3. Georgia
Georgia
Paul pulled in at exactly six o’clock, proving exactly what kind of man he was. Punctual. Capable. And currently holding a grease-stained brown paper bag from the Hungry Rooster in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other.
“I thought I’d bring dinner in case you were hungry,” he rumbled. “And the beers are for later.”
“That sounds great. Thanks, Paul. There’s nowhere to sit around here.” I could invite him up the hill to my grandparents’ house, but that felt kind of forward. So I asked, “Are you up for a picnic?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I rummaged behind the counter and pulled out a faded canvas tarp, spreading it over the grass by the side of the stand. Then I grabbed the two lemonades I’d made a few minutes before he arrived. One for me and one for him.
“This looks great,” I told him as we sat cross-legged across from each other, unpacking foil-wrapped cheeseburgers and a mountain of fries.
I picked up my mason jar of lemonade, the glass sweating in the sticky July heat, and pressed it against my chest for a brief second of relief. It didn’t do much to cool me down, mostly because sitting this close to Paul was doing wild things to my temperature.
In the fading evening light, he was ruggedly, stupidly handsome.
We ate fast, chatting as we did. I’d forgotten how good the burgers from the Hungry Rooster were. Austin was known for its great food, but it couldn’t hold a candle to a burger from the local diner here in town.
“So,” I said, wiping a crumb from the corner of my mouth. “Are you a rogue handyman who drives around the countryside helping people out, or do you have a day job around here?”
Paul chuckled, picking up a fry. “I’m a lumberjack over at the Harrison Logging Camp. It’s what pays the bills.”
“A lumberjack,” I mused, taking a bite of my burger. “I should have guessed.”
That’s what made him so sexy.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’ve got that sexy vibe of a man who works hard for a living.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re bold, Miss Georgia?”
Sex had been casual for me for years now.
A long time ago, back when I’d still lived on Red Oak Mountain, I’d dreamed of marrying young and popping out a brood of babies, preferably with a high school sweetheart.
But Austin was no small town. And any illusions about love had vanished around the same time I learned that most men who lived there were just into the hookup culture.
It looked like Paul Bunyan here might be an old-fashioned romantic type. I’d honestly thought they’d gone extinct.
“This world isn’t made for the meek, Paul. Better to be bold and go after what you want instead of sitting home alone on a Saturday night.”
His mouth dropped open, and I could see him thinking through everything I’d just said.
But he didn’t bite.
Maybe he has a girlfriend.
It was possible I’d misread everything about him. Could it be true that he was just being sweet?
I studied him for a minute.
He was a red-blooded, all-American stud. There was no way he wasn’t regularly fending off hordes of women.
Maybe he’s just not into me.
That was a real possibility. No one would accuse me of being petite-sized, and that was a priority for some men.
“What about you?” he asked, his dark eyes focusing entirely on me as he deflected away from everything I’d just said. “You moved away from here. Where do you live now?”
“Austin, Texas.”
“That’s a bit of a drive. What do you do down in Austin?”
“Marketing. I make ads for a software company. I sit in a cubicle and try to make software look sexy. It’s not glamorous.”
“Must be exciting, though,” he said, taking a bite of his burger. “Living in a big city. So much going on, always something to do. All those bright lights.”
“It is,” I admitted. “But… it’s never quite felt like home.”
He tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “Maybe because you’ve already got a home? You grew up right here on Red Oak Mountain, didn’t you?”
A familiar ache thumped against my ribs. He poked right at the bruise, entirely by accident.
“It’s complicated,” I murmured, staring down at my lap. “My parents moved me away when I was only fifteen. Now, coming back… it doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
Paul chewed slowly, his gaze dropping to the feast between us.
“No?”
I looked around. At this moment, it almost felt like it could be home again.
The sweet scent of honeysuckle filled the air, and the tall grass swayed lazily in the breeze.
The sun was out, dipping between slow-moving clouds, the fluffy kind that look so dang beautiful you want to spend the day staring up at them.
Austin was cool. But this place was… special.
It wasn’t so easy to just uproot a whole life over one pretty summer day, though. And after my parents moved me to Austin, I’d sworn I’d never move again.
