Lumberjack's Luscious Lady (Babes of Biggal Mountain Book 1)

by Elaria Ride

  Adorable.

  As I walk over to my side of the bed and climb in, I have to admit I'm pretty exhausted myself. Today took me on a radical twist, one much different from how I’d expected things to go. I woke up this morning with every intention of ending the night alone in my house with a pizza and some shitty romcom. If I hadn’t met Jessie, I’d probably be wishing I were in one of those movies right now, cuddled up with a big girl of my own. My brothers give me shit for watching those types of movies, but I like to think love might be out there for me.

  I glance over at Jessie. She's still fast asleep, and the drying fringe around her forehead is fluttering as he takes deep, even breaths.

  Love.

  Is that a thought I'm even willing to entertain? I bite my lip.

  No.

  Better to avoid thinking about it. Right now, at least.

  I settle my head against the pillow, finally surrendering to the sleep that’s tried to overtake me for so long. My last thought before I'm pulled into a deep, lulling peace is that I hope she's here when I wake up.

  Because I'd be crushed if this were just a dream.

  7

  Jessie

  I wake in that bleary hour caught somewhere between night and morning. Faded blue-green light is peeking in from the skylight above my head, its faint glow pooling over everything in the room. It’s so serene, so restful, that it’s almost like I’m underwater.

  I glance to my left, unsurprised to find that Huck has passed out right next to me, his arm curled around my pillow as he sleeps on his side. His face looks boyish and innocent while he’s sleeping. I giggle a little to myself; he's most certainly not innocent when he's awake.

  I'd love to just drift back into that tranquil, early-morning slumber, but I have a more pressing issue: I really have to pee.

  I gingerly peel back the covers and place my feet on the thick Berber, taking extra caution to be quiet. I don’t want to disturb Huck, not if I’m expecting round three or round four later.

  I turn the corner of the master bedroom and tiptoe into the hallway, and I marvel, for just a second, at how I’m not self-conscious to be naked. Not one bit. Huck’s seen all of my curves and rolls and stretch marks... and he likes them. I don’t have to cover up with him and wrap myself into a bathrobe, not like I did with Connor. In fact, I'm sure Huck would quite like it if he found me like this. The thought thrills me a little, and I hurry my steps; I want to get back as quickly as possible.

  As such, I’m not paying particularly close attention to my surroundings as I scamper into the bathroom and do my business. It's not until I'm hastily washing and drying my hands that a flash of blue catches my eye in the reflection of the mirror. I pause, curious. There's a small burner phone charging on the far wall, and the light on the tiny screen suggests it's gotten a new notification.

  I bite my lip, hesitating.

  That's definitely Huck's phone. I recognize it from earlier; he shot someone a quick text while he was showing me around my room. He must've plugged it in to charge up here, probably just out of convenience.

  But would looking at that phone be snooping? I'm not really sure. It's not like he's my boyfriend or we've had time to lengthy discussions on things like personal property or boundaries. It's mostly been, well. Fucking.

  Then, an awful thought crosses my mind. Uncle John hadn't made it up here because of the snowstorm, and my phone doesn't get any service. What if he's relying on Huck for help, and I just ignore it until it’s too late? What if Huck got an urgent text from his family, or there's another emergency...and I just let it go?

  Before I give myself another second to think about it, I decide to check. Just to check. Even if it feels a little dirty.

  I take a deep breath and stride over to unplug the phone. It’s a pretty ancient model; they must not have a lot of smartphone options out here. I flip it open, fully expecting a quick text from Uncle John or any of Huck’s brothers. He’d mentioned a few of them. I don’t remember their names off the top of my head, but I’d probably recall them if I saw one.

  But I don’t see a text from Uncle John. Or from anyone who sounds even vaguely familiar.

  No.

  It’s a text from someone named Sylvie.

  The message is simple, but it’s enough to make my skin crawl: “Thanks for the massage!” followed by a winking kiss emoji.

  Shit.

  Shit shit shit.

  White-hot shame courses through my veins as tears spring to my eyes.

  I don’t want to know anything else — don’t want any more details — but it’s like watching a trainwreck; I’m too horrified to look away. With shaking fingers, I click on the profile for this Sylvie.

  And I promptly drop the phone on the ground.

  Sylvie is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful, by anyone’s standards. Blonde, perky, tiny... you know the type. She’s never been called fat or dealt with harassment.

  Of course she is. Of fucking course.

  I sink to my knees in mortified shock as the room swims before my eyes. How the hell could I have possibly been so damn stupid? Someone like Huck could never love me. He just wanted a quick lay — one that’s undoubtedly been missing out here, even if it came from a fat girl.

  I sit in a sad huddle like that for a few minutes, allowing myself some contemplative pity, a few moments to mourn my own naivete.

  But then I rise to my feet and wipe my eyes on a tissue.

  No, I decide resolutely. I’m going to get the hell out of here.

  And so I march into the hallway and tiptoe into the bedroom, packing my things as quietly as I can. As I throw on some pants and a cami and zip up my bag, one last thought occurs to me… one that swims higher into my consciousness with every passing moment, one that taunts me with its veracity:

  I’ll never shed another tear over a fuck-boy.

