Chapter 5
Kellen
Awareness came in degrees.
My nose was frozen.
The rest of me was toasty warm.
The world was dark.
A warm body held me tight and had their arms banded around me. Him?
Oh, Marco. Yes, him.
I couldn’t remember scooting over to his side of the bed. That said, this mattress was so small, the fact we were this close wasn’t a huge surprise.
His erection pressed against my lower back.
As much as I wanted to wriggle against him and coax him into fucking me, that wasn’t going to happen. First, I didn’t know if he was gay. Second, he didn’t know I was gay. Third—and by far most importantly—consent was a thing. If he was awake, conscious, and consenting, that was one thing.
He snored lightly with his breath ghosting across the back of my neck. Clearly he was still dead to the world.
My bladder reminded me of the water I’d drunk last night.
No light came through the blinds, so morning had yet to come.
This close to the solstice, though, and this far north, there wasn’t much daylight to be had.
I longed to check my phone, but I wasn’t going to waste the battery.
I could run the SUV to power it when the battery drained, but that wasn’t an ongoing solution.
I had to preserve what gas I had in the tank.
I flipped the battery powered lamp on.
Marco didn’t stir.
I slid from his grasp.
He flopped onto his back, put his arm over his eyes, and kept snoring.
Well okay, then. Clearly a heavy sleeper. I wasn’t. Any little thing would wake me. My dad, taking pity on me, gave me an entire wing of the house to myself. Well, pity or he wanted me out of his way—could’ve gone either way.
I snagged the lamp and headed to the bathroom.
Holy fuck, was it cold. The air hit the exposed skin of my hands and face, and I longed to crawl back into bed.
I pissed, washed my hands, and headed back into the main room. The fire was just embers. Huh. I don’t know much about fires—but how hard could this possibly be? I grabbed two good sized logs and placed them over the embers.
And waited.
And waited.
Why are they not catching fire? The wood’s dry. That should be enough, right? Did I need…kindling? Fuck, did I even know what kindling was? Another match?
“It’ll catch. Just be patient.”
I spun around to see Marco sitting up in bed, rubbing his face.
He squinted as he read the old-fashioned clock over the mantel.
That I remembered. Every two weeks, or so, it needed to be wound.
So he would’ve had to do that when he arrived.
How long ago was that? I dunno…maybe I should’ve asked him?
Too much to contemplate this early in the morning.
5:47.
Ugh. “I’m not tired.” Because we’d gone to bed almost ten hours ago, and I only ever slept this long when I was sleeping off a night of partying. Which, admittedly, I did way too often. “What can I eat for breakfast?”
“I have powdered milk. So you can have cold cereal or I can make oatmeal.”
I tried not to gag. “Uh, which were you going to have?”
“Oatmeal. Sticks to your ribs as my dad used to say. We’ll need our strength today. We have either prunes or raisins that we can add.”
Again, I tried not to gag. “Uh, maybe just brown sugar?”
“Yeah, we can do that.” He tossed off the covers and stretched. He scratched his exposed stomach.
With the most tantalizing six-pack. Who knew academic environmental guys could be so sexy? My mouth went dry. “I’ve peed. I’ll, uh, get dressed.”
With a shower of sparks and a crackle, one of the logs caught fire.
“Standing here where it’s warm.”
Marco smiled, his dark-brown eyes shining with amusement as the firelight danced. “I’ll be back in a few minutes and whip up breakfast. At first light, I have to head out and check my sensor readings.”
“Uh, yeah.” I tried not to wince. I suppose I could try to read that textbook he dropped on my lap last night. The one that resembled a brick.
“I tell you what—I need some numbers transcribed. Do you think you can do that? Do you have any numeracy issues?”
I scrunched my nose.
“Dyscalculia or something like that. I know dyslexia is more common, but I went to school with a guy who struggled with numbers. He opted to study nineteenth century Quebecois poetry in French.”
I blinked. “Uh. I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“I didn’t either—especially when he started discussing his dissertation. I just kind of nodded and said that sounded fascinating. Which it did, in some weird way. Did I read the thing? Fuck, no.”
“Right. I can’t say I would have either. I don’t have a problem with numbers. Transcribing something is simple. You do graphs on paper?”
He nodded. “I like to get a sense for the data before I input everything into the computer—a way to double-check the numbers. I also like to use a predictive formula to see if my observations match my hypothesis.”
I blinked. “Right. Whatever you say.”
He grinned. “I’ll be right back. Get dressed quickly—I wouldn’t want you to get cold.
” He grabbed a pile of clothes I hadn’t noticed and headed into the bathroom.
Huh, that was smart. Keeping them in here where there might be a bit of residual heat from the fireplace as opposed to in the bedroom which would be more like a freezer.
I’d essentially done the same thing—but without conscious thought. After he’d caught me undressing last night, I hadn’t considered doing anything with my clothes except throwing them in a heap on the recliner. I made a beeline over there and changed as quickly as I could.
When Marco returned, he set me up at the kitchen table with a long list of numbers to be transcribed, a battery-powered lamp to allow me to see, and a juice box of apple juice. The entire set up felt a little incongruous. “Is the food in the fridge going to go bad?”
“I didn’t bring much fresh stuff up with me. I consumed most of it earlier in the month, and I plan to restock when I go to Vancouver for Christmas.” He gestured to the freezer with his foot. “Not much there either. I’ll put it outside soon. But only the stuff that won’t attract wildlife.”
“Better to let the food spoil?” I knew precisely nothing about feeding wildlife.
He squinted. “Well, again, there’s not much in there. We should probably be having melted ice cream for breakfast.”
I perked. “You brought ice cream?”
“Yep. Chocolate fudge.”
“Oh, let’s have that. Please?”
He chuckled. “And here I thought you had a hankering for oatmeal with brown sugar and prunes.”
I wrinkled my nose. “No prunes. Just…gross.”
“All right. Let me see what else is in the freezer that I can whip into meals for the next day.”
After a couple of minutes of me working on the numbers, he handed me a bowl of ice cream.
“We should use the eggs later today. I have some bacon I can fry up as well. The bread and bagels will be fine. Same with the peanut butter and butter. I’ve got enough hot chocolate to get us through, and I have a dozen more drink boxes.
At least they’re recyclable. I plan to clear the place out before I leave. ”
“I thought you said you were coming back.”
“That’s my intention, but I never count on anything until it actually happens. I’ll bring up new supplies. I’m only coming for a week to finish things. Then I’m in Vancouver for the semester.”
“Oh?” I took a mouthful of soft chocolate fudge ice cream and moaned.
He chuckled again. “Yeah. Then I have more research planned. Back up in the Arctic again. In September, I plan to start writing my dissertation. I’ll pass it by my advisor just before next Christmas and, if all goes well, defend it in just over a year.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.” I ate more of the creamy goodness.
“Sure. But I really want to be a professor one day. That means working my ass off.”
“It’s a nice ass.”
Shit.
“I’m sorry?” He cocked his head.
“I said, working your ass off is, uh, hard.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said. At first light, I need to go out and check my sensors. I’ll have more numbers for you.”
“Appreciated.” He took the empty bowls, made his way to the sink, and washed the dishes.
I stared at his ass for a very long time before I went back to work.