Chapter 27 Tree Sex
Tree Sex
Max
Seriously?
It’s Wednesday. On a normal week, I’d already be up, checking on my mother, scanning my portfolio, combing through work logs for anything that smells like a suspicious IP address.
But not this week.
Not while I’m floating in a kind of escapism that somehow became common law after I found my way into this friend group; book club that is the Cockpit Chix.
Every woman in that circle has managed to capture and marry the kind of man our favorite authors turn into fantasy. Commanding. Devoted. The kind who don’t just show up, but stay long after the happily ever after.
If I let the thought linger, I almost have to pinch myself to ensure I’m awake.
I’ve spent my life rolling my eyes at the idea that a story like this could ever belong to me.
I’ve always bought into the lie that Black girls don’t get to inhabit their wildest dreams—that we simply have to build our own worlds and accept whatever fragments of a dream happen to drift our way.
But here, with Eli, I’m somehow living adjacent to that same reality. I’m sleeping better than I ever have, letting myself brush up against a world I never expected to touch—let alone inhabit. This is my wildest dream. This is a fantasy that I never want to wake up from.
Shit. I’m in trouble, huh?
Yesterday, after we made it home from his office, we did exactly what we promised each other. We settled into us. His space. Where everything moves on his terms.
We made dinner together. He handled the fish.
I took care of the vegetables. And I smile at the fact I’ve never met a Black man who can cook and debone a branzino.
And he did it with such ease and precision, narrating the process under his breath while plating it with vegetables we’d pulled straight from his garden.
Like it was just…a regular Tuesday for him.
And it made me wonder if this is how he normally is. If this is what he does when he entertains. If the women who come through his life get this version of him too. The quiet. The care. Do they feel this chosen? This tethered to and pulled together by him?
I have to shut those thoughts down fast, because I don’t get to ask them. I have no right. I agreed to the terms so I don’t get to inventory who came before me or worry about who comes after.
Yet, after last night, the thought of him with anyone else unsettles me in a way I probably need to seek therapy for. Instead, I pull on my composure like a suit of armor and pretend I can be normal about this—that I’ll be fine when I return home, and that this won't linger in ways I can’t manage.
For this week, I’m his. He’s mine. And nothing—no one—else exists.
I stretch lazily and finally pick up my phone. Of course, Timantha doesn’t respect the sacred nature of DND mode and just blasted through it with her “ALERT ANYWAY” audacity.
TIMANTHA: I haven’t heard from you in DAYS. Are you alive? Call me!
I groan, roll onto my back. She knows damn well I’m alive. I’ve been sending updates even while working remotely.
ESLIN: We KNOW she’s alive. We’ve seen her Insta-stories, all zen in the Rockies. She’s just ABANDONING us, clearly.
Oh for the love. I hate that I introduced these two.
ME: You two are ridiculous. I’ve been working. Helping Eli with this big pitch…getting sensual massages, fucked against trees and fingered in offices and shit.
I added that last part for shock value.
And because I’m me, I scroll through my camera roll and send a few stealthy snaps I grabbed of Eli—shirtless chopping wood, bent over a blueprint, lost in thought. All without his knowledge. All very yummy.
TIMANTHA: …Did you say IN a tree?
ME: AGAINST a tree, technically. But… *insert shrug emoji*... yeah.
ESLIN: GROUP FACETIME. FIVE MINUTES.
ME: Too early! I haven’t even brushed my teeth!
TIMANTHA: FIVE MINUTES, HOE!
Bossy.
Five minutes later, my phone lights up and there we are—three ashy faces, bedhead and all, on a group call.
“Girl, what in the entire wilderness is going on?!” Timantha yells first.
I snort. “Calm down. I’m fine. Things just got a little…carried away.”
“Carried away?” Eslin deadpans, eyes narrowed. “Sis. You just texted us about tree sex.”
I groan. Then laugh, tossing my head back. “Look,” I sigh. “It wasn’t planned. And now…we’ve drawn boundaries.”
I give them the short version. How Eli and I are volatile in the most inconvenient ways—either arguing like we’re allergic to peace or tangled up like we forgot what clothes are for.
There’s no neutral ground. No casual lane.
And every time we swear we’ve found the line, we end up stepping right over it like it was a suggestion instead of a rule.
“So instead of fighting it, we agree to let whatever this is be, for one week,” I add.
Eslin hums, adjusting her bonnet the way she does when she’s about to slide fully into therapist mode, with a side of best-friend shade. “Okay. Then let me say this in plain English. If this is just sex, great. Have fun. Stretch. Hydrate.”
She tilts her head, eyes sharpening. “But if there’s even a hairline crack in that armor, if you feel anything deeper, you need to be honest about it.
With yourself first. Because if you catch feelings for a man with an expiration date?
” She pauses, dead serious now. “I do not have the emotional bandwidth to relive your drunk-text era. I will not be confiscating your phone every night again. We barely survived that.”
She’s joking. Mostly.
And the fact they once had to hide my phone to keep me from drunk-texting my ex unholy, unhinged confessions we will never discuss, tells me exactly how serious she is about the warning.
Eslin knows I’m a closet romantic. She knows when I fall, I don’t stumble, I dive. No parachute. No exit plan.
“I hear you,” I say. “But that’s the thing. Eli isn’t pretending this is forever. He doesn’t promise more than what he can give. He believes in the time he has, not the time he wishes he could keep. He’s fully here, cherishes the moment and then lets it go.”
Timantha pulls the phone away from her face, squinting at the screen. “Um. I’m looking at these pictures. Max? You are in danger, girl.”
