14. Shawn
Shawn
Sunday morning I peek outside my cabin door to find curling mist draped around the lake like netting.
I throw on my sneakers and head out for a quick run.
I crave the stretch and strain of my muscles, the burn in my lungs.
My breath shows in the morning air, and moisture beads on my eyelashes.
I purposefully go in the opposite direction of Blaze’s place, instead heading past the main lodge building and the beach with the dock.
I sprint along the packed sand road until I’m winded, then turn around and jog back.
I push through the main lodge doors in search of someone to tell about my intention to join the group for tonight’s supper.
“Hi Marika,” I call as the owner herself rises from behind the front desk.
She smiles at me, broad and welcoming. “Out for a jog?”
“Yeah, it’s gorgeous out there.”
“It is,” she agrees. “Can I do something for you?”
“I just wanted to see if it was all right if I joined for Sunday supper?”
“Of course,” she replies smoothly. “Five o’clock in the ballroom.”
“I’m coming from something in town, so I might be a few minutes late. Is that okay?”
“Not a problem.” She cocks her head. “Do you need transportation?”
“Uh. No.” I’m glad my face is already red from my run because I’d probably be blushing. “Blaze is lending me his truck.”
I think I catch a small twitch of surprise around her mouth, but she otherwise stays neutral. “Then you’re all set for your outing.”
Is it strange that Blaze is lending me his vehicle? I half thought he’d done it for other guests. But maybe it’s just me. The idea of being an exception for Blaze makes my chest warm. “I’m going to a woodworking class at that place in Laketon.”
“Oh, how fantastic! I’ve always wanted to take one of their classes.”
“I kind of fell into it. But I’m looking forward to getting my hands moving.”
“Enjoy. And we’ll see you later.”
I walk back to the cabin, my sweaty clothes cooling rapidly in the air.
A hot shower warms me up again. I linger under the spray, soaping up my pits, running my hands down my chest. Blaze has such thick hair on his chest. I remember seeing his body my first day here when he came out of the lake pulling the float like it was nothing.
I wonder what it would be like to touch, to rub against that hair.
I couldn’t help noticing the thatch of it leading into the waistband of his swim trunks.
He doesn’t seem like the type to trim or shave.
I soap up my own pubes, wondering if his would feel different.
I try picturing his hairy bush, his thick cock.
Is he cut like me? I don’t know why I want to find out, but I do.
After a lifetime of locker rooms, where I’ve seen every kind of body type in every stage of undress, it’s Blaze who’s captured my imagination and my libido.
If I was going to be interested in a man, I could have had any number of opportunities over the years.
But it never occurred to me. To be honest, I’ve never been that pulled to any particular woman, either.
The ones I’ve been with all approached me, and all left when they figured out that baseball—not them—was my life.
I thought that’s how it would always be.
Is it because I’m finally beginning to accept that my life isn’t only about baseball that I’m simply latching onto the first pretty face I see?
I force myself to think about Blaze’s sister Brooke, with her regular features, white teeth, and shiny hair. She’s nice-looking. Attractive, even. And she doesn’t make my heart speed up, or my stomach feel queasy in a good way.
Her brother, on the other hand…my dick chubs up thinking about yesterday in the cab of his truck. About how I wanted to push him against the seats and fog up the windows. I don’t exactly know what we’d do, but I know it would feel good to do it with him.
Oh hell. I’ve got my wires so crossed. There’s no reason this should be happening—yet I can’t stop it. I don’t want to.
I stroke myself lazily. They must have this place hooked up to an endless hot water supply because I haven’t run out yet.
What might Blaze let me do? How might he let me touch him?
How might he touch me? I get as far as imagining his hand on my dick and then I come my brains out, an absurd explosion when it should have been a simple shower beat off.
I let the spray wash everything down the drain, feeling wrung out and hungry. And a little guilty, too. Not for masturbating—I’m not that emotionally stunted. But because Blaze is my friend, and it doesn’t matter that he’d lend me his truck, he’s not exactly offering me a hand job along with it.
But he likes men, I remind myself as I scarf down the breakfast I discover on my porch.
Another mushroom omelet and oatmeal I doctor with goodies someone in Nolan’s kitchen has doled out into little jars.
