Chapter 18
I swear I have taken a picture of Hayden in front of every single Bigfoot display we’ve passed.
The Bigfoot Scenic Byway.
A “Bigfoot Crossing” sign.
A ginormous Bigfoot statue at the center of town.
He’s like a kid in a candy shop if the candy shop sold exclusively hairy hominids.
It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I post photo after photo to our social media page, updating the fans on our travels. We stop at the Bigfoot Steakhouse for a late (and underwhelming) lunch before checking into our cabin for the evening. We have an afternoon of Bigfoot hunting ahead of us before sundown. I’m partially glad Hayden doesn’t want to camp out here, because while I do not believe in Bigfoot yet, I do believe in bears. And I do believe a bear would eat me.
After finally making it through The Mothman Prophecies last night, Hayden and I fell asleep early so we’d be sure to hit the road first thing. Ellen and Jeff sent us off with hugs and Ellen even said she’s looking forward to seeing me again. Apparently, I have not made as bad of an impression as I expected.
We spend the six-hour drive listening to more podcasts so I can be “educated,” but it’s sometimes hard to learn when Hayden pauses every five minutes to go off on another tangent. My personal favorite comes while learning about an alien named Valiant Thor, who lived at the Pentagon in the fifties and was allegedly a real dreamboat. I have questions about how sexy an alien could be, but Hayden, of course, has an answer. I learn that alien-banging is apparently more popular than I could have expected.
“There’s a whole video game series about it. You can date hot aliens,” Hayden tells me.
“You can date a lizard man, or a guy who looks like an artichoke, or a blue chick.”
“The alien I dated had a compromised immune system, so human fluids would probably kill her.”
I immediately ask him to stop.
Our cabin is a short distance from Six Rivers National Forest, particularly the spot where the infamous Patterson-Gimlin film was shot. When we arranged accommodations for this trip, Hayden slowly put a hand on mine and said, “I’ve got this.” So I’m thrilled when I discover that it’s just a normal cabin. Hours later, we’re in the middle of the forest at a wide clearing that looks strangely familiar.
I cannot believe Hayden has gotten me into hiking boots.
I am going to be covered in mosquito bites.
“So, in 1967, Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin weren’t actually hunting for Bigfoot out here. They were into Bigfoot, but they weren’t trying to find him—”
“Unlike you,” I comment, following him with the camera. I flinch as a mosquito sucks my blood like El Chupacabra (I’m learning, clearly). “Ow.”
“Damn straight. I am going to find Bigfoot if it fucking kills me!” Hayden shouts into the forest, before promptly tripping over a rogue root and completely eating it on camera. A gaggle of birds flee the scene.
“Yeah, that’s staying in the episode.”
He frowns as he brushes the dirt off his jeans and strides forward toward a specific part of the clearing.
“Am I projecting okay?” he yells.
“Yes, loud and clear, Hayden.”
He flashes two big thumbs-up. “The film is some of the most famous Bigfoot footage ever recorded and has been picked apart to death, with re-creations attempting to debunk it. Patterson and Gimlin were on horseback—coming right to this clearing. The horses noticed it first—so intuitive—”
“—so we needed to bring horses? I don’t like horses.”
“Why don’t you like horses, Hallie?” He squints, pawing at his backpack for his sunglasses. The afternoon sun glints off his thick black frames in a way that’ll look terrible on camera, but I suppose part of the appeal is how we’re amateurs. Neither of us is an expert filmmaker. Since we’re hiking through the woods today, we’ll mostly be taking turns behind the camera and can set up the tripod in Hayden’s backpack if we need it. When we have Jamie with us, at least the quality is higher, but without Nora and him staying behind, Cthulhu would starve on all our trips. Without them, I wouldn’t have made out with Hayden in the woods and he wouldn’t have given me my first man-induced orgasm.
As much as I adore my little pressure wave vibrator, it’s not the same.
It doesn’t tell me I’m beautiful and it doesn’t look anything like the extremely handsome man in front of me…investigating…tree stumps.
Huh.
“Horses are big.”
“So am I, but you like me.” He slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and flashes me what I think is a wink.
“Is that meant to be a euphemism?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Nonbeliever!”
“Hayden…I do know.”