  8

  Huck

  I'm woken by the beep of the deactivating house alarm that rings through the still silence of the house.

  I bolt upright in bed and whip my head around, confused. It's still early — I can tell from the fading light. It's probably... 6? Maybe 7?

  I reach a hand out to Jessie's side of the bed, but my heart sinks in my chest; all I’m greeted with is a cold space where she should be. She's not there.

  Shittttt. I really hope she's not going anywhere, not with this storm coming...

  I leap out of bed and run downstairs completely naked; I never made it up here with clothes on, after all. I jump down the last few steps and land in the kitchen, where I seize my jeans from their heap by the table. I pull them on so hastily that I don’t even bother zipping my fly. All I can do is hope she hasn’t left yet.

  But really, why would she have left? I honestly have no idea. I shake my head and grow even more bewildered when I see that she’s grabbed her keys from where she’d hung them by the door last night.

  Which means she really is gone. The sickening reality hits me full in the chest. I think I might vomit. She must've woken up, caught a glimpse of me, and regretted her behavior last night.

  Great.

  Whatever. Jessie can be done with me, if she wants. But I'll be damned sure she doesn't put herself in any danger. She's already admitted she has no idea how to drive in snow. I lunge for my boots and jam in my feet; I don’t have time for things like laces.

  "JESSIE!" I bellow, throwing open the door and racing outside.

  Yes! She's still here — thank God. But it doesn't look like she will be for long. She's already opened her car door and hoisted her giant bag into the backseat.

  "What are you doing?" I demand, rushing towards her. I've got butterflies in my stomach again, terrified that she'll confirm my worst fears: that I was just a fuck.

  I see her stiffen at the sound of my voice.

  "Don't come any closer." Her tone is dangerously low, so cold that it raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

  "Ok." I raise my palms in surrender, but she doesn't even turn ar
ound to look at me. I clear my throat. “Are you...mad that we — "

  " — I saw a text from your little friend." She cuts across me briskly, her eyes downcast.

  ...well that wasn’t what I was expecting her to say.

  Could this possibly mean that she doesn’t regret last night? The thought makes me happy — much happier than I’ve been since I’ve woken up. But I don’t want to count my chickens just yet; there’s something else going on here.

  "What text?" I prod. I have an old-school flip-phone; it can barely handle SMS, much less any apps.

  Apparently, though, this was the wrong thing to ask.

  She whips around, glowering, as her composure finally snaps. "Huck, you KNOW what fucking text!"

  Shit. What did I do?

  Before I have the chance to ask, she clarifies the situation for me.

  "I can't imagine you'd forget someone like Sylvie." She spits out the last part with a furious hiss, like the words hurt to leave her mouth. She turns so I won't see her crying, and crosses her arms over her chest.

  Ohhhh.

  At the sound of Sylvie's name, all the pieces click into place. Thank God. It's only Sylvie. I can't imagine who else she could've heard from, but still. I release a relieved sigh, so glad it’s not anything worse.

  But the horror-struck look on Jessie's face tells me that was the exact wrong thing to do. Again. I’m going for some kind of fuck-up record with this girl, aren’t I?

  She just stares at me, her jaw set. Furious tears spill from the corners of her eyes. It looks like she's making desperate attempts to stop them, but nothing she's doing seems to be helping much. She's breathing deeply and glaring at me, like every semblance of trust has been destroyed, like she's too offended to move or get in her car or drive away.

  "I fucking knew it,” she finally seethes. "I fucking. Knew. It. That everything about this," she gestures to me and the house, "was too good to be true."

  She spares me one more enraged look and turns to fiddle with her keyfob to open her door as fast as she can.

  For some reason, my words are failing me. For several long seconds, all I can do is watch her, as if in slow-motion, as I grapple with my thoughts, considering what (if anything) might fix this.

  Right as she's about to get into the driver's side, the explanation finally comes to me. I don't know what's taken me so long; I'm overwhelmed and confused and honestly so smitten that I don’t know how to phrase this, to make it seem any less ridiculous than it is —

  "SHE'S MY SISTER!"

  My words boom through the air, and I just stand there, panting, wondering why it took me so long to come up with that.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Jessie's not wrong; I am a mess.

  Nevertheless, she pauses by the door handle and turns her head slightly to look back. She's biting her lip, and I can tell she's debating if it’s worth it to trust me.

  "Look," I say hurriedly, striding towards her. "Wait. Jessie. If I — if I could just explain —"

  She scowls at me over her shoulder. "You're full of shit." Her words are bitter, ringing with resignation.

  "I'm not!" I take two more steps and suddenly I'm standing over her, our bodies nearly touching. The snow flurries are starting to fall around us, and they're settling on her scalp.

  I release a tiny little smile in spite of myself, in spite of how inappropriate this must look... but she's so beautiful. I swallow and bring my hand down to her cheek. She reluctantly glances up at me, but her eyes are still filled with hurt.

