Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AMES
Although I was nervous when I first held the Glock, as I’ve seen firsthand what damage bullets can cause, I’ve got a morbid fascination with causes of death, so have flicked through a few books in the library studying it.
Of course, my official studies would be more about looking at the trajectories a bullet had taken and blood splatter information, but my curiosity extends further.
While I was cautious about handling a weapon, I’d really enjoyed this morning. Once I’d gotten a handle on what I was doing, I found it came naturally. At least I might have better luck at winning trophies at carnivals now that I can line up a target. Or perhaps not, those things are always fixed.
One part of this morning that I also didn’t find as distasteful as I thought was when Rattler had put his body around me, helping me get into the right position.
I’d gotten butterflies in my stomach. Had I imagined his cock poking into me?
I must have done. He hates me. And I hate him…
only today, maybe I didn’t find him quite so distasteful.
Now I’m following him back into the cabin.
I can’t help watching his exaggerated limp, worried he’s been standing too long on his ankle.
I resolve, once we’re back inside, I’ll get him to ice it again.
Luckily, I’ve got in the habit of refreezing the peas every time he uses them.
I make a mental note to throw them away when they’re no longer of use—heaven forbid what would happen if someone tried to eat them after they've been frozen and defrosted multiple times.
After I catch up with him, I casually slow my pace to match his. As we walk, I notice the sun has disappeared and the sky is darkening. “Storm coming,” I warn him. As if to prove I’m right, a peal of thunder sounds in the distance.
“It’s some way off,” he states.
A blinding flash illuminates the area around us, and this time the roar comes from almost right ahead. On cue, the heavens open, and saucer-sized raindrops start landing around us. Both of us speed our steps, wanting to get out of the trees.
“Lean on me.” I put my arm around him and try to hurry us along, not quite sure whether I’m helping or not. But we do seem to move faster, now he doesn’t have to put all his weight on his gimpy leg.
By the time the cabin comes into sight, both of us resemble drowned rats, and shivers rack our bodies.
One thing I hate about my home state is how quickly the temperature drops during a summer storm.
It’s even worse out here in the mountains, as the temperature is cooler to start with at this elevation.
We crash through the door together in our eagerness to get out of the monsoon.
My teeth chatter as I tell him, “I’m going to get out of these wet clothes.” Without waiting for an answer, I race through the living room and climb that loft ladder as fast as I can.
Then I go to the bedroom and start wriggling out of my form-hugging jeans, wincing at how the denim sticks to my wet legs, regretting I chose fashion over practicality.
Next time I shop, I really must consider how fast I can strip off after having been caught in a storm.
Finally free, I take hold of my shirt and pull it off over my head.
My underwear is also soaked, so my panties, socks and bra land on the soggy heap.
I’m just heading toward the closet where I know there’s a pile of clean towels, when my door bursts open.
“Are there any spare…”
I swing around as Rattler’s voice trails off, finding him come to a stop inside the door. With one hand, I try to conceal my breasts, with the other, I attempt to protect my modesty.
Instead of immediately backing out, he huffs out, “Well, damn.”
In turn, rather than yelling at him to get out, my eyes are drawn to the only article of clothing he wears, tight briefs, which, especially when wet, leave nothing to the imagination.
It’s only when I see his package growing in front of my eyes that I squeal, sidestep with my hands still in place, then, turning my back on him, reach into the closet and grab first a towel to put around myself, then, suitably covered, I pull out another which I toss to him.
He catches it in one hand and then wraps it around his waist. “Thanks, babe.” He winks. “Nice ass, by the way.”
Utterly mortified, I stand in place until he smirks, then turns and leaves.
Insufferable dick. And to think I was starting to soften toward him. Surely, he could have guessed that I’d be in a state of undress. Part of me envies him for obviously wearing looser jeans.
As I start drying off, my face turns red as I realise I might be being unfair.
I didn’t exactly avert my eyes either. In my defence, I’ve never seen a near-naked man before.
Actually, that’s not true. Growing up, I’d seen my brother in just his underwear before, but his cock certainly didn’t grow, and I hadn’t bothered to stare.
Oh, and there was that time when I’d received an unsolicited dick pic on my social media account.
The image had been seared into my brain, but I didn’t recall it looking anything like as impressive or being anywhere the size of the outline I’d just seen.
Rattler’s probably seen hundreds of naked women and obviously has no need to be ashamed of what he’s packing in his pants.
But does it mean he’s attracted to me? Or would any female body turn him on?
I’m hoping it’s the latter. So far, being at the cabin together has been awkward for both of us.
What just happened has the potential to make things one hundred times worse.
I throw the towel onto the heap of washing I’ve compiled, take my time finding dry panties and bra, then extract the only other clean pair of jeans that I’d brought with me. Sitting on the bed, I pull on my socks. Then, I sit with my head in my hands, wondering how I can go downstairs and face him.
Nice ass. Mentally, I raise my middle finger toward him.
Nice dick, I should have replied.
Then I blush red. I was right not to say anything. I shouldn’t even have noticed.
In absolutely no hurry to face him. I put the wet clothing into a pile ready to take down, then straighten the bed that doesn’t need straightening. I tidy the drawers where my clothes are already neatly laid out and idly notice that the sun is once again streaming in through the windows.
The summer monsoons have come at inconvenient times before, but surely none worse than this.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me that breakfast was a long time ago, and I could do with something to eat. Metaphorically pulling up my big girl pants, I tackle the steep, almost vertical steps leading downward again.
He’s fully dressed now and is back lying on the couch. My face once again flushes as I refuse to look at him, but my eyes seem drawn to take a quick sideways glance at his now jean-covered groin.
Embarrassment makes my voice sound utterly unlike my own as I ask, “What do you want for lunch?”