He smiles across the clearing, disgustingly cute and earnest. Euphemism or not, after the past two nights, I am thinking about undressing him again. Maybe this time, we’ll take it further.
“That is not going into the episode.”
I nod in agreement.
“ Anyway , when the creature emerges, Patterson scrambles for his camera, and Gimlin draws his rifle. The two of them cannot believe what they capture. While the footage is grainy, the large, apelike creature strides across the clearing, arms swinging, back hunched over.”
“Are we positive this isn’t the world’s hairiest man?” I shout.
“Hallie, this is really hairy. I mean really , really hairy. Astonishingly hairy. It’s also a female Bigfoot, for the record.”
“We love that. Representation matters.”
“As the creature makes its way across the screen, Patterson’s hand now steadied, our Bigfoot takes a single glance over its right shoulder before escaping into the woods. There’s been decades of debate over the authenticity of the film, but I personally think it’s real. And I’m about to prove it. On camera. Right now. Once and for all.”
I lower the camcorder. “Why does this make me nervous?”
“Don’t be nervous. Just film me.”
I purse my lips and raise the viewfinder again. Hayden takes his place at one end of the clearing, bouncing and waving, as if he isn’t the only thing in sight.
“There are some rough estimates about the creature’s height, ranging from six feet to seven and a half feet. For reference, I’m six-four, so this creature would be slightly taller than me. If we’re going for the six-six estimate that a lot of people go with, I am a decent stand-in for Bigfoot.”
“That’s a horrible sentence.”
Another mosquito bites my arm, and at this point, it feels like bullying. I do not like the woods. I do not like Bigfoot hunting, but I am beginning to hope we find something, because the money we could make off genuine Bigfoot footage would pay for a lot of calamine lotion.
“All right. I’m going to walk across the clearing here and mimic the video as best I can. I’m going to show you that humans don’t look like this when they walk. There is no way this was a man in a suit. No way at all. Watch.”
And so I do, against all sane judgment. Hayden takes long, precise strides across the clearing and the most horrifying part is that it looks like he has this rehearsed . He knows every movement and all the timing of the most famous piece of Bigfoot footage. Most people have probably seen the Patterson-Gimlin film, whether they know it or not, but nobody…has it memorized. Jesus, he has it memorized .
Though he’s a man who is a “decent stand-in for Bigfoot,” I am still thinking about him taking all my clothes off when we get back to the cabin.
His arms swing haphazardly, his back slumps, and then…he turns and gives the money shot. Except instead of Bigfoot’s noncommittal glance, he smiles and flashes the Scout’s Honor sign before moving toward the forest. I wonder how far into the woods he’s going to go before turning back. I don’t know how method of an actor Hayden is, but this is Bigfoot we’re talking about. I simply do not know how dedicated he is to authenticity when it comes to his favorite cryptid. I don’t know what Bigfoots eat. Do I actually have to worry about Hayden getting eaten by a Bigfoot?
Should I be far more concerned?
I waver between my obligation to make sure my co-host doesn’t die and staying here and hoping he returns. I turn the camera on myself.
“I’m getting bitten to shit by mosquitos, and I have no idea how long Hayden plans to be out here. We might die, and this might be the last episode. Whoever finds my body…Tell my parents I love them and that, in my life insurance policy from Skroll, they split it fifty-fifty.”
Eventually, Hayden stumbles down the nearby ravine with an emphatic grunt.
“WAS THAT CONVINCING?”
Oh good, he’s back.
“Yes, very much so, Hayden,” I holler.
When he emerges and returns to me, Hayden’s sweating, wiping his forehead with his flannel. Patches of dirt coat his jeans and there are traces of plant life stuck to his shirt. His dark waves slip away from his face and he bends at the waist.
“Did you overexert yourself mimicking Bigfoot?” I ask. I squat in front of him, framing the camera up to capture his expression. I can’t say it’s flattering, but this is good fucking content. As we record more episodes, it feels like the dynamic between us tightens, and our fans have latched on to us week by week. The number of teen girls wanting us to kiss and admit we’re dating grows. If only those teen girls knew what Hayden and I have been up to lately…
Hayden straightens and takes a deep breath. “All right, if we’re going to attract a Bigfoot, I think we need to have a Bigfoot mating call—”
“Oh, fuck no.”
