20. Dexter
DEXTER
We chartered a private jet to the Upper Peninsula the following week.
It was a schlep to get there from Vermont, involving two regional airports and a tiny jet that wobbled in the clouds.
The Sandringham estate abutted Lake Michigan on one side and a state park on the other.
It was a solid forty-five minutes from our Airbnb.
In a twist, my cabin had been leased through an agency I used for the summer by a semi-famous mystery writer.
I’d bought the place years ago with my ex and won it in the divorce, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been there.
Leasing it out had been the best option, which left me out of luck for this trip.
There weren’t a ton of choices on short notice, but the rental I’d settled on was on the lake and had its own dock. It looked nice enough in the online photos and if it wasn’t, we could always turn around and head back to Wood Hollow.
Viggo wouldn’t go for that. It had been a long day.
It was hard to believe jetting from one end of the state to the other had once been normal for me.
In my college days, I’d hop a flight in Lansing to Grosse Pointe or the UP or wherever I was expected to be.
I hadn’t thought twice about it till Troy had come home with me one weekend and nearly blown a gasket.
“You have your own plane? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“It’s not my plane. It’s…”
“Your family’s,” he’d finished. “Still weird, Dex. Still weird.”
Hey, I wasn’t completely ignorant. I’d known even then that my family was different.
Most of my teammates were from solid middle-class upbringings.
My buddy Joe’s mom was a teacher, his dad was a mailman, and get this…
they’d actually liked each other, the only time they’d traveled on a plane together was the summer they’d gone to Florida to visit his grandmother.
I hadn’t been able to relate. I’d never known my grandparents, my dad had opted for a guest-star role in my life, and my mother had been…busy. Always busy. I’d grown up with drivers, nannies, private tutors, and private jets at my disposal.
Now…I felt like a wary visitor. I used to swim in these waters, but it hadn’t been home for a long, long time.
Fuck, this was a bad idea.
I slid my sunglasses on my nose and glanced out the window of the four-person jet. “We should be landing soon. How you doin’?”
“I’m better than you are. Drink this.” Viggo uncapped a water bottle and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I took a sip, set the bottle on the table in front of us, and picked at the label.
“I changed my mind. Let’s rent a car and drive to Lansing.
I’ll call my mom and tell her I had an emergency and I’ll tell her about Freya at the same time, and she’ll be happy about that, and she won’t care that I’m not there.
Or maybe she won’t be happy and that’s definitely a possibility, so either way, I think my actual presence is superfluous. I’m sorry I wasted your day and—”
Viggo put his hand over my mouth and replaced it with his lips. The kiss was rough yet sweet, and it made my toes curl in my Nikes. He nipped my chin and sat back. “You worry too much. You’re here, I’m here, the fish are here, and we’ll have lots of sex. Everything is fine.”
“My mom is—”
“Shh. It’ll be okay. If it’s not, we’ll leave and find more fish and have more sex.”
“So, this really is all about sex?” I joked feebly.
He nodded, linking our fingers as the jet crested an air pocket, rattling the interior. The water bottle toppled and rolled to the edge of the table. Viggo caught it and raised the bottle triumphantly. It was silly, but I laughed anyway.
“Thanks for coming. I apologize in advance.”
“Dex?”
My lips quirked. He’d been calling me Dex instead of Dexter lately. I liked it. “Yes?”
“No talking. No more worrying.”
I didn’t argue this time. He held my hand and didn’t let go till the wheels touched down.
The cabin was kind of…cute. It was a yellow shingle house with a white porch and pansies hanging in baskets from the eaves. It was probably built in the 1960s as a summer house for a small family. Emphasis on small. Viggo had to duck his head to get through the front door.
I dumped my bag on the shag carpet in the living room and scanned the interior.
It was a little dated, but it smelled like freshly-squeezed lemons and literally every surface—from the Formica table for two in the kitchenette to the coffee table stacked with boardgames and the mirror over the brick fireplace—gleamed.
“Not bad,” I commented.
Viggo grunted and skirted around me to check out the bedroom. “Small bed.”
“It said it was a queen online.”
“Looks like a double.”
He was right.
I made a face. “We’re going to be cozy.”
“I hope you don’t snore too much.” He sighed, perching on the mattress and kicking off his shoes.
“Hmph.” I glanced at my watch. “Are you hungry? There’s a store up the road. I’m not sure how late it’s open, so—what are you doing?”
Viggo stripped to his boxers, folded the covers back, and lay with his hands behind his head in an uber relaxed pose. “I’m going to take a nap. You should join me.”