In a low, gruff tone, he responds with something that sounds suspiciously like, “What I want is off the menu.” Then he clears his throat. “Anything you want to scrounge up is fine with me.”
I quickly find my brain is screwed. I open cupboards and close them without noticing what’s in them, so I go back and repeat my actions. Then I decide it’s not worth further thought. Tomato soup and grilled cheese worked yesterday. There’s no rule that says it won’t be good enough for today.
The familiar actions of preparing food start to steady me.
My mind settles enough that I remember to go out to the freezer and extract the frozen peas.
Then, finding a tray on top of a cupboard, I place his lunch, the peas and a bottle of beer on it.
Taking a deep breath, I force a smile and return to the main room, then set it down on the end table next to him.
He sits up lengthwise, takes the makeshift poultice with a relieved sigh, and places it on his swollen ankle. Then he regards his food and narrows his eyes. “You not eating?”
I give myself a mental shake, telling myself nothing’s really changed.
He’s seen me naked, so what? He hadn’t tried to jump my bones.
All he’d done was give me a compliment. Now it’s time to return to normality, or else we’re never going to survive the next few hours, let alone the days or weeks ahead.
“I’ll just go get mine.”
It’s only midday, but I help myself to a glass of wine. When I place it on the table next to the chair I’ve come to think of as mine, I notice his raised brow, and that his lips are curved.
We eat in silence. Then I clear the plates and wash them up.
“Ames?” he calls out. “Could you grab me some ibuprofen, please?”
I take the medication to him along with a glass of water. “Your ankle hurting?”
“Like a fuckin’ bitch,” he agrees. “Think I did a little too much walking on it today.”
I give him a sympathetic glance, then retake my chair.
After a while, I start to fidget. I’d rather be outside than stuck in this cabin, but I know he won’t agree to my leaving alone.
I should have brought a book or something with me, but Satin had borrowed my e-reader, so I’d had to leave it behind.
“Do you want to watch TV?” he asks.
I shrug. I’m not really one for daytime television.
And even finding a film or continuing the series we were watching yesterday doesn’t excite me.
I’d rather be active. Back home, in my free time, if I wasn’t running, I’d do some Pilates or yoga.
But there’s no fucking way I’ll be doing the downward dog or baby pose in front of him.
He shifts his ankle into a more comfortable position, then suggests, “I think I saw some games in the cupboard by the side of the fire. Why not see what’s there?”
My brow furrows. Games? But anything’s better than twiddling my fingers. I get up and go over to see what I can find.
What I’m after is on the lower shelf, so I sink to the floor, kneeling back on my heels. “There’s a chess set, but I don’t know how to play.”
“Me neither,” he answers.
“Scrabble? Monopoly?”
He groans. “Let’s wait until we’re desperate.”
I pull the board games I’ve already found out, then peer in to see what else is there. I grin as I extract the next box. “Twister?” I risk a glance at him, hiding my smile.
“Much as I’d like to see you contorting yourself, I don’t think I’m up to it.” He grins. “Anyway, we haven’t got a caller.”
I nod. “True that.” I’m actually relieved. Just the thought of Rattler straddling me to get his hands or feet on the coloured circles has an unwanted effect on me. I continue looking. “There are a few jigsaws… oh, and…” I pull out my next found and wave it triumphantly. “A set of cards.”
“Now you’re talking. Gin Rummy?”
I haven’t played that for years. “Sure, if you remind me of the rules.”
He gets out his phone. “I’ve just got to refresh my memory. Oh, yeah.” He proceeds to read the instructions for how to play the game.
Once we’ve both got the hang of it, we start. Whether it’s down to luck or skill, he wins three games in a row. Which obviously pleases him, as he looks up and grins. “Should have placed bets.”
“I don’t have money to throw away.”
The corners of his mouth turn up. “What about strip Gin Rummy?”
I doubt that’s even a thing, but I blush in any event. “No fucking way.” He’s already seen more than I wanted him to see. “Let’s play Snap.”
“Strip Snap?” He raises a brow.
“Get lost,” I growl.
But he acquiesces, and we’re soon playing the child’s game.
He swings his legs off the couch so he can pick up speed.
Pretty soon, we’re laughing and pulling the piles of cards together as we each shout ‘Snap’.
And hey, this time I win, not just the first, but also the second and third games.
Then he starts to react faster, and soon we’re even.
When we’ve both had enough of the cards, he asks about the jigsaws. I find one of an old steam train, and we move to the dining table and start the puzzle, both of us first finding the edge pieces.
Occasionally, our hands touch. At first, I pulled away and apologised, but as we start building the picture, I stop saying sorry. I realise this afternoon we’ve become far more relaxed around each other than we’ve been up to now.
The laughter, the smiles, and the minor achievements as one of us finds a critical piece seem to flow easily.
The picture’s only half-finished before I realise time’s moved on, and I should start thinking about dinner.
When I suggest it, he shakes his head. “Babe, you’ve done all the cooking. How about I throw a couple of steaks on the grill?”
“Your ankle?”
He dismisses my concern with a wave. “Standing still ain’t going to be too much of a problem.”
While I accept his offer to make dinner, and appreciate the sentiment, of course, it’s me preparing the baked potatoes and the salad to go with it. To give him his due, he seasons and grills the steaks perfectly.
After eating, we do switch on the television and pick up the biker series where we left off yesterday.
We watch in companionable silence. Part of me is focused on what’s happening on the screen, while another part is reflecting on the events of the day. Apart from the embarrassment of him seeing me naked, I’ve had more fun than I can remember in a long time.
Maybe Rattler—no, he asked me to call him Flynn—well, maybe he’s not as bad a companion as I thought he’d be.