Bishop Ridge

by Cate Ashwood

  Jackson

  “My mom sent me a care package, so we have snacks for the road,” Witt declared, holding up two giant Tupperware containers of cookies. “Chocolate chip and butterscotch ripple!”

  “Shotgun,” Ollie shouted, sprinting toward my truck.

  “Fine, but you don’t get to control the music like a fucking fascist dictator,” Spence called after him, stopping to swipe one of the containers from a confused-looking Witt.

  I was only a few years older than the other guys, but sometimes I felt like it was decades instead.

  “Everyone, shut the fuck up,” I said, stepping up into the cab. “I’m driving, so I pick the music. No arguments. And if you don’t like it, you can get out and fucking walk.”

  “Whoa, what crawled up your ass and died?” Spence grumbled.

  “Maybe it’s been too long since he’s had anything in his ass,” Ollie said, snickering.

  I opened my mouth to tell both of them to fuck off when someone else chimed in. “Another road trip, gentlemen?”

  I looked past my open door to see Silas walking toward my truck, a sour look on his smug fucking face.

  “Yep.” I slammed the door shut, hoping to shut down the conversation at the same time. No such luck. Silas might be my superior when I was on shift, but that didn’t extend to my days off. On my days off, he could go fuck himself. He was an arrogant little prick who spent his working time ego tripping and his time off planning his next power play.

  Personally, I thought most of the bravado and bullshit came from jealousy. No one liked him. No one wanted to spend time with him, and living in a place as isolated as this with no friends had to get lonely, but it was his own goddamn fault. If he wasn’t such a prick, people would be more willing to spend time with him.

  “Witt’s already agreed to work an overtime shift tomorrow night.”

  “We’ll be back in plenty of time,” I assured him.

  Silas shifted his attention, peering through the open window into the back seat. “If I catch you working while hungover, you’re fired.”

  There was no alcohol allowed on-site, even in the bunks, but off-site, management had no say in what we did, so long as it didn’t cause unsafe work conditions once we were back on shift. There were random drug tests given every so often, but drinking was perfectly legal. And there was nothing Silas could do to stop us.

  I hadn’t known Witt long, but I’d never seen him take a single drink. A week earlier, the guys had come by my place to watch football. While the rest of us were blitzed out of our minds and shouting at the TV, Witt rinsed and sorted the empties. I woke up to a spotless house and a thank-you note taped to my fridge.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  The fact that Witt bent over so easily for him made me want to throat punch both of them. I rolled up my window, cutting off whatever Silas was saying, and started the engine. The last thing I saw as I peeled out of the parking lot was Silas’s face, flushed red.

  There was actually a part of me that was surprised my attitude hadn’t gotten me fired. Silas hated me—he didn’t make any effort to hide that fact, and there was probably nothing he’d have liked more than to give me my walking papers—but when I was at work, I worked hard, I did my job, and I kept my nose clean.

  I’d been living in Belcourt for almost four years, which was the longest I’d stayed in one place my entire life. Deep down, I’d had the itch for a while, the urge to switch things up and move on. Being stationary for too long fucked with my head, and I was starting to get to that place where I felt like a caged animal.

  I needed to get out.

  The bar in Juneau was one we’d been to a hundred times before. It played up the whole Alaskan Wilderness vibe to the point of being way over the top. It felt like stepping into a saloon during the gold rush back in the 1800s, only with hipster cocktails and a Mumford & Sons cover band who played way too loud after 9:00 p.m.

  It took all of three minutes after we’d arrived for Ollie and Spence to choose their marks and set to work trying to persuade the two unfortunate girls to touch their dicks. It was an awkward thing to watch, but the girls seemed genuinely into it, which never failed to baffle me.

  Maybe it was the fact that the guys were in shape—our jobs conditioned our bodies better than a gym ever could—or maybe it was that these women had been stuck on a boat for the last several days and the first red-blooded males to hit on them seemed like a good idea. Or maybe they were just really into the frat-boy type.

  Whatever it was, the two of them never seemed to have any trouble finding girls to take home for the night.

  Then again, I never had too much trouble either.

  I’d been horny as fuck all week, unable to think about anything but sex for days, but now that I was here, the effort of finding someone to pick up seemed like too much. Maybe it was the lack of sleep the night before—staying up to text with Logan had thrown me so far off my fucking game I couldn’t even see the field anymore.

  I ordered a beer and grabbed a table, planning to sit for a few minutes before scoping out the crowd. There was a man leaning against the bar, shooting the shit with the bartender, and on a normal day, he’d have been the guy I’d have narrowed in on and gone after. He was tall and lithe, his collared shirtsleeves rolled up and pushed back over his corded arms. The way he was standing, I knew immediately he was interested in going home with someone, and that someone would definitely have a dick.

  But the longer I watched him, the harder I convinced myself he’d already found someone he wanted. Approaching him, striking up a conversation, being subtle enough about what I wanted not to get beat in the parking lot, yet obvious enough that he knew exactly what I was after—the whole dance seemed like a lot of fucking work to get laid.

  That alone should have been a goddamn red flag.