Eslin leans closer next, eyes narrowing as she swipes. “I mean…” She pauses. “A Black lumberjack. Who knew?”
“IS THAT A PENIS PRINT?” Timantha shrieks.
“Yep,” I say, without a shred of shame. “I plan to donate to an elk wildlife preservation fund on my way out of town as a thank you. That near-death experience with that damn elk changed me, okay? I’m hydrated. My skin is glowing. And can I just say, I’m sleeping better than I have in years?”
“Yeah, okay,” Timantha cuts in, unimpressed. “The elk might’ve changed you. But looking at the man in these pictures—”
“And the dick print,” Eslin adds helpfully.
“That man is about to rearrange you,” Timantha finishes.
And we lose all composure. Fully gone. Laughing, hollering and gasping for air.
Whenever I laugh with them, whenever I’m with my friends, this is us. We laugh until our faces ache and our stomachs hurt. And I’m instantly reminded, without question, why these are my people.
But before we move on, I feel it press up against my chest, the need to say it out loud. Maybe for them. Definitely for me.
“But ladies, this only works because it has an ending,” I say. “We both know it.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Timantha hums, still staring at the screen. “All I know is this man is fine. You are not coming home. Mark my words. This is how happily-ever-afters in this group begin.”
“Whatever,” I say quickly, waving her off as I shove down the giddy little spark trying to flare in my chest.
Then I change the subject.
“Actually, I have a little project for you, Tim.”
She perks up immediately. “Oh?”
“I’m thinking about running a controlled test in the app,” I say. “Featured profiles. Tracking attraction patterns when certain profiles consistently generate interest.”
Timantha smirks. “You trying to beta-test with the Canadians?”
“Maybe.” I grin. “I’ve got two in mind.”
Eslin arches a brow. “Who?”
I lean closer to the camera like I’m about to disclose classified information. “Eli’s partner, Drake…and Eli’s assistant, Lara.”
They both gasp at the same time, but it’s Eslin who recovers first. “There has to be something unethical about that.”
I shake my head. “Not really. Lara doesn’t report to Drake directly. There’s no power imbalance. No leverage. Just…” I shrug. “Unresolved tension.”
“Okay, mad scientist,” Timantha cuts in, wagging a finger at the screen. “Just tread carefully. Your ‘little experiments’ have almost started actual wars.”
“Oh, the Saudi Prince just got his algorithms crossed. All’s fair in love and matchmaking. I’ve got this.”
Timantha’s grin widens. “I trust you. You know that algorithm better than anyone. If it helps the next update—and makes us money—run it.”
“On it,” I say, punctuating it with a wink.
We hang up, and I finally drag myself into the shower. Today’s a big day. I’m presenting some new ideas to Drake, Lara, and Eli that could give the business a serious edge. But first...coffee.
I’m walking toward the kitchen, smiling to myself when I realize I’m not groggy. Not foggy. Not dragging myself forward on caffeine and willpower. I feel rested. Clear. Like my body actually did what it was supposed to do last night.
Just as I reach the kitchen island, Eli comes in from outside. Glistening. Gorgeous. All quiet strength and morning air. And suddenly, being well-rested feels intentional. Needed for whatever comes next with this man.
I smile at how effortlessly majestic he looks. “You’re done chopping early.”
He smiles back, sexy and soulful, and it makes me want to do a cartwheel like I’m ten years old and just got picked first for dodge ball. “I thought we could go shopping.”
I tilt my head. “For?”
“The summit is this weekend—the one we’ve been prepping for,” he says. Then he hesitates. “But there’s also…a formal dinner thing.”
The way he says it, almost unsure, makes it sound less like a scheduling detail and more like he’s asking me to prom.
I’d almost forgotten there were other events tied to the weekend.
But when I was doing my homework, I looked up the full agenda.
Beyond the headline pitch competition, Thursday rolls straight into town halls, TED Talk–style sessions, and closed-door conversations where the real deals get made.
After spending time in Timantha and Will’s world, none of it surprises me anymore. It’s all part of the ecosystem.
Eli drags a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s not mandatory. If you’d rather skip it, we can—”
I press my palm to his chest, stopping him mid-exit. Steadying him. Steadying me. “I want to go. If you think it’ll help your chances…”
“It will,” he says immediately.
I smile. “I’m yours, Bear. For the week. Remember? Burden me.”
His grin flashes, gone just as quickly. He exhales, like something tight finally loosens, then nods once. “For the week, Lil Mama.”
I turn to the coffee machine and reach to grab a mug but it’s too high. Eli steps in and grabs one for me with ease.
“Thank you,” I say, just as he hands me the mug then smacks me on the behind.
I’m wearing another one of his flannels and I can tell he likes seeing me in them.
The way his eyes linger gives him away. I take one every time I leave his bed.
And even though I sleep on the other side of the house, I like carrying a piece of him with me.
Proof he’s close, even when he isn’t right there.
I can’t tell if he keeps that distance because he’s careful not to get attached, or because he genuinely likes his space. And as someone who needs room to recharge, to exist without having to fill silence with words, I can’t say I mind either way.
I used to judge couples who seemed content living separately. Now I understand that when you are truly free to be yourself with a partner, where you sleep is secondary. What truly matters is where you choose to show up and how you spend the hours you share while you're awake.
That’s what counts.
At least…that’s how it feels here.
Just as I take my first sip of coffee, Eli leans down and kisses me. It’s familiar.
“I’m going to shower and get myself together,” he says. “We can head into town for breakfast. Then maybe you can tell me what you’re cooking up for the meeting with Drake and Lara on the way?”
I grin. “I’d love to.”