“Come on.”
“What happens if Bigfoot comes running out of the woods with a full hard-on? What do you do then?”
“Well, in order for Bigfoot to have a boner, he has to be real, so check and mate . But if that happens, I suppose,” Hayden ponders, “that’s how God wanted me to go. Either that, or in the process of freeing an alien from Area 51.”
“Never met someone who’d be crushed to not peacefully die in their sleep…”
Then a crack of thunder echoes above us.
“We live in California. This doesn’t happen,” Hayden seethes.
It only takes a few seconds for the rain to descend on us. He’s right. This doesn’t happen in California. Perhaps in Northern California, but I don’t know the landscape as well. In LA, rain means everyone drives horrifically and Mulholland Drive is full of rocks and mud.
I hope that at least this slaughters every mosquito that had my blood for happy hour.
“ No ,” he hisses. “We’re Bigfoot hunting!”
“Hayden,” I shout over the pouring rain. My jeans and boots take on water. “I think Bigfoot hunting needs to take a rain check.”
We both take a moment to giggle at my joke before I close the camcorder and slide it into my bag. The content is too good to damage. Besides, Hayden might kill me if I lose the footage of him re-creating the Patterson film. His fingers slide between mine as we trek to the car. Our journey takes us through sloshing ravines and has us gripping damp tree bark. I spend most of it laughing, catching him as he slips into the mud, and we stumble up the hill to his car. By the time we reach it, my clothes are soaked, my legs weighed down by wet denim, and—due to the Amazon reviews telling me these hiking boots are waterproof—I conclude that everyone is a goddamn liar. My socks are wet, and death is upon me.
Hayden opens my door for me before racing to the driver’s seat. The rain pelts the steel frame of his car as he slides his glasses off and tries to dry them, with little success. He puts the car into drive and we speed down the hills toward our cabin. I crank the heat, tugging my T-shirt away from my chest to dry it against the vents. It takes us a few minutes to reach our lodging; not long enough for us to dry off. Hayden throws the car in park and snatches his backpack from the back seat as we rush toward the porch. I step into a tragically large puddle. I am not safe here.
The cabin is all one room, a bed, living room, and open-concept kitchen with large windows spanning the front. It has the perfect porch to drink coffee on, overlooking an endless army of green trees scraping the sky. I may not like being in nature, but it’s lovely to look at, and the fresh air is a nice reprieve from LA’s smoggy haze.
I hustle up the steps as Hayden tosses me his keys. His hair is soaked, glasses fogged, Bigfoot T-shirt clinging to him. It takes the shape of his body and I drink him in as he shoves his hair out of his face.
“Bigfoot obviously doesn’t want to be found,” I laugh, missing the keyhole on the first try.
“So he sends us a wet T-shirt contest instead.”
Hayden’s hands rest on my waist, his laugh rippling down my spine. His lips hover beside my neck, each breath coming in deep, heavy pants that ground me here. Here, in a moment that smells like crisp amber and timber and fresh rain, with Hayden’s hand spanning across my stomach, softly clutching the fabric of my T-shirt.
“Hallie,” he says.
He inches lower to the waistband of my jeans, fingers knotting in my belt loops now. My only answer is a simple nod, and he grips me by the waist and spins me to face him. My back spreads flat against the wooden exterior of our cabin, and his hands are on me before I have to plead for his touch.
Hayden cups my jaw, tilting my head up and finding my mouth. He hesitates with a sharp intake of breath, studying me through his fogged glasses before drowning me in a slow, delirious kiss. His hard, corded muscles press against my chest. I’m ready to strip off the damp fabric of his dorky T-shirt to find the ridges and angles of his stomach, the fine lines of his tattoos running across his chest and side. I daydream about how far below his boxers they go.
He moans against my mouth, teeth sinking into my bottom lip and his stubble marking me as his as he kisses along my jaw and down my neck. I savor each hungry sip he takes of me. Hayden’s hands find a home in the back pockets of my jeans, grip tightening around my ass. I feel his desire pressed to mine, and I know this is it. This has to be. I’ve wanted him plenty of times, but right now, I don’t question it. Not one bit.