  Usually, when we went on these trips it’d been a full month since I’d last got off with someone else, and now, it’d only been a few days since I’d fucked Logan. I told myself that’s why there was less urgency.

  Deciding that was a legitimate reason, my ass stayed glued to the chair, and I leaned back instead, enjoying not doing anything for a while. It was getting later, but I could have a drink first. Made sense not to jump on the first guy I saw anyway.

  “Can I sit?”

  I looked up, thinking maybe the universe had decided to make things easy for me tonight, only to find Witt standing over me, holding a glass of what was probably Gatorade.

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “Thanks.”

  He set down his drink and perched himself on the chair, his hands pressed between his thighs and his shoulders up around his ears.

  “You don’t wanna get out there and find someone to take home tonight?”

  “Uh… not right now. This isn’t… I don’t usually do things this way.”

  I laughed. “You mean you don’t follow Spence and Ollie’s method of hitting on anything that moves?”

  “Not exactly.” He huffed a breath. “Dunno if you’ve picked up on this yet, but I’m not all that outgoing.”

  I laughed. “Hadn’t noticed.”

  Witt smiled as he stared down at his lap. “Stuff like this has never been easy for me. Dealing with people, in general, isn’t all that easy for me. Coming here—Alaska, I mean—that’s the bravest thing I’ve ever done. And it took me a long time to get up the courage to do it.”

  I couldn’t relate, but I understood. “Why’d you choose Belcourt?”

  “The on-paper version is that there was a job opening. The real reason is that I was trying to push myself.” He took a drink. “I needed to get out of where I was, and this seemed like a good option—I’m working on stepping out of my comfort zone… pushing past boundaries. You know what I mean.”

  “Maybe you should start with standing up for yourself with Silas.”

  Witt cringed, then took a long pull of his drink. “I know.”

  “You can’t take his shit, or he’s
gonna walk all over you.”

  “I know that too.”

  “I’m not saying you need to be a dick about the whole thing, but let him push you around and he’ll push you further and further until you snap. And then you get fired.”

  “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

  I shrugged. “It’s happened more than once with a couple of the guys. He gets too far up in their faces and they go off on him. They’re gone the next day. Sometimes I think it’s a game to him, to see how long it takes for him to get under someone’s skin.”

  “Every day I think I can’t dislike him more, he proves me wrong.”

  “Sounds like Silas.”

  “So how come you’re not…” Witt lolled his head toward Spence and Ollie, who—from a distance anyway—seemed to be making progress with the two girls they’d latched themselves onto.

  I’d lost count of how many drinks we’d had, so maybe it was the booze talking, but hanging out with Witt was the most fun I’d had in Juneau in a while. I’m not sure what that said about the guys I typically went for, but I was too blitzed to question it.

  I shrugged. “Dunno. Just not into it tonight I guess. There’s no one here I like better than—”

  Witt leaned forward as I clamped my mouth shut.

  “Better than who?”

  “No one.” I lifted my glass and drained it.

  Witt stared at me for a second, as though he was trying to decide whether or not to press. Instead, he said, “You’re empty. I’ll buy. You want the same?”

  My shoulder was numb, and I couldn’t tell if it was the bullet or the booze. The first couple of drinks had gone down really easy, and I was filled with the warm heaviness that told me a few more and I’d be completely trashed whereas Witt sipped his drinks like a debutante.

  “Uh, sure, yeah. That’d be good,” I said.

  He scampered off and I bit back a laugh at how much he looked like a chipmunk with a balance problem.

  I watched him awkwardly talking to the bartender and wondered idly if that was Witt’s version of flirting. It was kind of a train wreck, and yet there was something sweet about it too. My drunken brain drifted to thoughts of what it would be like to fuck him.

  He was the perfect little twink—his body slim, his features delicate. But thinking about getting him into bed didn’t do anything for me. He wasn’t who I wanted.

  Witt came back a minute later with three drinks balanced in his hands. With awkward movements, he semi-crouched down to slide them onto the table. I grabbed one of the cocktails from him before he wore it.

  “Thanks,” he said, actually giggling as he slid into his seat.

  “Giving yourself alcohol poisoning on the list of life experiences you want?” I asked.

  “One’s for you.”

  “So, one for me, and two for you.” Maybe the single drink I’d seen him have had affected him more than I’d initially thought. His eyes were looking a little glassy, and he’d swayed a little when he walked.

  “Yeah.” He grinned holding up the first glass. “These are delicious.”

  “What the hell are they anyway?” They were bright blue and looked like they’d oozed out of a nuclear reactor somewhere.

  “Alaskan Iced Teas. They kind of taste like the Kool-Aid my grandma used to make.”

  “Was your grandmother a lush?” I teased.

  Witt stared at me for a second, and then his mouth pulled into a wide smile. “No, and I think if her church lady friends heard you ask that they’d be clutching their pearls.”

  From the way he was starting to slur, the drinks might not taste alcoholic, but they packed a punch and there was no way Witt would make it through two more and still be upright. “I’ll be sure to keep my mouth shut if we ever meet then.”

  Witt nodded like it was the most real thing he’d ever heard and went back to sipping his cocktail. I turned my attention back to Spence and Ollie, who were now making out with the girls up against the pool table.

