Chapter 7
Dean
What. The fuck. Am I doing?
I should have never made moves on Grace like that. I’m out of my goddamn mind, and this proves it. She’s my guest, not my girl.
Although, it would be amazing if she was mine. I’d have her so spoiled rotten, she’d never want to leave Bear Creek to go back to… wherever she’s from.
If Nick wasn’t here, I’d have that woman screaming my name until her throat was raw. Three orgasms wasn’t enough to fill me and I crave her again already.
But her attitude confuses me. She was so prickly when I said I had to go.
Fucking hell, does she think I used her?
Does she suspect I’m one of those assholes who takes what they want and walks away afterwards?
My stomach clenches with worry.
“Mornin’,” Nick says, hopping out of his truck with two coffees.
Oscar runs around him excitedly and bumps his leg, nearly taking him out.
When I make a sharp whistle in warning, she stops, looks at me for a hot second, then ditches Nick, runs past me, and makes a beeline to Grace, who’s standing on the porch with a steaming coffee mug in her hand.
I wave like a tool because I don’t want to pretend like I can’t see her watching us. She smiles back and I’m a little floaty with hope that she’s not mad at me for leaving her so suddenly just now.
Nick slaps my back, jarring me. “Ready to get this day going, bro?”
He’s here to help me install the bathroom in cabin 2 today. The instant I got my hands on Grace, I completely forgot he was coming over this morning. Honestly, I forgot my own fucking name and everything else, too. Grace is infiltrating every cell in my body, every thought in my head, and every instinct I own. Now, with her scent all over my beard, my dick is hard enough to drive straight through concrete.
And I’m supposed to install a tub and some cabinets like this? Talk about torture.
Oscar leaps onto Grace’s porch. She’s not usually this interested in guests, unless it’s a kid. She typically sticks with me, but it seems Grace has become her new favorite human.
I get it.
“Is that the woman from the bar last night?” Nick asks, knowing damn well that it is. Grace is so gorgeous, her image burns into your brain the instant you see her. You can’t unsee that kind of beauty. Or ever forget it.
“She’s rented the cabin for two weeks.”
Nick’s eyebrows rise, and before he can ask any questions, I open his tailgate and get to work. “I appreciate your help, man.”
“No problem. ”
He keeps staring at Grace.
I might beat him in the head with this new toilet if he doesn’t stop.
“Just let me put my stuff down,” he says, still facing Grace’s direction.
She scratches Oscar’s head and sets her mug on the railing, then digs her cell out of her coat pocket. With both of us watching her, she hops off the porch and starts walking towards her car.
Oscar follows closely.
Too close.
“Whoop!” Grace pinwheels her arms and stumbles because of course my damn dog just tripped her.
“Oscar, get back here!” I snap, frustrated that my dog knows no boundaries, and neither do I at this point. “Leave Grace alone.”
“She’s fine.” Grace says, giving my hard-headed demon spawn of a pet another head scratch.
“Ready?” Nick climbs into the back of his truck. “One, two, three.”
We lift the massive freestanding tub out first and carry it inside.
When we come back out to grab the toilet and the rest of the stuff, Grace is driving away.
“Come on girl, get inside.” I’ll be damned if I’m letting Oscar run around without someone to make sure she stays out of the stream. I’m not giving her another bath, and she can’t be trusted unsupervised.
Halfway into our installation, Nick sets up his phone camera.
“You’re kidding me. ”
“Content is content, Dean. Don’t judge me.” He strips out of his shirt. “I never thought I’d be here, but… thirst trapping isn’t so bad.”
He’s such a liar. He loves the attention. The man has more followers than I do. Probably because he posts a ton more than me or our friends.
Nick started his account with shirtless grouting videos. Then he went viral with a carpet stretching video and it fed his ego to the point where he makes more thirst traps than me, Bennet, and Conner combined.
Well… if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.
I strip out of my shirt too.
“This is humiliating.” I toss my flannel on the ground.
“That’s because you’re not looking at it right. It’s fun, man. Lighten up a little.”
Maybe it’s fun for him, but not for me. I’m always so in my head and feeling awkward. The most comfortable one I did was this morning, and that was because I thought of Grace and only Grace… not the hundreds of thousands of other people who might see my post.