“No. Austin’s home now, for better or for worse. I’m just here long enough to settle my grandparents’ estate.”
For a second, I thought he might ask me why. I almost wished he would. But he didn’t. He just nodded once, like he’d heard something he needed to hear.
The warmth in his expression didn’t vanish. It just eased back a few inches, tucking itself somewhere safer.
“Well,” he said quietly, his voice lowering slightly. “It’s a shame you’re leaving. I’ve really enjoyed meeting you, Georgia. And I do hope you find somewhere that feels like home someday.”
His mouth tipped up, but it wasn’t the same easy smile as before.
“This mountain’s not right for everyone, I guess.” He stood up, brushing off his jeans, and I could feel the shift in the air as he pulled back. It made my chest unexpectedly tighten.
Gathering the empty wrappers, he said, “I better take a look at that cooler.”
I stayed on the tarp for a minute, watching him work.
Somehow the last fifteen minutes had almost felt like a date.
But a wall had slipped into place as soon as I said Red Oak Mountain wasn’t home anymore.
I looked around. The farmhouse was in just as bad a shape as this roadside stand, and I hardly knew how to hold a hammer right-side up. Selling this property was supposed to be the practical, responsible choice.
But watching Paul crouch in front of the cooler, the faded cotton of his t-shirt pulling tightly across his shoulders, painted practical in an entirely different light.
Paul was a practical man, and he made it look sexy as sin. I could almost see what life with him would look like.
It was a dangerous realization, not just because I’d only met the man this morning, but also because it made the idea of staying feel possible.
Could I do it? I pondered.
I watched his ass shimmy as he forced something into place on the cooler.
Could I come back to Red Oak Mountain again?
“Got it,” he called out a few minutes later.
I scrambled up from the grass and walked over. The cooler’s weak rattle had smoothed out into a steady purr.
“You are an absolute lifesaver,” I said. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”
Paul stood, wiping his hands on a rag from his back pocket. “No thanks needed. Just being neighborly.”
Neighborly.
The word landed with a dull little ache. Earlier he’d looked at me like he wanted to know every secret I had. Now he was careful. Kind. Already tucking me back into the safe, distant place he’d decided I belonged.
Paul bent to gather his tools, and my chest tightened.
He was leaving because I had reminded him I was leaving.
He was so reasonable. So perfectly, frustratingly decent. And I felt a sudden, reckless urge.
Some wicked part of me, buried deep inside, wanted to see this man crack.
“Paul?”
He looked back at me.
“What if I thanked you with a kiss?”
His hand tightened around the pliers. For one long second, he didn’t move.
“Georgia,” he rumbled, voice low. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Probably not.”
“I’m trying to be decent.”
“I know. But maybe I don’t want decent.” I stepped closer, and his eyes got a little wild.
The easy, neighborly energy between us evaporated, replaced by awareness. I lifted my chin, feeling a rush of brazen confidence.
I wasn’t the only one feeling the heat between us. I was certain of it.
The low scrape of his heavy work boots against the old porch boards sent a shiver down my arms as he shifted his stance, turning fully toward me.
“Georgia,” he warned, his voice taking on a rough, cautious edge. “Are you sure you know what you’re asking right now?”
“It’s just a kiss.” My eyes hooded over as I took another step towards him. The air between us was crackling with energy.
“I’m quite a bit older than you.”
“You definitely are,” I agreed, not stopping until I was only inches away from his chest. “And it makes it even sexier.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped.
He looked like he was struggling with himself, and I knew his devil had won, because he reached out, his large, calloused hands gently cupping my face.
The first touch of his lips was a soft, questioning sweep that made my breath catch. But the second I parted my lips, inviting him in, the gentleness vanished. He groaned, pulling me flush against his solid frame, and our kiss turned wild.
My hands flew up, tangling in his short, thick hair.
I hadn’t been kissed like this in years—maybe never. Paul kissed me like he was staking a claim, his tongue sweeping my mouth with a hungry, demanding rhythm that sent fire pooling between my thighs.
I couldn’t get close enough. My hands slid down his broad back, feeling the hard shift of his muscles beneath his shirt. Then I inched my hands around to his chest, slipping one down to the front of his jeans.
