“I can hear your negative self-chatter through the phone lines. Quit it. I’d argue that it’s a sign she cares. Especially after startingthings off with such a wild set of circumstances. It makes sense that she’s wanting to reel in some control.”
“Or it’s the lead up to her ending things.”
“But you don’t really know that, do you?”
“Right.” He sounds like Dr. Keats, and it pisses me off, though it’s not his fault. When I reach into the fridge for the milk and butter, the case of beer on the bottom shelf with its cheerful red packaging is like a giant neon sign.Just one beer.Nobody would miss one beer.I slam the fridge shut. Why the hell didn’t I go to that meeting?
“Her ex wasn’t just your average dickweed,” Bear continues. “Maryanne said he started off all sweet and normal, but over time, things changed. Almost like the guy had a plan. It got harder and harder to get ahold of her. He convinced her to stop coming home for the holidays. To quit doing the things she loved. Make her question her goals and dreams. It sounds like emotional abuse. So it makes total sense that this is scary for her. But it’s also really fucking beautiful that she’s bringing you along for the ride.”
I rub my hands over my face and comb my mustache with my fingertips so I don’t throw the milk across the kitchen. “It’s too bad this cat’s left town because I’d like to teach him some manners.”
“And I’d help,” he says in a firm tone. “Meanwhile, you continue being the man your girl needs.”
My girl. The longing to make those words true stings like a burn. “How do I do that?”
“Fuck if I know. I’m the last guy you should take relationship advice from.”
That steel band softens another notch. “I like Maryanne.”
He grunts. “Who would have thought I’d fall for a teacher. I hated school.”
“Maybe you just needed the right kind ofinstruction.” I scoop up a single shell from the bubbling pot of pasta and blow on it.
His laugh is a deep rumble. “Get your mind outta the gutter.”
“I’m still trying to forget the sounds of rapture you two were making up in that loft.”
“Oops,” he says with another laugh. “You and Linnea weren’t exactly quiet either. My neighbors gave me the dirtiest looks this morning.”
I bite back my smile. “Not gonna apologize for that one, sorry.”
“Keep me posted, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Later, after scarfing down my dinner and cleaning up followed by my weekly check-in call with my grandparents, I lock myself in the bathroom for a quick shower before bed. But underneath the spray, all I can think of is Linnea. How good she felt in my arms. How I couldn’t get enough of her. The way our bodies moved in synch. Her soft, playful kisses. The way she came from the right amount of friction, braced off the wall and my thumb circling her backdoor. That she likes my touch in such a forbidden place has me in a chokehold.
Unable to stop myself, I spit into my hand and pump my fist down my length, imagining all the ways I want her. On my bed, her hair splayed on the pillows, on her knees gazing up at me with desire in her pretty eyes. Bent over a hay bale, her jeans bunched at her shins. With my face buried in her pussy, her taste on my lips.
I explode in my fist, panting, aftershocks rattling down my thighs.
As my stuttered breaths echo against the tile walls, I try to convince myself that I can be the man Linnea needs because it’s exactly the kind of man I aspire to be. Patient, humble, honest, kind. Confident. Strong.
But what if that isn’t enough?
Chapter Twenty-Four
When I pull awayfrom headquarters in my field clothes, gear packed, water bottle full, a sense of optimism floods me so fast, I have to blink away the sudden hot prickle in my nose.
Catching sight of my reflection in the rearview makes me laugh a little. I shouldn’t be so excited about measuring stream depths and looking for salamander poop on a Monday morning, but it means I’m not stuck making coffee for Keith or giving myself pep talks in the ladies room. And it means getting my hands dirty and engaging in a problem with all five of my senses.
As if Mother Nature approves of my plan, we’ve been gifted a patchy blue sky with big, puffy clouds. The bright sun reflecting off the snow turns every surface into glinting, shimmering color. Even the Bitterroots are out today, the rocky spires almost purple against their snowy flanks.
When I arrive at the field area, the streambed looks worse than the aerial photos I studied, thanks to the decades of neglect since a silver mining operation abandoned this valley and a series of floods that would have never happened if beavers were in still charge of the landscaping.
I don’t see CJ’s text until I’m pulling on my hip waders at the back of the truck.
CJ: