Deep Wood

“You gonna brag some more or can we keep on playing?”

“Someone’s eager to lose.” I snicker. If you’d asked me a week ago if I’d ever be caught dead playing cards on this porch again, I’d have said you were dreaming. I had forgotten how much I loved being up here, on the mountain. And the improvements Jack made to the cabin are truly remarkable.

But even with the updates, there were still hinges that needed oiling, shutters that needed nailing, and a few planks on the porch were starting to rot. And as it turns out, Norah hadn’t been lying; she really is good with a hammer. We set out to fix the things we could, made a list of the supplies we needed, all while eating our weight in s’mores and peanut-butter sandwiches.

Yesterday afternoon, I stopped into town to pick up hardware supplies and groceries. When I got back, Norah wasn’t in the cabin. I called for her outside, but she didn’t answer. I checked the garage. No sign.

Panic wrapped its cold fingers around my throat. Was she out for a walk? Or, had she gotten bored of mountain life and decided to hitchhike home?

I searched the woods, and eventually found her by the brook, sitting on a rock overlooking a small pool. She wasn’t naked, but she was damn near close, and she’d obviously already jumped in to cool off. Dappled sunlight glinted off the droplets on her legs. I knew what the water would taste like if I licked it off her thighs. Fresh. Clean. Cold.

My cock—already at half mast from being around her the past few days—was two throbs away from bursting through my zipper. For one brief moment of insanity, I asked myself what would be so wrong with giving her what she wants. She hasn’t stop flirting with me since the night I picked her up. I’d been chalking it up to loneliness or a rebound crush. But if all she really wants is to forget about her shitty life for a few hours, what would be so wrong about granting her the reprieve? About granting it to each other?

I couldn’t remember ever wanting anything so much. But I also couldn’t shake the feeling that this girl was dropped into my lap for a reason.

Against my better judgment, I’m starting to care about Norah—about her happiness, and what she needs. She needs someone she can rely on to be there when the going gets rough. She isn’t a fast fuck, or a pit stop. She’s a girl on the run who just lost her father, and as badly as I want to put my hands on her, I know the second I cross that line, I won’t be the man she needs anymore.

I’ll just be the old guy who picked her up in his truck, brought her back to his cabin, and fucked her.

A gust of wind blows the playing cards off the table. Norah drops to her knees to collect the deck before it’s lost. I join her, stuffing the cards in the box as I grab them.

“Cold front’s moving in. I’ll go split some wood.” I hand her the box of cards and then run around back to fetch the axe. Beneath the awning off the garage sits a pile of logs protected from the elements by a blue tarp.

I grab an armful of logs and take them to the chopping block. I bust through half a dozen before I feel like I’m being watched. When I turn, I find Norah standing there, watching me.

“Enjoying the show?” I grab a fresh log. She shivers as if shaking off a trance.

“I’ll start bringing these in.” She fills her arms with wood and then runs off, returning just as the first drop of rain hits the back of my neck. I break up the last log and help her gather the remaining pieces. We’re halfway to the house when the sky opens up, dumping frigid water down on top of us.

“Better make a run for it,” I yell.

We sprint toward the house. Norah reaches the porch before I do, dumping her pile on the porch with the first load so she can open the door. I rush inside, drop my wood by the fireplace, then hurry back to help her with the rest.

Thunder rumbles in the distance. My T-shirt clings to my chest and back, and my jeans feel like they’ve gained thirty pounds.

“It got so cold so fast.” Norah rubs her arms. Even in the dim, gray light, I can make out the points of her nipples through her tank top. My cock perks up as I imagine fixing my mouth to her breast, tonguing her nipple through her shirt. I picture her without the shirt altogether. Soft, creamy skin. Round, jiggly tits. Stiff nipples.

She catches me staring, and rather than cover herself, she stands up straighter. Forcing myself to look away is like telling a wolf not stalk a rabbit, or a lion not to lick its chops. Someday soon, Norah and I are going to sit down and discuss what to do about this thing between us. It’s time to set some ground rules, like no more paper-thin tank tops.

“Go dry off,” I tell her. “I’ll start the fire.”

She looks like she wants to say something, then purses her lips. As soon as I hear the bathroom door close, I let out a breath.

“Fuck...” This isn’t good. I have to get myself under control before she comes back.

I stack the logs in the fireplace, tuck a crumpled piece of paper into the center, then light it with a match. The fire crackles to life as another rumble of thunder shakes the cabin. The storm will be on top of us in a few minutes.

I peel my wet shirt off and toss it in the washer along with my jeans. My boxers are damp, but I leave them on so I don’t accidentally give Norah and eyeful on my way up to the loft. I’m about to head upstairs for dry clothes when I spot Norah standing by the fire, gripping a towel around herself that barely covers her ass.

She eyes me through strands of rain-soaked hair. I know she’s naked under the towel, and I know all it would take to see her in all her glory is a swift flick of the

wrist.

“Silas,” she says. I don’t move a muscle. She moves closer, her bare feet sinking into the rug with every step.

My muscles tense like they’re gearing up for a fight.

She drops her towel, and my pulse jackknifes.