I’ve learned a lot about lighting since I started making these videos, and the sun is perfect for a quick reel right now. Being a content creator is exhausting. It takes me three tries to get my cell camera aimed in a flattering way, but I manage to lean against the tub, shirtless, and stare into the screen.
“As much as I love you dirty, baby, how about a soak in the tub?” I cut the video and look over at Nick, feeling his gaze on me. “What?”
“Is that the best you got?”
“What’s wrong with it? ”
“Give me your phone.” He snags my cell from me and balances on the rim of the tub, hovering over me. “Try again.”
“And say what?” I’m flustered and annoyed. We have too much work to get done. Distracting ourselves with thirst traps is going to make me fall behind more.
“Oh, grumpy Dean is hot.” He snaps a picture. “Work it, baby, work it.”
I flip him the bird and try to sit up. “This is ridiculous.”
“Lay back down, man. Give me a chance.”
“To do what? Make me feel like more of an idiot?”
“You never give yourself enough credit. Put your arms back up over your head and bend them. Don’t flex, but don’t… not flex.”
“You’re annoying me.”
“There it is…” He snaps more photos and then I assume starts a video. “Say something.”
“Like what?”
“Anything. Talk dirty.”
I’m out. “Nick.”
“Come on.” He doesn’t budge from balancing on the tub rim and if I knock him down, he might get hurt. He’d deserve it, but…
Fine. I’ll give him what he wants so we can get back to work.
Lying flat on my back, I stretch my arms out and tip my head back. “Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?”
He doesn’t say a word.
I imagine Grace in the tub with me.
“You like it when I get you wet, don’t you?” I tip my head forward and stare at the camera. Nick’s gone. It’s just Grace’s image I’m concentrating on. “Bath time is more fun with two, isn’t it?”
No one can tell that this tub isn’t filled with water or even hooked up properly. And if they’re paying attention to the porcelain, then I’ve failed at my mission.
I blink a couple of times, waiting for Nick to stop the recording.
He’s still frozen above me.
“That’s it,” I say. “That’s all I got.”
Nick still doesn’t move.
“Bro, you good?”
“Huh?”
“You good?”
Nick hops down and seems to come out of his stupor. “That was hot. You’re not my type… but that was hot. You’re going to make bank with that one. Nice work.”
Loading the video with the caption, “Slippery when wet” , I glare at the number of notifications I have.
Two hundred and seventeen new notifications. And they’re all from the same account. Good lord, I have a stalker. Someone’s liked every single post I’ve made and…
They commented on my one from this morning.
Is the sun the only thing rising this morning? #woodfordays
The account just has a Red Sox logo on it with no posts. Hmmm. My thumb hovers over the block button, but something makes me hesitate. Grace saw my account. She brought up my handle the other day, and that can’t have been a coincidence. Is she this Red Sox person ?
Not likely. She doesn’t seem like a baseball fan. Then again, I know zilch about this woman’s interests.
Other than she seems to enjoy beard rides.
Regardless, I imagine Grace would have a pretty stocked account if she was on this app. I’ve seen her make videos and take pictures already. Is she a content creator too? An influencer of some kind?
Typing Grace Finch in the search bar pulls her right up and yeah, just like I thought, she’s got a ton of posts. Jesus, she also has a gazillion followers.
Hang on.
My heart pounds in my chest as I start scrolling through her stuff. She’s been all over the world. Like… everywhere. Japan, Dubai, England, Greece. The list goes on and on. Everything is set to trendy music. And each one has my girl smiling and laughing.
Not my girl.
My guest.
A link at the top brings me to her other platforms and the views just get better and better. She has an even bigger following on the Gram. Holy hell. A bunch of these posts are paid partnerships, according to the tags. I wonder how much she gets paid to…
Hold up.
Is that… Grace in a Red Sox jersey? And who the hell is the dude with his arm around her? Jealousy coils in my gut because I can’t hold a candle to this man. He screams big money and muscle.
When big bro loses a bet, he has to pay the bill. Thanks for having us, Fratellis. Your lasagna is divine!
Okay, that’s her brother. Phew. But also, damn. I knew Grace was a princess, but I honestly didn’t know how very true that was until now. She’s got photos of herself at beaches that don’t look real, on red carpets with celebrities, and rooftops dining with food on her plate I’ve never seen in my life.
