction, and returns his attention to the road.

  “Okay, so you’re attracted to women. Most guys I know usually like to do something with that.”

  He gives me a sidelong glance with a crooked smile.

  “Right,” I say. “You’ve done things. Hookups.”

  I hate thinking of him with other women. What if that’s all we’re doing, hooking up? He’s taking me out on a date, which by his definition is rare, but what if I’m still assuming too much, like I did with the A-hole when I didn’t question his frequent trips to his hometown? What if I want more than Lewis does? My heart echoes in my ears and my breathing increases—

  “Gen.” Lewis grabs my wrist and frowns. He shifts between looking at the road and watching me with a worried look on his face. “I said I don’t date. That’s why I’m telling you this. You’re not like anyone else. You make me”—he huffs out a sigh, the end of it fizzling on a groan—“kind of crazy, actually. I want—I just…” He looks at me pleadingly. “Want.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Lewis pulls into what can only be described as a dive bar. One that may or may not serve food, depending on your definition of food. There’s an image of a trout next to the sign. I’m not sure if that’s part of Rotten Roy’s logo, or an indication of the cuisine available.

  Inside, we are by far the best-dressed people in the place. In fa
ct, I could have worn flip-flops and fit in at Rotten Roy’s. Neon beer signs decorate the walls. The pink pig over the pool table holding a stick with Nice Rack written on it is my favorite.

  Lewis guides me to a table in the back. A cackle of male laughter punctuated by a bout of hacking, as if the person overcome with humor is also a heavy smoker, accentuates the white noise of glasses thunking on worn wooden tables and conversation. Despite the ruckus, all eyes are on us as we pass.

  Normally, I avoid this kind of attention, but there’s no avoiding it around Lewis. How can people not stare? Even dudes check him out, likely for different reasons than women, but still.

  “It’s a little rough in here, but the food’s decent.” Lewis hands me a laminated menu, sticky and curling at the corners. “The guys from work and I come here often.”

  Rotten Roy’s seems the type of place to serve low-grade diner fare, but I don’t question his taste. Who doesn’t want greasy food now and then? I scan the menu and order nachos when the waitress arrives.

  Time to throw him one of his own questions. “What’s your family like?” Payback is only fair.

  He shrugs. “I told you a little about my mom, and you’ve met my dad.”

  John Sallee. “Your dad was very nice when I came in and asked about the mudder.”

  Lewis takes a gulp of the water the waitress set in front of him. “We’re sort of polar opposites.” I raise my brow. “My dad’s a bit of a talker.” And Lewis isn’t, though I get the impression he’s shared more with me than he does with most people. “Hang out with him for thirty minutes and you’ll know his life story.” He looks up, as if realizing how that sounded. “Not that that’s a bad thing. He’s a great dad.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. “I never knew my father, so I don’t know what I’m missing.”

  A beat passes, then, “Why don’t you know your dad, Gen?” I squirm in my seat. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to pry. I just—I want to know you.”

  I shouldn’t tell him. He’ll think the worst of me.

  “I don’t know my dad,” I say, “because I don’t know who he is.” I wait and let that sink in. “My mom’s had… she’s had—boyfriends. Lots of them. Do you know what I mean?”

  He nods slowly.

  I don’t know why I’m telling him something I’ve never told another soul. A part of me wants him to know. Another part wants to push him away before I really get hurt.

  I glance at the table and rub a score in the top. “I’m pretty sure my mom lives off her boyfriends,” I say quietly. I tuck a lock of dark hair behind my ear, my hand falling restlessly to the table.

  Several seconds of silence pass. I should never have told him. This is it, the moment he ditches me. Panic grips my chest as I realize belatedly that I’m already too invested. If he leaves me, it’s going to hurt like nothing I’ve experienced.

  Lewis reaches across the table and squeezes my fingers. “I’m glad your parents got together, or we wouldn’t be here.” He grins. It’s saucy and sexy, and my mouth spreads into a wide smile.

  My dirty secret is no longer a secret. There’s no judgment from Lewis, only support, and suddenly, I feel lighter and happier than I ever have before.

  I’ve never shared my theory about my mom with anyone, including Cali, and telling Lewis gives me confidence. Not to go out and shout it to the world or anything, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned this summer, it’s that omitting information from best friends doesn’t end well. I need to share this with Cali too.

  We don’t talk about my dad, or my mom, or Lewis’s parents. Our food arrives and I’m too busy shoveling in nachos and leaning across the table to bite into Lewis’s coronary waiting to happen, also known as The Destroyer—a burger so massive and dripping with grease that I literally fear for his life, enough to help him out with the beast.

  Lewis steals a chip attached to two others dripping with cheese and steak from my plate. “What do you think about playing a game of pool?”

  I eye the chip drifting into his mouth. “Hey, I had my eye on that one.”

  He grins.

  I look back. The pool table is empty. I drum my fingers. This is it. My chance to kick some Lewis ass. All week—well, really for like the last couple of weeks, but who’s counting?—Lewis has battered my athletic mojo with his mudder boot camp. But give me a stick and a ball and I will crush him.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say casually. No need to alert him to the ass-whooping I’m about to inflict.