We curse between kisses, fingers knotting in stretched-out wet fabric. I snatch a handful of his T-shirt, claiming all of him as mine. Against the unrelenting storm, I hear his words from last night in my head. I’m yours. Now I decide I’m his, too.
He fumbles with the keys and door, shoving us inside. Hayden hardly bothers to lock it before we drop both our backpacks to the ground. He only lets go of me to tug his flannel off his shoulders. The backs of my knees hit the mattress as he presses me against the comforter. Then he clutches me tightly, yanking me away from the bed.
“We are so damp,” he laughs.
I match his giggles, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “So you have to undress me before we hit the bed?”
Hayden cups my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks. It feels like waiting for permission or a question in itself. In this moment, we’re deciding if this is going to go further or not. As our lips meet again, slow and savoring, he waits for my reply and is patient as ever. Every touch lets me know I’m cared for no matter what I answer with. I know I can back out at any point with no consequences, but I love how, with Hayden, there is no point of no return.
“Hallie, we don’t have to do this.”
I nod. “I know. But I want to if you do.”
“Do you have to ask?” he teases, nipping my bottom lip. His eyes darken as his glasses unfog inside, deep stormy green like the forest we left outside. He hums in affection, kissing my cheek, jaw, forehead—he’s not going to leave any part of me untouched. “I’ve wanted to make love to you since the night I met you.”
That long? I think. He’d wanted me to be his since the tiny alien in his drink, our doomed ghost tour with Gary. My breath catches in my throat for a moment before he snatches it from me with another kiss.
“Really?” I tease. I want more of his voice. I want to hear every dirty thing he has to say, and I want him to do them all to me. More of last night. More of his moans and taunts and more of his body.
“Yes,” he laughs. “I knew I had a nice cold shower in my future after that ghost tour.”
I shove my hands up the front of his T-shirt. His body shudders under my cold touch with goose bumps rising to his skin. “I hear Gary the tour guide has that effect on people. It’s in the Yelp reviews.”
Without having to ask, Hayden pulls his T-shirt over his head in one swift motion. My eyes dance over waves and branches, and the intricate line art I have yet to identify all over his body. Trees and waves and Not Deers. I follow it below his pants, tempting me to work harder. It feels like a game of “X marks the spot.”
As I unbuckle Hayden’s belt, he halts my progress with a deep, rumbling laugh. “You next. Take something off.”
I mean, I’m glad it’s my turn. My clothing is so wet and uncomfortable I can hardly stand to keep it on another minute. I find the bottom of my T-shirt and pull it over my head, only for it to snag on my face. The wet fabric latches on to my head like a Facehugger, and I am trapped in the least sexy moment of my whole life.
“ Help me ,” I hiss between laughs.
I can’t see a thing, but I feel Hayden’s strong grip work its way up my body until he’s untangling me from the brutal clutches of my T-shirt. It hits the ground beside us with a damp thump. When he finally looks at me again, it’s like he’s seeing me for the first time. Relief, passion, excitement.
“You’re safe now,” he teases, kissing me again. I feel his words in more than one way.
Beneath us, he’s kicking off his boots and socks. I follow and do the same.
“Everyone on Amazon said these were waterproof ,” I lament. “My feet are wet!”
“No damp socks, no bugs. What do you like?”
I rest my hands on top of his belt buckle and tug him closer to me. He leans me back against the mattress, a hand behind my head, the other teasing my lower stomach like it’s taking everything in him to not get to work on my pants. “Those are completely normal things to dislike. Who likes wet socks?”
“I’m sure someone out there does.”
“Sounds like a conspiracy theory.”
I grab one of Hayden’s hands, arching for him and guiding his fingers to the center of my back. He unhooks my bra with ease, slipping each strap down my arm. He sucks in a bewildered breath as I strip closer to nothing.
Chilly fingers brush over my quickly hardening nipples and all of me aches for him. He kisses down my chest and stomach, finding the coldest, most sensitive parts of my body with his mouth and dousing them in his warmth.
“Is this okay?” he asks, just above my waistband.
I offer a nod. We did more the night before, but he doesn’t take that as perpetual permission. The thought alone makes my eyes water, and when our glances meet, he cups my cheek.
