Chapter 5 Harris #2
“You little liar!”
By now, the entire yoga class has gathered around, everyone amused and staring, including two women who look old enough to be my grandmother. They’re positively delighted.
“Did you see that?” Elijah yells to the crowd. “She straight-up dropped him, dude!”
“I’m posting this to X,” Miles adds, holding up his phone, which has unquestionably recorded the whole thing. “This is fucking fantastic.”
I groan, flopping backward into the water so I’m floating, arms outstretched. Stare up at the blue sky.
“You’re such assholes.” I sulk. I want to look cool in front of chicks—not be caught with my dick in my hand.
“Oh, come on,” her voice calls down to me as I float. “It was a joke. This is how I flirt.”
I lift my head. “You’re flirting with me?” ’Cause that would be awesome.
“Actually no—I’m fucking with you.”
I roll, letting my feet reach the sandy bottom of the lake. “Wow.”
The audacity.
Water drips from my clothes, which are weighed down, my hair plastered to my forehead. I give my head another shake, much like a dog would after a bath, and stray to the edge of the dock. Plant my hands against the wood, pushing down to lift myself out.
One, two—
My feet slip, hands scrabbling against the slick dock, and I crash back into the water with a splash that echoes across the lake.
Laughter erupts again, Elijah practically choking as he doubles over, and Lucy? She’s holding her stomach, shoulders shaking, unable to hide her delight.
I surface, glaring. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
“Extremely.” She wipes at her eyes, breathless from laughing. “You’re making my entire morning.”
“Well. I’m a swamp monster now,” I announce to them all, accepting my fate. “Forever damp.”
This time I’m successful, planting my hands more carefully on the dock and then hauling myself up in one determined motion. I flop onto my stomach first like a seal—real graceful—before rolling onto my back, clothes dripping, water pooling around me.
Kind of like I’m bleeding out.
“I am never coming here again,” I grumble. “And you can’t make me.”
Lucy stands over me now, hands on her hips. “If you’re this horrible in the water, how on earth are you going to perform in a logrolling competition? You can barely hoist yourself up!”
Oh shit.
“You ever seen a professional logroller?”
“No.”
“Well, there’s your problem—we come in all shapes and sizes.” I get to my feet, pushing my soggy hair back. “My grandpa was a legend—three-time logrolling champion of the Midwest.”
I am such an amazing storyteller!
Her lips twitch, and she’s trying to look impressed. “Three-time champion?”
“Yep.” I nod solemnly, tapping my chest. “It’s in my blood.”
“What’s in your blood?” Elijah looks up from his phone, catching the tail end of the conversation. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing, you pipe down.” I shoot him a glare before turning back to Lucy. “Traitor.”
“The wilderness is making you crazy, dude, I swear,” he mutters.
“Some people appreciate talent, Elijah,” I fire back so he zips his yap. “Like my new friend Lucy here.”
I smile down at her. She’s so super talented, especially twisting and turning that lithe little body of hers.
She sure is gorgeous.
Lucy bites down on her bottom lip as I try to keep my eyes off her cleavage. “Is that what you’re doing today? Rehearsing with Annabelle and the guys?”
Rehearsing?
The word hits me like a slap to the face. Then when I think I have no idea what she’s talking about, it hits me: She’s talking about lumberjack practice down at the marina.
I nod enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Big day.”
She tilts her head, squinting up at me like she’s sniffing bullshit. “What events do you rehearse?”
Miles snorts. “Yeah, Harris. What events do you rehearse? Tell us.”
I shoot him a warning glare, mentally willing him to shut the fuck up. I need my friends to disappear, but they’re hanging around, lingering like farts in the wind.
“You know . . .” I wave a hand vaguely, as though the details are too intricate to explain. “The usual stuff.”
Lucy’s brows arch higher. “The usual stuff? Like logrolling?”
My friends’ brows all shoot into their hairlines simultaneously.
“Of course.” I double down because why quit now? I am on a roll. A logroll, get it? Ha ha. “You think champions wake up one morning and say ‘Hey, I’m gonna roll a log today’? No. It takes commitment. Practice. Skill. Years of grueling dedication.”