And she wants a break from all that?
No way. She’s lying.
Before I can deep dive into a Grace Finch rabbit hole, Nick slaps my arm. “Come on, this pipe, just like you, can’t lay itself.”
Ain’t that the fucking truth .
While we install the tub, my thoughts stray to Grace a bazillion times. It makes the entire morning and most of the afternoon torture. I’m not certain who jumps up first when the sun glares off her car as she pulls up to the cabin, but Oscar beats me to the window and we both watch her.
Why does my chest feel so warm when I look at her?
And why is she carrying a bag of food and drink caddy over to where we are?
Her sunglasses hide most of her face, but her fresh lipstick looks dynamite, just like the rest of her.
Nick stands next to me. “You’ve got it bad, bro.”
“Shut up.”
He’s right, but I don’t care.
My heart pounds when she knocks on the door. My palms are sweaty when I open it.
“Hi.” She beams a smile brighter than the sun. “I brought you guys lunch. Hope that’s okay.”
Is she for real? “That’s very kind of you, Grace. Thanks.” I back up, making room for her to come inside the cabin-in-progress. “Here, let me get that.”
I try to take the drink caddy from her, but she won’t let me. “I got it. ”
She storms past me, forcing Nick to move out of her way too, and holds the bag and caddy over her head when Oscar jumps around her. “Sit!”
Oscar listens to Grace. Tail sweeping across the wooden floor, she keeps her butt in place and obeys.
“Wow.” Nick laughs. “If I wasn’t seeing this with my own eyes, I’d never believe it.”
Oscar doesn’t listen to anyone except me, and that’s only on special occasions. I can’t believe she’s behaving for Grace—especially when there’s food and spillables present.
Grace heads into the dining area and puts everything down. Then she pulls something out of her pocket. “Who’s my good girl?”
Oscar’s tail smacks the table leg so hard it’s a miracle she doesn’t break it. When Grace carefully holds out a new dog toy, I hold my breath, scared Oscar will accidentally nip Grace because she can’t control her excitement.
“Easy, girl,” I warn her. “ Easy .”
Oscar gently takes the little lamb from Grace, then bounces away with it, chomping on the squeaky thing with glee.
I don’t buy Oscar toys anymore. She destroys them in less than a day and never touches them again. When she was a puppy, it looked like a stuffy massacre in my house, and buying her new toys all the time was too expensive. I stick with wood now. I can get that for free.
While the cabin fills with obnoxious squeaking sounds from the toy, Grace speaks over the chaos as she empties the to-go bags. “I got a little of everything. ”
My stomach rumbles the instant I smell meat. God, I’m such a cave dweller. I haven’t eaten since last night—Grace’s pussy doesn’t count—and I’m fucking starving. We’ve been busting our asses so much today I’d completely forgotten to eat. So had Nick.
No surprise there. When we set to a task, nothing else matters except getting it done. We sit down for the first time all day, and Grace pops the lid off her box. It’s a quesadilla.
“Again?” I ask, teasing her.
“Until I’m sick of it.” She takes a big bite, showing off an impressive cheese pull. Which she quickly takes a selfie of. Her gaze flickers to Nick and she shrugs. “I can’t help myself. Everything is content if you want it to be.”
Nick’s gaze very dramatically swings to me and his dimple pops out with his big annoying smile. “You’re a content creator too?”
I kick him under the table.
Which Grace catches and pretends she doesn’t.
Nick watches the two of us, hiding his smile behind a chicken sandwich. “So, Grace. Where are you from?”
“New York.” She wraps her pretty lips around her straw and sucks down some of her drink. “You?”
“Born and raised about ten minutes south of here,” he says proudly. “Dean and I have been best friends since he—”
“Do you like baseball?” I ask, cutting Nick off. I don’t want him talking about what made me move here, or anything personal yet.
“Oh yeah, I do. I’m a Red Sox girlie all the way.” Grace takes another big bite and talks with her mouth full. “Please don’t tell me you’re a Yankees fan. I’ll have to leave.”
“I’m not a baseball guy at all,” I say, thinking that’ll ease her concern.
She gawks at me like I’ve just confessed murder.