My gaze roamed his big body and just like that, I forgot that this weekend was a family matter and that Viggo was here as a liaison to Freya and—okay, that last part wasn’t true.
It was the story my mother would understand and approve of, but truthfully, he’d come for me—and fish and sex.
And while the weekend might suck for me, I wanted it to be good for Viggo.
“Uh…okay.” I yanked my sweater over my head, toed off my shoes, then collapsed on the mattress, rolling sideways to face him. I palmed his cock through the cotton barrier and kissed his biceps, his chest, his left nipple. I hooked my thumb under the elastic band and—
Viggo grabbed my wrist and gently pushed me onto my pillow. He stripped my jeans off with perfunctory swiftness, pulled up the covers, and set a finger on my lips. “Rest.”
I snorted. “You’re turning down a blowjob?”
“For now…yes. We can think about food in an hour. And we need to rent a boat, but we have time. Close your eyes,” he cajoled, massaging my eyelids with the pads of his thumbs.
“I don’t nap. If I do, I’ll be awake all night, and the last thing I need is to be staring at this ugly ceiling at three a.m. with a head full of ‘what-ifs,’ so I’ll go to the store while you sleep and when you’re awake, we’ll get you a boat. How does that sound?”
Viggo curled a finger and patted the mattress. “Humor me. Thirty minutes. That’s all.”
“Thirty minutes? Are you joking? That’s torture.”
“Fifteen minutes, then. Please.”
I sighed heavily. “Fine.”
An hour later, I woke with a start, bolting upright with my heart pounding. Viggo was next to me, calmly scrolling through messages on his cell.
“Ah, you’re awake. Are you hungry?”
I furrowed my brow and shoved a hand through my hair. “What time is it? We have a lot to do. Food first. We have to figure out how to work the grill and if you want a boat, one of us will have to run it here. I’m familiar with the lake, so it should probably be me.”
Viggo dropped his phone on the nightstand and pushed me onto the mattress, straddling my thighs. He rocked his hips in invitation and whispered in my ear.
“I think I’ll take that blowjob now.”
I snorted and tried to wiggle out from under him, but it was a weak protest at best.
Forty-five minutes later, we were on a two-lane road thick with trees. The market was located one town over and, according to their website, had everything we needed for a couple of days on the lake.
I wasn’t as familiar with this area, but the low-key, friendly vibe was the same everywhere in the UP. This was wilderness country, known for its dramatic shorelines along three Great Lakes. You could ski and snowmobile in the winter months, hike and fish in summertime.
It made sense that I’d settled in Wood Hollow. In a way it reminded me of the UP, albeit on a smaller scale—and minus the skiing. I’d always loved the rugged beauty and the sense of being at the fringe of civilization. It was peaceful.
Less so with my family in the vicinity, but I’d decided to take Viggo’s lead and stay in the moment.
I inhaled a lungful of lake air as I stepped out of the rented Explorer. “Smell that? Isn’t it glorious?”
Viggo grunted. “My stomach is grumbling too hard for me to smell anything. Let’s buy every bag of chips and every pint of ice cream in the store. Ready?”
I smiled as I followed him into the modest roadside market, brightening at the ample displays of fresh fruits and veggies. We each took a basket and filled them with basics like coffee, eggs, steak and potatoes for dinner, and snacks Viggo claimed he couldn’t live without.
“Now who’s dramatic?” I scoffed. “We’re here for less than forty-eight hours. Are you really going to eat that much ice cream?”
He studied a pint of cookies and cream. “Maybe. I don’t know. I like choices. Which one do you want? Don’t say nothing, ’cause you’ll change your mind later and I’ll be cranky about sharing if we don’t buy enough. You like chocolate.”
“Yes, and peanut butter. Oh, wait. Get the rocky road.”
“That’s the spirit.” Viggo pointed at the sign above the next aisle. “They have the carbonated water you like, too. Let’s buy that and wine and…”
I stared after him for a beat, butterflies fluttering in my chest. The big Viking knew I liked chocolate and remembered what brand of water I preferred.
He’d talked me through a panic spiral on the flight and hadn’t seem bothered by me drooling on his chest in a small bed in a cabin that hadn’t been anyone’s idea of luxurious in fifty years.
Viggo was a good man and a good friend. But these butterflies were the kind that came with big, fat crushes. If I wasn’t careful, I’d do something regrettable, like…catch feelings. That couldn’t happen. No way.
We squabbled over who’d pay for the groceries. I won that round and Viggo rented the boat. He insisted on piloting the boat and docking it at the cabin.
“No, I should do it.”