Chapter 4 #2
“Yeah, yuck,” I huff and drink nearly half the contents of my beer before wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Dakota’s cool
though. And Stevie is getting so big. Going to be one soon, which is wild to me.”
“Has Everly gone back to Dublin yet?”
“Not yet. Two more weeks.”
She nods thoughtfully. “You’re going to miss her.”
“I know,” I reply heavily. “I’m trying not to think about it too much.”
“At least you have Stevie nearby. And Evil Ethan still visits the mountain, I’m sure.”
“Oh yeah he does.” This makes me smile as I fumble with the label on my beer bottle.
She has a nickname for my nephew just based on the number of conversations we’ve had about my family.
I like that she knew them before we went to Mexico.
And when we were there together, just as I expected, she fit in with everyone so easily.
How does she not see how good we could be?
I shake my head and focus back on our conversation.
“Stevie giggles for everyone except Ethan. She is not a fan of that little terror.”
“Oh my God, that’s funny.”
“I know. I think he’s just too wild and unpredictable for her. Of course, he’s mortally offended and tries way too hard. It’s
only making it worse for the poor lil guy.”
“Does she laugh for you?”
“Easily,” I reply with a smile. “I was babysitting for Wyatt and Trista last week and I had her full-on belly laughing with
Rufus. I know how to get him riled up and she loves the sounds he makes. I have a video if you want to see.”
“Um, yes!”
I pull out my phone and Roe leans in close as I play the video of Stevie and my rooster. The scent of her wafts over me so
I close my eyes and inhale more deeply. Eucalyptus and green tea. I know that’s what it is because her lotion is always out
on the counter in her bathroom. She made me use it on my hands once when she saw how dry and chapped they were from working
outside in the cold. I hated eventually washing my hands after that application because I liked having her scent on me.
God, I’m so fucked.
“What’s new with your domestic situation?” I ask, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth. Roe gives me a dubious
look and I hold my hands up defensively. “I’m just wondering if I need to be shopping for a wedding gift for you.”
“I wish.” She buzzes her lips as she hops back down off the counter to go check her pot on the stove. “The husband hunt continues. But I had a great idea last night when I couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh, what’s that?”
“Man of the Mountain,” she exclaims, wagging her brows at me.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about lumberjacks, Luke!” She scurries back over to me and perches on the open stool, legs spread wide in that
laid-back rough and tumble swagger she has about her. “Think about it. They’re simple creatures who work long hours and make
shit money, so getting free rent for a year just to marry me on paper would be a no-brainer for them. I’ve been around enough
to know they barely even come home. They’re usually out in logger towns for two to three weeks a month.”
“So, then what? You’re just going to live with one of them for one week a month? Here?” I look around like a second bedroom
is going to materialize any second.
“Yeah.” She shrugs and glances into her living room. “I know it’s only one bedroom, but I can take the couch. It’s not like
my insomnia lets me sleep much anyways. It still counts as living together but we’d barely have to live together. Isn’t this
great?”
She shoves me playfully, almost knocking me off my stool. The girl seriously doesn’t know her own strength. I shake my head,
still processing everything she just said. “So, for one week a month, you’re going to let a stranger come stay here with you?”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re making it sound worse than it is.”
“I really don’t think I am,” I reply, shocked that this idea feels even worse than her online dating for a husband.
“Maybe he won’t be a stranger.” She gets a coy look in her eyes and walks back into the kitchen.
I shoot daggers into her back. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that I’ve maybe hooked up with a couple lumberjacks that I’ve met at this competition in the past, so I might as well
marry one I can possibly reap some fringe benefits from. After so many weeks out in the forest, it turns out they are very grateful in the bedroom.”
My hand tightens around my beer bottle so hard I think it could break in my hand. I knew Roe did casual sex. Hell, so do I,
so I’m not judging. We’re young, unattached people. Sex is normal. I’m not trying to be a dick about this.
But we haven’t really spoken about our conquests to each other. We’ve sort of tiptoed around it in all the years we’ve been
friends. We exist in this safe space where our intimate lives cease to cross over each other. Hearing about her fucking lumberjacks
does not feel like a safe place for me. I feel very unsafe!
“Is there one in particular you want to reconnect with?” I ask, knowing I will probably hate the answer to this question.
“Not necessarily. I mean, I know a lot of them from all the years we’ve sponsored it. But we don’t exactly exchange numbers.”
She winks at me, and I feel a sudden urge to punch a wall. Or a tree. Or a logger.
I swallow the knot in my throat and pitch my voice to be casual, as heat crawls up my neck. “You find one to fuck every year?”
“No,” she laughs and wrinkles her nose. “My game isn’t that good. But the loggers are kind of perfect. They’re only in town
for the competition so it’s an easy no-strings sort of thing.”
“Last year?”
“Last year what?”
“Did you hook up with someone last year?” The year that I finally started admitting my feelings for you because I realized
my brothers and I were no longer on the same anti-woman page.