“I mean it. The second it’s not—you tell me.”
I have a feeling it will never stop being okay, but I love that he’s asking. I love that I can learn to love this with someone like Hayden. For so long, all I pictured was a lifetime of uncomfortable encounters. Now I don’t know what to imagine. All I know is I’m excited to discover it with Hayden.
“I will.”
“Good,” he breathes. Hayden draws away, watching me unbutton my pants. I hadn’t planned to get naked with him when I dressed in my REI catalog–chic. I had not planned to wear my hottest underwear Bigfoot hunting. But considering the sheer amount of underwear I packed, I really could have planned this better.
When our lips meet again, our bodies fold together. He takes the chill out of my bones with every soft touch and warm press of lips to my skin. Each kiss of his is dizzying and my body feels like loose stitches coming apart one by one. Hayden plucks at another as he curses under his breath, tasting the slant of my jaw.
He leads my hand to his belt buckle. This time, I slip the leather through it and infiltrate to his button and zipper to reveal a pair of boxer briefs with vectored Bigfoots on them. I have no idea where a person gets these articles of clothing.
Shame washes over his expression. “I…uh…I forgot what I was wearing.”
“It’s okay,” I laugh. “I think it’s cute.”
There’s a sample of his smile in his next kiss, his arms tightening around me. “Good. You still okay?”
I nod. “Yes. I want you to keep going.”
Hayden wets his bottom lip, tasting my lips on his. I want to suggest he take a taste of something else, but he’s one step ahead of me. His fingers lace under the waistband of my underwear, carefully inching it down my legs. I don’t absorb the fact that this is the first time he’s gotten me completely naked until he sucks in a deep breath like he’s been physically struck.
“Fuck,” he stutters. “I cannot believe no one has ever taken the time to worship you like you deserve.”
I tilt his face up to me. “Then why don’t you show me what I’m missing?”
Hayden slides my legs over his shoulders as a touch of fingers dances up and down my outer thighs, tracing circles, hearts, whatever he can manage. He takes his time over every imperfection—the stretch marks and spidery veins along my hips, the uneven skin between my legs.
His tongue slides between me and, at once, I feel like I’m on fire. Every drop of water has dried up as my skin burns. I lean my head back against the mattress and shut my eyes. He is slow, methodical, and he breaks me down like he does with every theory, explanation, and story he tells. I worry about breaking his glasses as my legs contract around his head and the build burns in the pit of my stomach.
“Holy shit,” I cry. The moan I let out is enough to let Bigfoot know not to come by, because we’re more than busy. The ink on his chest and shoulder contracts and tightens with each movement and shift of muscle. He plucks at another stitch of composure with a deeper stroke, making my toes curl, voice crack, and heart race. Each taste, touch, kiss is an inch closer to bleeding me dry.
I shudder as I come, tugging at his hair. My entire body feels light and heavy at the same time, the sensations rushing through me so good it’s almost painful. I can hardly feel my legs, but do I feel the prick of his beard moving up my body until he presses his forehead to mine.
He wraps me in his arms like something he’s desperate to call his.
“How do you feel?” His voice is a fire hazard, low and smoky. My response is a weak nod and a pleading sigh for more. He laughs, kissing the side of my head softly, caressing my jaw with his thumb. “Good.”
We meet in the middle for lazy but demanding kisses once again. I am so captivated by the feeling of his damp, silky waves between my fingers and his hard erection between my legs that I barely register him reaching into the duffel bag beside the bed and fishing out a small box of condoms.
“Did you just have those?” I ask. Presumptuous, but prepared. I won’t Boy Scout–shame him in this moment.
“At the last gas station. After last night,” he jokes, “I figured I should be prepared for anything.”
As I help him tear open the top of the box, he finds my lips again and again.
“Yes, because you were clearly gunning to sleep with a hot Bigfoot you found in the woods.”
His smile feels bright enough to break through the stormy rain clouds outside. “I was actually hoping that this girl I just can’t stop thinking about would be interested. I have this conspiracy theory that she might like me back.”
“Do you now?”