“God, I thought you were so perfect until this moment, Dean. That’s so depressing.”
“I’m not into sports.”
“None at all?”
“Nope.” For some reason, this feels like a challenge I’m rising to, and I have a terrible urge to press her buttons. “I have better things to do with my time than watch men throw balls around.”
“Really?” Grace leans back in her chair and sucks down more of her drink. “Like what, Mountain Wood?”
The use of my thirst trap handle has embarrassment heating my face, but I pretend it has no effect on me. “Hunt. Fish. Chop wood.”
“Sounds lonely and violent.”
Oscar manages to get the squeak mechanism out and she’s now flinging the limp lamb around.
I take another bite of my burger. “I guess it is.” Does she think I’m pathetic for what I like? “I enjoy being busy and productive. I also love being out in nature.”
Grace stares at me for longer than I’m comfortable with and now I’m second-guessing everything I’ve said. Shit, she’s probably turned off by me now. Not that I blame her. I love what I love, but lots of women aren’t into hunting and fishing. They don’t like hard labor or getting dirty. And that’s okay. I don’t mind doing all the hard stuff for my wife… if I ever get one, which isn’t likely .
“I went fishing a few times,” she says, breaking the awkward silence. “I didn’t catch anything other than a great tan though.”
The image of her in a bikini soaking up the sun makes my mouth water. I take another bite of my burger.
“Anyway… did you know that there was a guy called the Christmas Tree killer who owned a Christmas Tree Farm? He’d take couples out to find their perfect holiday tree in the woods and let them think they were going to chop it down themselves, but really, he’d hack them up and hang their body parts like ornaments in the forest instead.”
Her change in subjects makes me choke on my burger. I cough so hard, Nick smacks me on the back.
Grace chomps on her quesadilla and does a happy dance wiggle in her seat.
Nick and I are slack-jawed.
Unfazed that she just traumatized us with that gory serial killer summary, she tosses a hunk of chicken up in the air, and Oscar catches it. “Who’s a good girl?”
Nick and I are still speechless.
Her cell rings and she looks down at it, her perfectly shaped eyebrows pinching together as she taps the screen and flips her phone over, ignoring the caller.
I want to know who it is, even though I have no right to pry. But her demeanor changes in a blink, which alarms me. She’s gone from happy to stiff. I don’t like it.
“Well, I’ll leave you guys to it,” she says, closing the lid on her box. “I hope the workday’s almost done for you. ”
We thank her again for the food and wait for her to leave. Then Nick and I sit in silence for a few minutes.
“That woman…” he whispers, slowly turning to me, “is psycho.”
My grin nearly cracks my face in half. “She’s incredible.”
“What the fuck was that about a Christmas Tree Killer?”
I shrug.
“Why would she be into that?” Nick shivers. “Bro, she did a happy dance in her chair while talking about it.”
True. And it was adorable. But I think she was dancing over her food, not murder. “Lots of girls are into serial killers,” I say, defensively.
“Yeah, I guess. I have no idea why though. That shit creeps me the fuck out.” Nick crumples up his trash and puts it in the bag Grace left behind. “Come on, let’s finish up and get out of here.”
Oscar raises her head, her ears perking up, and then she runs to the door barking.
Worried something happened to Grace in the ten seconds she’s been out of my sight, I peer out the front window to find her.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
Nick comes to my side and looks out the window to see what’s just put me on edge.
A new car has pulled up, parking directly behind Grace’s. And I know this fucking vehicle. It belongs to that New York asswipe who wants my property and doesn’t know how to take fuck off for an answer.
“Who is that?” Nick asks .
“It’s the guy from New York.”
“Shit.” Nick wipes his hands off with a rag. “You want me to get the spare pipes? We can chase him out of here together. Or beat him until he gets the message that you’re not selling. I’m down for either.”
Both options sound appealing, but my concern isn’t that he’s back.
It’s that he’s talking with Grace.
The city prick closes the space between them, his mouth moving a mile a minute, and she shakes her head. Then she looks back at the cabin we’re in, but I don’t think she can really see me at this distance. The sun glare on the window hides me.
My heart is about to fall out of my fucking ass watching them talk. It’s obvious they know each other.
“I told you she was an op.” Nick’s tone is as disappointed as I feel.
Fucking hell.