11. Dexter
DEXTER
Icouldn’t stop thinking about the lumberjack.
Viggo was a conundrum—a tough guy who looked like a Scandinavian warrior, was great with kids, liked donuts, made a mean pancake, and don’t get me started on the sex.
But his friendship with my surrogate was a complication. A big one. If I were smart, I’d cut my losses now and initiate the “That was a mistake never to be repeated” conversation. But damn, the thought of those big hands on my body gave me chills.
I shouldn’t admit this, but I’d jerked off more than once to the memory of him overpowering me, caging me between his bulging biceps and rolling his thick cock over mine. It was embarrassing how quickly I came…every time.
This was bad. Very bad.
If Viggo were anyone else, I’d have suggested we fuck this out of our systems and enjoy the ride, but I couldn’t do that with him. Unless he moved, I was going to bump into this guy in Wood Hollow for years to come. I had to get my shit together and snap out of it. Pronto.
Problem: Viggo was even hotter at seven a.m. the following morning.
His beard was trimmed, his blue eyes matched his plaid shirt, and yeah, I’d seen him park his Harley out front. Fuck me.
I dropped a fritter into a to-go bag and set it on the counter. “Hello.”
“Good morning, Dexter.”
“How are you?”
Viggo shrugged. “Well. You?”
“Not bad. Feel like coaching ten-year-olds with me tomorrow?”
“No.”
I chuckled, grabbing a dish towel. “If you change your mind, practice is at five.”
Viggo huffed or grunted or made one of those noises that could have meant anything from “okay” to “no fucking way.” Then he was gone, revving his motorcycle to life while I wiped the spotless countertop like a robot.
The following morning was a repeat, only worse ’cause it was clear to me that infatuation had me by the balls. Seriously. I actually googled lumberjack porn and jerked off to big guys with beards, plaid shirts, and work boots hammering each other over a massive tree trunk. Who was I?
I wisely stayed away from the counter at seven a.m. for the rest of the week. I didn’t text Viggo, and I didn’t seek him out either. It was business as usual for me—early mornings at the store, workouts, flag football practices and games, and hanging out with friends.
I had dinner with Reg and his kids last night. Playing catch with Rhys, quizzing Gretch on the periodic table, and chasing Tate the wonder dog when he stole my ball cap never got old.
And tonight, Troy came by with a six-pack and a long overdue tale about his date with the barista from Elmwood who’d turned out to be a moonlighting med student.
“The dude is too smart for me,” Troy lamented as he gazed out at the lake from my deck.
“I hate feeling like a dumb jock. It’s not that he was an asshole or anything.
He was super sweet…and that body? I mean…
wow. It’s just that while he was talking about common clinical abbreviations he has to learn for a typical quiz and the Latin root of a six-syllable word, I was searching for something clever to say, and all I could come up with was, ‘The bread is really good, isn’t it? ’ ”
I chuckled. “And was it that good?”
“I took him to C’est Bon.”
“Mm. Excellent stuff.”
Troy nodded. “Yeah, it was nice. But…he’s probably out of my league. How about you and the lumberjack?”
I almost spit out my beer.
“There is no me and the lumberjack,” I scoffed, wiping my chin. “Where did that come from?”
Troy tapped his chin in mock consideration.
“Oh, gee, I dunno. Maybe it was the rumor about you two having lunch at the diner or being seen deep in conversation at Rise and Grind. Or…maybe it was the surprise guest coach appearance. Not that I had a problem with it. He obviously knows football, and the kids and parents liked him, but…it’s not your MO—that’s modus operandi, by the way—to invite random community members to play coach for a day. ”
“It wasn’t a day, it was an hour.” I slugged the dregs of my beer and held up the bottle. “Want another—”
“How’d you meet him? Viggo…right?”
I frowned. “Is this an inquisition?”
“Nope. It’s just a question, Dex. No need to get your knickers in a twist.”
“I’m pretty sure I already mentioned that Viggo and I have a mutual acquaintance and—”
“Yeah, Reg told me you were seeing a mystery lady.” He leaned closer and booped my nose.
“But you didn’t tell me, which is kinda fishy.
I’m thinking he’s wrong, and that maybe you met the big guy through a friend of a friend, but you’re not ready to go public.
Totally understandable. Maybe it’s new, and you want to see where things go.
And maybe you don’t want Reg to know because of your recent history. But you can tell me.”
I opened my mouth and gaped. “You’re unbelievable. And completely wrong…about everything.”
“Oh? Then fill me in.”
“There’s nothing to add. I met Viggo through a friend who lives in Burlington. End of story. I invited him to practice on a whim ’cause he’s never played flag football, and flag football is sort of what I do. For fuck’s sake,” I huffed. “This town is too much sometimes.”
“Okay, okay.” He put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry.”
“And I’m not hiding anything from Reg,” I continued irritably.
Troy was the only one in town who knew about that—besides Viggo, by the way.
“I’ve moved on, and so has he. I resent the implication that I’m pining for him.
I’m not. And I’m not thinking about sexual conquests twenty-four seven, either.
” Total lie. I was definitely thinking about Viggo. “I’ve got bigger things on my mind.”
Troy widened his eyes comically. To his credit, he didn’t make any sophomoric comments about bigger sex toys.
He wanted to…I could tell. Sure, Troy had become an accomplished coach, I was a business owner, and we were both respected members of the community, but part of us would always be the eighteen-year-old college football teammates who used to get drunk on crappy beer on the roof of our dorm building.
We’d shared major milestones and had guarded each other’s secrets like vigilante soldiers when discretion had been the only recourse for a couple of closeted bi college athletes.
We’d weathered concussions, broken bones, coming out, Troy’s mom’s death, my short-lived marriage and divorce, and a host of new starts that hadn’t panned out.
Troy was more like a brother to me than my actual brother, who I rarely saw, and that alone made me feel a twinge guilty for not being a thousand percent honest about Freya. I couldn’t. I didn’t dare jinx myself or the baby. I knew he’d forgive me later.
“Bigger things like…surrogacy?” he guessed, squeezing my elbow at my brisk nod. “Hang in there, man. It’ll happen.”
I changed the topic. “Did I tell you my mother is lobbying hard for me to go to Michigan for Gilbert’s seventy-fifth birthday?”
“Oh, boy. Sounds like fun,” he snarked.
“Yeah. She says you-know-who won’t be there, but of course, she will be. And Mom insists that I bring a date, so I’m guessing there’s a fair chance she wouldn’t mind fireworks.”
“Your family is nuts.”
No offense taken. It was true.
“I’m not going.” I leaned in to bump Troy’s elbow and fluttered my lashes. “Unless you come with me.”
“Fu-u-u-u-ck no. Hard pass. Busy that day. Wish I could, sorry I can’t. I could go on,” he singsonged.
I snickered. “Yeah, well…I feel the same way.”
“Your mom won’t let you off that easy, buddy.” Troy shot a mischievous glance my way. “But if you need a date…bring your new lumberjack.”
“He’s not my lumberjack.”
“Whatever you say, Dex. Whatever you say.”
I flipped him off, then gathered our empty bottles while Troy cackled like a loon.
I wondered if Troy realized he wasn’t totally off base. ’Cause in a twist, I one thousand percent had a crush on the lumberjack.