No one had ever said I was shy.
I flattened my palm over the thick denim, immediately feeling the hard, heavy ridge of his arousal.
Paul ripped his mouth from mine, his chest heaving as he grabbed my wrist, stopping my hand in its tracks. His eyes were blown wide, dark, and completely feral.
“Georgia,” he rasped, his voice strained to the breaking point. “Are you sure? Because if we keep going, I don’t think I can stop.”
I looked up at him, my heart hammering a frantic beat inside my chest.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I lied, my voice breathy but firm. “It’s just sex, Paul.”
A flicker of something complicated crossed his face. Disappointment, maybe, or resignation.
Then his eyes glazed over with hunger as his jaw set tight.
“Is this what you want, Georgia? A wild ride you can leave behind?”
“I want right now,” I whispered. “That’s all.”
That was exactly what I wanted. To feel a piece of Red Oak Mountain. A memory I could take home with me.
He gripped my waist and effortlessly lifted me onto the sturdy, slatted produce rack behind us. The wood was hard against my ass, but I didn’t care. I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist, pulling his hips flush against mine.
“I can give that to you,” he growled as he nipped my lip.
Paul didn’t bother with a slow seduction. The lie I’d told him had stripped away his careful restraint.
His hands were everywhere, hot and urgent, making quick, desperate work of the buttons on my denim cut-offs. I shoved his t-shirt up, my fingernails scraping lightly against the taut skin of his stomach, desperate to feel him against me as he tugged my shorts off.
Then there was a moment of teasing as he flicked the tip of his cock up and down my wet slit until I was bucking and begging him to take me.
When he finally pushed into me, a ragged gasp tore from my throat.
Paul felt divine. He filled me completely, grounding me to the earth in a way that made the rest of the world blur into insignificance.
He braced his large hands on the wooden slats beside my hips, caging me in as he set a deep, brutal pace.
This wasn’t making love.
At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
But with Paul’s hands gripping my hips and the dusty wood biting into my thighs, the lie was getting harder to hold on to.
Every thrust sent a shockwave through me. I tipped my head back and let him take me, my fingers biting into his shoulders as I gave myself over to the sensation.
I had spent years in Austin feeling like I was floating outside my own life. But right here, with Paul’s hands gripping my hips, I felt rooted for the first time in years.
“Paul,” I whimpered, the sound of my voice embarrassing and entirely out of my control.
He ducked his head, his beard lightly scratching my sensitive skin as he buried his face in the crook of my neck. “You feel so damn good,” he ground out, his hips snapping forward with an intensity that made my vision actually swim.
“Is this what you wanted, Georgia?” he growled.
“Yeah.”
And even though I’d thought he was giving it all, I found out he’d just been warming up. His tempo increased, and I found out what it was really like to fuck a lumberjack.
Pressure coiled, hungry and hot in my center, winding tighter and tighter.
“You’re going to make me come,” I groaned as I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as my orgasm ripped through me, a full-body shudder that pulled a loud cry from my lips. The world exploded as every one of my nerve endings dripped with pleasure.
A second later, Paul went completely rigid against me. He groaned my name as his own release hit him, his body vibrating with the force of it. His cock released into me, and I felt every pulse of him as he filled me up.
His back bowed as he panted above me, seeming just as shattered as I was.
We stayed like that for a long time, the only sound in the roadside stand the ragged rasp of our breathing.
Eventually, our adrenaline began to recede. Paul slowly pulled back. He helped me sit up, righting my clothes with shaky hands.
Now that it was over, I was lost in a confusing swirl of pleasure and panic.
Everything that had just happened had felt so good. So why did I feel like I’d just handed him a soft, breakable piece of myself?
Nothing about the way he’d touched me felt simple.
I fumbled with my buttons, my chest still heaving. We were both panting, our hair a mess, staring at each other with wild, blown-out eyes in the dimming evening light.
That had been intense.
I expected him to smile or make a joke to cut the tension.
Instead, he reached out and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear, his thumb lingering on the pulse beating wildly in my neck.
“I wish it were more than sex, Georgia,” he said, his voice quiet and steady. “Because that just rocked my world.”