I make myself a cup of coffee and pick up the paperback I started the other day.
The dragon slayer guy and the elf prince are fucking in a cave after one of them was injured, and it’s so hot I’m considering jerking off again.
I’m beginning to think this is less fantasy novel, more erotic romance, but it’s riveting either way, and more evidence that maybe it’s not so crazy I’m currently fantasizing about a man.
I’ve read four more chapters when the phone rings, startling me out of a scene where the dragon slayer is leaving the elf prince for his own good, which is clearly the wrong move, but yelling at the character doesn’t seem to be changing his mind.
I have one second of being excited that maybe Blaze is the one calling me before I hear my mom’s voice in my ear, phoning to check in.
“I’m going to a woodworking class later,” I say, using my napkin as a bookmark. “It’s kind of random but cool.”
“Woodworking? Didn’t you do some of that in college? I still have the sweet little tea chest you made. I keep my perfume bottles in it.”
“Really?” I remember now how I labored over the hinges and the finish of the small, lidded box.
“Of course. I think of you every time I open it.”
I guess when you make something by hand, it has a value beyond its purpose.
“Well, I’m glad you’re keeping busy up there, but let us know when you’re back in Connecticut. We should figure out holiday plans pretty soon, too. We love you, sweetie.”
She always does that—includes my dad in the sentiment, even when he doesn’t say it for himself.
My dad’s silence over the past few months speaks loudly.
It’s small potatoes compared to Blaze’s situation, but this temporary abandonment still hurts.
I temper my flare of anger. “Love you too, Mom.” It’s not her fault her husband and son can’t seem to communicate.
We hang up and I go back to the escape of reading.
I’ve finished the novel by the time Blaze rumbles up to the cabin in his truck.
I was right—it turns out it was a softhearted romance dressed up like a fantasy, with a huge dose of smut to boot.
I can’t believe how much I loved it. I’ll definitely be looking for another book by the author, CJ Finn.
I open the door and greet Blaze with a smile, which I temper a little when I see Brooke and Misty hop out of the passenger side.
“Hello,” I say to the group.
Blaze stands next to the driver’s door and tosses me the keys. I catch them one-handed with ease. We grin at each other until Misty trots up the cabin steps to greet me by sniffing my shoes. I shut the cabin door behind me.
“Drive safe, now,” Blaze says sternly. “Remember what I said about moose.”
“I will. What are you all doing today?”
“I have some stuff to clean out at the boathouse, and Brooke said she’d give me a hand.”
“I’d have been happy to help you out,” I say. He’s been generous with his time; it’s only right I offer.
“Thanks, man. Maybe another day.”
“All right. I better get going.”
“You know how to get to the hardware store?”
“I’ll map it.” I hold up my phone. I’m not used to the way it feels in my hand. “There’s service in Laketon, right?”
“Should be. And if there isn’t, just go through town and head north. You’ll see it eventually.”
“It’s not hard to find,” Brooke puts in.
I glance at Blaze. If we didn’t have an audience, I might thank him again, maybe talk a little more. But his sister’s there and I feel self-conscious, as if my crush is obvious in the way I’m holding myself, the sound of my voice. “See ya,” I say, waving my hand holding the keys awkwardly.
“Have fun,” Blaze says, moving out of the way so I can climb past him into the cab. “Don’t chop your finger off.”
“Helpful advice,” I say, laughing a little.
The seat is still warm from his body, and I register that my ass is touching the spot where his ass just was, which makes me think about touching his ass for real, and I need to get out of here before I do or say something stupid.
I’m a little taller than him, so I rack the bench seat back a click, then start the engine. “Thanks again.”
“Of course. Come back in one piece, yeah?” He shuts the door, pats the side to let me know I’m good to go, but I don’t rush to peel out or anything.
I adjust the mirrors, make sure Misty, Brooke, and Blaze are all out of the way, and then carefully, feeling the pressure like we’re one down at the bottom of the ninth, man on, two outs, and I’m the last batter up, ease the truck onto the road.
I catch Blaze smiling in my rearview mirror.
Brooke is saying something to him; he pushes her arm and shakes his head.
I focus on the road in front of me and head toward town.