She frowns and pinches her face as she thinks. “I don’t think so.”
“The year before that?”
Her face twists with amusement. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Seems like something you should remember, isn’t it?” My tone is clipped, and my mouth is dry, so I guzzle the rest of my
beer and waste no time cracking open another.
“When was the last time you slept with someone?” she asks, eyeing me with a challenging glint.
I lick my lips and shrug, not really wanting to answer this question but knowing I have to because I got so damn nosey with
her. “It’s been a while. Usually my brothers and I would go out in Denver together and it was easier when we wing-manned each
other, but since they’ve all wife’d up, things are different.”
“Dry spell,” Roe peals and strolls over to prop her elbows on the counter across from me. She rests her chin on her knuckles
and gazes deeply into my eyes before she presses her finger between my brows. “Maybe that’s why you seem so grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy,” I huff and lean away from her to drink more beer. Beer is my only friend right now. Beer will save me from
this sweet hell I find myself in.
“Then stop scowling.” She turns around to start dishing up our food. “I think this lumberjack plan is genius. And if I find
someone I can hook up with during this whole stupid yearlong cohabitation, that’s a double bonus. Casual sex with my husband
sounds just crazy enough to work. Bring on the loggers!”
She draws out the last sentence in a growly singsongy voice, so I down the rest of my second beer and reach for number three.
I’m going to have to crash on Roe’s couch or call my brothers for a ride home tonight at this rate.
We sit side by side at the counter eating and my mind races so much I barely taste the food.
I know I’m eating it though, because the spice is causing my forehead to dampen with sweat.
No wonder Roe only ever sees me as a friend.
She’s used to hulked-out lumberjacks in the bedroom.
They probably wouldn’t even react to spicy food.
I am weak compared to them. A mere mortal.
She begins sharing her animated tales of proposing to Bullhead and Chuck the past few weeks, but I barely hear her. I begin
cataloging every woman I’ve ever slept with and wondering how I was able to win them over so easily. The nice guy thing has
always just kind of worked for me, but Roe seems completely oblivious to my charms.
Was it having my brothers as wingmen that helped? Do I not have game? Surely I’ve hooked up with women without them being
in the room.
Right?
Fuck.
Is that what I’ve been missing with Roe? I need a wingman?
I polish off the last of my beer and stare at my plate, realizing I’ve stress-eaten two bowls of jambalaya and at least four
slices of Roe’s homemade sourdough. Normally I wax lyrical about how her bread is so life-changing, but my taste buds still
don’t seem to be firing at all cylinders.
I’m a mess.
“I bagged up a loaf for you to take home,” Roe says, cutting into my mental freak-out.
I turn my head and find her smiling softly at me, and I swear that smile makes me feel like I’m the only man in the world.
Why does she do that? Why does she look at me like that? It fucks with my head, and it makes me want to shove that bread off
the counter, spread her legs wide and devour every square inch of her instead. At least until she forgets any lumberjacks
who ever touched her.
I’m positive Addison Monroe tastes better than bread.
I bet her lumberjacks aren’t “grateful” for her bread like I am. They probably don’t even eat it. They probably eat bark and nuts and live game they kill after they’ve fucked it because they’re so desperate for sex out there in the woods, they’d fuck anything.
They could fuck and kill Roe too.
They have access to a plethora of sharp objects and all the skill sets required to cut up a body into small enough pieces
that no one could ever identify it.
Jesus I’m getting dark.
I’m buried so deep in my thoughts that I don’t even realize I’ve said my next sentence out loud until Roe asks, “What was
that?”
I blink to find we’re standing side by side at the sink washing dishes. I don’t even remember walking over here, but my hands
are currently wrist deep in soapy water.
Licking my lips, I repeat what I just said while staring at my hands, “Marry me.”
“Not this again.” She elbows me and the warmth of her skin on mine causes a riot of goose bumps to move up my arm.
“I’m serious this time.” I turn to stare at her, grabbing a towel to wipe my hands dry. I’ve aborted my mission of trying
to get my friend to fall in love with me. Now I’m simply trying to prevent her from getting murdered or raped or assaulted.
Fuck.
I’m losing it. I’m going off the rails here and need her to say yes to this or I don’t know what I’ll do.
She frowns up at me, her long dark lashes fanning her cheeks as she blinks rapidly. I chuck the towel to the counter and reach
into my pocket to pull out the list that Everly doctored up for me. It’s crumpled and I feel like a seventh grader passing
a note to a cute girl in class just like I did with the stupid letter I gave her, but fuck it, it’s now or never.
My best friend’s life is at stake.
A nonappreciative-for-Roe’s-bread lumberjack, with all the necessary skills to dismember a body, could be the one she chooses . . . and he could then kill her, hide the bits of her body anywhere, and then—
“Luke, what’s going—”
“I’ve thought this through,” I murmur and as she begins to unfold the paper, I feel sweat collecting on the back of my neck.
“I’ll be outside. Let me know when you’re ready to discuss.”