Elijah wheezes next to me, completely unhelpful as he fake coughs the word idiot.
“Bruh,” I grind through clenched teeth. “Go somewhere else.”
He ignores me, still panting like he might actually choke. He loves this shit. He lives for drama, on and off the playing field.
But Lucy? She studies me, confusion beginning to mar her pretty features.
“You know,” she says slowly. “I would love to stop by the marina later and watch you in action. If you don’t mind.”
My brain flatlines. “What?”
“I’m sure Annabelle wouldn’t mind—the lumberjack thing was half my idea to begin with.” She laughs. “We were out one night brainstorming, and one too many glasses of wine later . . . here you are.”
Uh. “Can’t wait.”
“Well.” She inhales a fresh breath of mountain air. “This was a fun morning, but I have to pick up these mats and get to an appointment.”
With that, she begins collecting several borrowed mats, rolling them as if she’s done it hundreds of times before. Looking as if she hasn’t wrecked my entire afternoon.
“Need a hand?” I offer, though I’m not sure if I’m being polite or panicked, my friends watching every move I make. They’re invested now.
“I’ve got it, but thanks.” She flashes me a quick smile over her shoulder, all the mats now securely tucked under her arm. “See you at the marina, Lumberjack.”
Lumberjack.
“See you,” I choke out, careful not to turn my head, lest one of my buddies decides to—
The second her car door slams and the rest of the class is gone, my friends are on my ass like flies on shit.
“It’s killing me to hear her call you a lumberjack.”
“It’s my favorite new nickname.”
“Have you actually been hanging out at the marina?” Quinton asks, narrowing his eyes like he’s interrogating a criminal. “Please tell us you’re not actually logrolling. You’re gonna get hurt.”
“I’m not,” I lie. I do not owe them answers. “I mostly watch.”
Elijah bursts out laughing. “You are such a fucking idiot.”
I snap, glaring at him. “Lumberjacking is my new kink.”
“Kink?” Quinton folds his arms, grinning. “If you don’t tell us what you’re up to, we’re going to start following you around—we will not rest until we know what you’re up to.”
Damn him!
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, because there’s no universe where the truth sounds normal.
“It’s complicated,” I start. “We ran into each other yesterday morning, and she assumed I was a lumberjack, and . . . I didn’t correct her. So yeah, I may or may not dash down to the marina and check it out.”
“Wait, wait, wait. So you are logrolling? I’m so fucking confused.”
“I’m pretending to be a missing lumberjack.” I avoid all eye contact and slide into my flip-flops, staring down at them like they’re the two most interesting objects in the world.
Quinton throws his head back, sputtering. “A missing lumberjack? How do you become a lumberjack?”
“You are such a fucking idiot,” Elijah says again.
“It just happened.” I start the slow walk to the parking lot, and they trail along beside me. “We crashed into each other, started talking—and when she asked if I was a lumberjack, I thought it was so fucking funny that I—”
“Lied through your teeth?” Elijah cuts in, grinning so wide he might actually explode. “And now you’re the star of the fall festival?”
He’s saying it like it’s a bad thing.
“I’m doing the Lord’s work.”
“Yeah. You remind us so much of Moses.”
We reach my truck. I whip around to face them, hands raised like I’m about to deliver a motivational speech. “Listen. You guys are acting like this is impossible, but I thrive under pressure. You know this better than anyone. If anyone can learn how to roll a log in a few hours, it’s me.”
“So what’s your plan? Google videos?”
“Great idea.” We pile into my truck. “Hadn’t thought of that.”
“You’re telling me,” Elijah says, still laughing, “that you’re going to master the art of logrolling on the internet.”
“No, jackass—I’m going to watch and pay attention to the pros. How hard can it be?” I boast, shoving my key into the ignition, more confident than I was down by the lake. “You can learn anything by watching.”
Quinton lets out a wheeze as he buckles his seat belt. “Yeah, like how to humiliate yourself faster.”
“Or how to write your obituary,” Elijah adds, still grinning in the back seat. “Because, buddy, that’s where this is headed.”
Oddly, I’m willing to take that chance.
What’s the worst thing that can happen?