  I checked out the rest of the bar again, my eyes scanning the crowd. A couple of times, my gaze caught on someone who I thought I might be interested in striking up a conversation with, but each time decided it was more effort than it was worth. Sitting with Witt, quiet, even though the rest of the bar was loud, felt a lot more relaxing than trying to navigate my way to a hookup.

  A loud snort next to me pulled my attention away from my idiot friends. Witt had leaned his head back on the booth and apparently had passed out. His mouth hung open, and as I leaned in to make sure he was still breathing, I could hear the sound of his snoring as he slept. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  With how the evening was progressing, I should probably have called it a night and lugged Witt back to the hotel to sleep it off, but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep myself. My body was tired—a full block of shifts on the rig saw to that—but I felt weirdly energized anyway.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened up the messages.

  JACKSON: Ever had an Alaskan Iced Tea?

  I set my phone down on the table. Why had I done that?

  I knew why, but I didn’t like the answer all that much.

  My phone screen lit up, the chime too quiet to be heard over the band that had just started their third set of the evening. We were closing in on midnight, but the place seemed to be getting busier with each passing hour. Usually, by now, the tourists had mostly retired to their rooms, but not tonight.

  I checked my messages.

  LOGAN: LOL. Yep. Once. About five of them. Never again.

  JACKSON: They look pretty fucking terrible

  LOGAN: It’s a shit mix of alcohol with enough soda and sugar to mask the taste. It’s a hangover in a glass.

  Another message came in half a second later.

  LOGAN: Are you at a 21st birthday or a bachelorette party? Those are the only two places I can think of where Alaskan Iced Teas are served.

  JACKSON: I’m babysitting. Sort of

  LOGAN: Is that some side hustle you haven’t told me about? And do the parents know you’re serving up boozy cocktails as bedtime drinks?

  I held my phone up and snapped a quick photo of Witt, then sent it.

  LOGAN: Should I be jealous?

  Logan

  Fuck.

  Why the hell had I said that? Nothing said clingy like admitting jealousy to a guy who wasn’t supposed to be more than a casual hookup.

  I was such an idiot.

  This was why I didn’t do shit like this. Cutting people open and messing around with their insides… that’s what I was good at, and that’s what I should have stuck to.

  My phone dinged, and I cringed as I held it up, my stomach flipping as I read.

  JACKSON: Of a lightweight kid passed out in a bar after a drink and a half? If you are, you might want to rethink your life choices

  I didn’t know if I was more relieved that the guy he was with wasn’t someone he was fucking or that he hadn’t gotten scared off over my text.

  LOGAN: How’d you end up on babysitting duty?

  JACKSON: Came out to Juneau for a night to let loose. Witt can’t hold his liquor

  The words “let loose” didn’t settle well on me, my mind supplying a variety of different activities. I couldn’t stop the influx of mental pictures—Jackson in all sorts of kinky, fucked-up situations—and here I was, sitting at home, alone, with a bottle of wine and a back copy of a medical journal I hadn’t gotten around to reading yet.

  I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. It wasn’t like I was some Lothario player who fucked his way through every eligible gay man in the state, but I’d had my share of hookups. The last year had been a bit drier, but I was by no means a stranger to a one-night stand.

  I was good at them. I liked the neatness of it. No messy entanglements, no crazy fallout when things went south. But this time around, I couldn’t keep my head in check, and things were starting to get carried away. All the warning signs were here, all the red
flags were up, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  I’d known it was a bad idea getting involved with Jackson. It had been stupid from the start. I’d skated a thin line with him being a patient, and now I couldn’t seem to get him out of my head. I was already attached enough that I was seriously getting jealous over some nonexistent mystery guy.

  I told myself I should cut this off now before it got way out of hand. I set my phone down and went to the kitchen for a refill. There was no reason to keep up the conversation. I should drink my wine, finish my article, and go to bed.

  Halfway through my pour, I heard my phone chime from the other room.

  It took all my restraint not to immediately run back in to check.

  That restraint lasted approximately eight seconds before I was picking my phone up off the table, the screen illuminating as I turned it over.

  JACKSON: My evening is a bust. Tell me yours isn’t as lame

  I was typing the reply before I even knew it. I was so in over my head it was embarrassing. But even now, as I was cringing at the thought of how badly I wanted to see him again, I couldn’t help myself.

  LOGAN: Not doing much tonight.

  JACKSON: Not very descriptive either

  I stared at the screen willing myself not to tell him I was sitting at home on a Saturday night reading medical journals. I would not.

  I was suddenly back in eleventh grade, with a crush so big I could hardly handle it, awkward and unsure, terrified I was going to say the wrong thing.

  For fuck’s sake. What the hell was I doing?

  I wanted him. There was absolutely no doubt about that. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since that first day. He consumed my thoughts the majority of the time, and even now, being this far away from him, with no chance of satisfaction, my body responded. This was supposed to be all about sex, and if I couldn’t get him out of my head, then maybe the best course of action was to give in until I got him out of my system.

  LOGAN: It’s not exciting. I’d rather be doing something else.

  JACKSON: Oh yeah? What?