  We grab my water and the root beer float he ordered after his heart attack burger—apparently, his stomach is a bottomless pit, which I admire greatly—and select cue sticks from the wall.

  Lewis racks up. “Ladies first.”

  I’m trying to keep the smug grin off my face, but it’s a challenge. He deserves so much shit for what he’s put me through, but I don’t want to out myself yet. “Why, thank you.”

  I casually survey the balls and screw up my face as if uncertain.

  Leaning over, I aim, draw my arm back, and strike the cue ball and V at the end of the table with a loud crack. Two stripes and one solid go in.

  Lewis scrubs his chin. “Played before?”

  “Maybe.” I grin, because I can’t hold it in any longer. I don’t plan on giving him a chance to shoot.

  I sink three more stripes in corner pockets and prep for my fourth, when I sense Lewis behind me. Trying to distract me?

  Nice try, but all that crazy boot-camping trained me to focus. I slide my cue stick back, focus on the triangle of my cue ball, the side bar, and the right corner pocket and… smell him.

  “Good luck,” he whispers in my ear, a hairsbreadth away.

  I’ve already begun thrusting my stick forward and I can’t stop now, but the angle is off. I strike the cue ball wrong, which chips off the right of the purple 12-ball, which then ricochets into no man’s land, the cue ball sinking in the corner pocket.

  “Crap.” I gape at him. “You totally did that on purpose.”

  He tries to hide a smile, but his lips twitch.

  The rest of the game continues in this vein. Me running the tip of my stick up Lewis’s calf while he’s making his shot, Lewis grazing his knuckles over my ass when I’m making mine. I win, but it’s a close thing with all the groping—I mean, distractions.

  We’re parked in the chalet’s driveway and I’m searching for my keys, because no one ever remembers to turn on the porch light and I won’t find my keys in the pitch-black Tahoe night if I step out of the car.

  New house rule: the last person to leave flips on the light or pays in dishwashing duties.

  By the time I find what I’m looking for, Lewis has my car door open and is waiting for me. We walk to the entrance, and suddenly I’m nervous.

  Will he ask to come in? Should I wait for him to, or offer first? I really don’t want this night to end. To say I’m attracted to Lewis is an understatement, but he’s also fun and I feel close to him.

  In the dark of the front door, Lewis leans down and kisses me gently on the lips. “So, can I see you later this week?”

  “Yeah,” I say dreamily. Wait—later? “You don’t want to come in?” That didn’t come out as casual as I intended, but he threw me with his attempt to leave so quickly.

  He glances at the door, seemingly conflicted. “It’s our first date, so… I’ll call you soon, okay?” He turns to go.

  What the eff?

  “Lewis, the rule of nothing more than a kiss on the first date only applies to people who haven’t done more than kiss.” I grin suggestively. And why am I suddenly a desperate chick trying to get laid?

  Oh yeah, because I am.

  He grips the porch banister, his expression serious. “I want to do this right, Gen.”

  We just ate at a fish shack and played gropey pool, I think, but don’t say. I raise my hand, bewildered. “And the right way is waiting for the next date?”

  He shrugs one shoulder, his face uncertain.

 
; “Fine,” I say, and run into my bedroom. I tear off my dress and grab sweatpants and a T-shirt from the top of the hamper. They could be clean, they could be dirty. I’m not even sure they’re mine.

  I don’t care.

  It turns out the bottoms are Cali’s, given they’re four inches too short, which I could have determined had I bothered to flip on the bedroom light.

  What I’m about to do isn’t smart or cautious. It’s downright brazen. But nothing about Lewis leaving feels right, and ever since I started going with what feels right, things seem to be working out.

  I want him to stay. With me. Tonight. I’ve never wanted anything more.

  I run back and wobble against the doorframe, crossing my legs at the ankle to hide the heels I’m still wearing. Lewis must have stuck around for a second after I left, because he’s only now reaching the Jeep.

  “Lewis.” He turns. “Date’s over.” I wave my hand down my wrinkled, too-short sweats. “Want to come in?”

  For a second his face is blank, then it shifts into something focused and resolute. He shuts the car door, clicks the key fob, making the headlights flash, and walks past me into the house.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In my haste to tear off my clothes, I didn’t notice the dim light glowing from Cali and Jaeger’s tent. No sign of Tyler, though, so at least I have the house to myself. Not that I’ll need all of it.

  “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea, but do you mind if we hang out in my bedroom?” Lewis’s eyebrows rise, a hit of a smile on his face.

  I guess I’m not fooling anyone. “C-Cali’s boyfriend, Jaeger—he’s staying with us,” I stammer, because damn. I don’t want him to think I’m like this with everyone. The more I’m with Lewis, the more I want to jump him, and kiss him, and touch him.

  It’s totally his fault. It’s been like this from the beginning and that fateful dinner party. He rocked my peace of mind and broke down decade-old walls. “Space is tight, so they’re sleeping in a tent outside.”