He gives a sure-as-shit grin and nods. I think of all the ways I can tell him I want him too, but the best I can imagine is sliding his boxers down his hips. The ink on his side bleeds down his hip beneath the waistband of his underwear. I follow the roots down his body like a map, and words dry up in my throat. “I’m optimistic about my findings,” he assures me.
He tears open the condom with his teeth, tossing the wrapper aside and sliding it over himself with my help. I can’t drag my eyes away from him—every sharp curve and angle of his entire body—and “distracted” is such a small word for how I feel. No man who makes his living talking about aliens has any right to be this gorgeous.
“Don’t worry. I am fully ready to get illumi-naughty with you,” I say, unable to keep my laugh in.
He smiles as his eyes darken, taking me in. I’ve been sitting on that one for a hot minute, knowing it’d be that final push toward a barrel full of gunpowder. He runs his fingers down the side of my face, down my chest, and holds on to my waist as he nudges my legs apart with his knee. He holds me against him, positioning himself between my legs. My eyes slip shut as he pushes into me, exploratory and teasing at first.
“Hayden.” It slips out at the same time he gasps my name and tightens his grip on the bedsheets beneath us. Fuck, he feels so good and so made for me.
“You’re okay?” he whispers, pushing strands of hair out of my face. His voice is so low, like even though it’s just the two of us, he wants this moment to be as intimate as possible. I nod. Our fingertips meet at the frames of his glasses. Together, we slip them off and I place them on the nightstand beside us.
“Don’t worry. I can see you perfectly fine.” His lips dip to mine, and his hips rock into me. He is precise and methodical, but open to improvising as we learn each other.
Learning is exactly what it feels like. We listen to one another—this feels good, this could be better…don’t be afraid to go harder. I like the way his hands wander all over my body, the soft curses he lets out between kisses, and how each one is laced with a smile, like he feels lucky to have me. Our lips drift away like a boat tethered to the shore, but we always find our way back.
With his glasses off, Hayden might not be able to see every detail of this, but I’m so glad I can see all of him. I want to see the look on his face as I clutch his hair tighter, bite his lips, and tell him how good he feels. I never want to look away from the dark curls that fall around his face, still damp from the rain, brushing the hardly-there freckles on his nose and cheeks. I take a picture in my head at the way he weaves our fingers together, holding my hand against his chest. He cares about every second of this just as much as I do.
My legs hook around his back, and my nails rake against his shoulders. He laughs, he smiles, and he tells me I’m beautiful every chance he gets. I’m wanted as I am, as more than an object, and he wants to do this with me because it’s me he cares about. I didn’t believe sex could be like this—full of teasing, communication, and love.
He has my heart, and I can’t imagine asking for it back.
“How do you feel?” he breathes.
His beard pricks beneath my fingertips, and when our eyes meet, I trace his lower lip with my thumb. I don’t know what he can see, but even if I’m a blurry canvas of blue watercolor in Hayden’s eyes, he looks at me like I’m his favorite work of art.
“Shocked you’re not talking about Finland not existing right now.”
“That…” he begins, trailing his lips along my jaw, down my throat, “is a very niche conspiracy theory, my little Nonbeliever. If I didn’t know any better…”
I silence him with a kiss as heat festers in the pit of my stomach. Hayden grips my waist, the rolls of his hips coming quicker and more desperate. His lilts and moans more unhinged with each push. Hayden’s voice cracks, stumbling over my name like it’s a foreign language.
My legs tighten around his waist, one hand clutching the headboard behind me, but it’s all he needs. We stumble over the finish line together. I nip at his lip a bit too hard as I come, but he doesn’t mind. All he does is kiss me harder. I taste a twinge of blood in all our kisses as I lose feeling in my legs. I shudder around him, riding out the high spreading all over my body. Hayden whispers my name like he’s learning it for the first time, kissing me softly yet desperately as my senses return to me.
All I can do next is wrap my arms around him where he collapses on top of me. I study each vertebra of his back, I listen to his breathing, and nothing feels like home like he does. I press lazy kisses against the top of his head, toying with the sweaty, rain-soaked waves that curl against the sides of his face.
“Hallie, you good?”
“Yeah, pretty good.”
He laughs. “Good. Good, I’m glad.”
“Can you excuse a rain check on Bigfoot hunting for this?”
“Yes, yes I definitely can.”