  "Sylvie is my sister," I repeat firmly. "I have five brothers — Theo, Asher, Harrison, Emmett, and Finn.” I pause to draw a deep breath, hoping she’s still following me. “And I have one sister. Sylvia."

  Without breaking eye contact, I reach my hand down to my pocket and withdraw my wallet, thankful that I remembered to pull on my jeans before I bolted outside.

  "This is her," I say, flipping open my wallet and handing it over. My family portrait is right inside. We took the photos last year. It's a great shot of all of us, including Sylvie.

  Jessie's hands are shaking as she takes it from me. A look of recognition crosses her features as she gazes at the photo.

  She stares at it for a few second and whispers, "Oh."

  I laugh, a little relieved. "Yeah. Oh."

  "I guess... I guess I'm sorry," she mutters, staring down at the ground. "I'm sorry. I just caught Connor cheating on me from his texts, and you'd only mentioned your brothers, and I saw a text from her and she thanked you for the massage and had a kiss emoji, and – "

  I bark out a laugh.

  "Jessie." I shake my head. "I got her a massage. For her birthday. She owns a winery in the suburbs. She’s a workaholic who never makes time for herself. She’s on her feet almost 24/7, hardly ever leaves the venue. I figured she’d appreciate it. And," I add almost-thoughtfully, returning the wallet to my pocket. "Not that it matters, but... she's a lesbian?"

  "Oh,” Jessie repeats, still refusing to meet my eyes, but after a few seconds of silence, she offers me an embarrassed little smile.

  "Now," I say firmly, reaching for her hand. "I think the real issue here is that we don't know each other that well."

  Jessie laughs weakly and wipes away a lingering tear.

  "Yeah," she mutters, accepting my hand as it envelops hers. "I did kinda of... go off the rails. Without knowing the whole story."

  I shrug. "It was an easy mistake to make. And after all the shit you've been through..." I trail off, shaking my head. "I'm sorry you thought that. I'm sorry. But...”

  I hesitate. This part's a little embarrassing, but if anyone, Jessie certainly deserves to know.

  "I've had sex twice in the past five years."

  I say it in a rush and feel my face flushing. She immediately pops her head up, puzzlement written across her face.

  "In five years?" she repeats, incredulous. I give her a short nod, staring somewhere over her head. She laughs again, but it's a disbelieving sound.

  "I'm not bullshitting you," I say, tilting up her chin to meet my gaze. Her face is open again, and she seems more understanding, like she's actually listening to what I'm saying. And shit, looks so pretty standing out here in the snow, with the flurries cascading around us.

  “Dating is hard,” I confess, still peering at her. “And as you can probably tell, I have a really certain type of girl I’m interested in, and,” I sigh, “this mountain is pretty rural. Almost everyone is married.”

  Jessie blinks at me for a few seconds, but she finally gives me a short nod. She believes me. Finally.

  And then something changes in her expression. It becomes charged, hungry, as her gaze drifts down to my chest. I'm suddenly aware of the fact that I'm shirtless, that I bolted from the house without so much as a tank top.

  "Well," she purrs, getting a little closer to me. She traces a finger over my bicep. From Jessie's shallow breathing, I can tell that she's at least a little turned on. This is good news for me, because being this close to her already has me hardening.

  "How about we triple your record?" she whispers, standing on her tiptoes. I laugh and bend down to meet her lips in a kiss, one that’s already heated and fervent. She arches against me, moaning into my mouth. I move to drop kisses up and down her neck, and her little whimpers compel me, control me… I can't get enough.

  I clumsily shift my hands to cup her breasts through her camisole, so grateful that she hasn't bothered to wear a bra.

  She's obviously receptive to my advances. I feel her body twisting against mine, and she's starting to rock herself back and forth against the knee I’ve inadvertently placed between her legs.

  "Jessie," I pant as she moves her lips to my collar bone, gripping my back with her fingertips. Her tongue flicks across my nipple and I release a vibrating moan from deep in my chest. She giggles a little and keeps going, but I can't bear to be teased — not now. Not when I was so close to losing her, just a few moments ago.


  I tilt her head up to mine and kiss her roughly, cupping her jaw as I allow my tongue to penetrate her soft lips. She whimpers in acquiescence and wraps her arms around my neck, deepening the kiss with the introduction of her own tongue as it plays with mine.

  "Want you," I groan, pulling back slightly, and I can tell by the look on her face that she’s on the same page, that she — impossibly — wants me almost as much as I want her.

  I reach down and lift her up by the hips as my hands drift down to her ass. I shove her against me, making sure she can feel my thundering arousal, making sure she knows exactly what the slightest bit of her does to me.

  "Yessss," she hisses as I prop her against the car. I place kisses on the column of her neck and trail my way down to those glorious breasts, scooping them out of her top and beginning to suckle with wild abandon. Her head’s thrown back, her eyes are closed in ecstasy, and her legs are wrapped so tightly around my middle that I'll have a mess in my pants sooner rather than later.

  "Need you now,” I mutter, my voice pebbled with lust.

  I spread Jessie's thighs and tilt her back against her car. She's all too eager to help; her hands drift lower and lower to my jeans and release my throbbing cock through my unzipped fly.

  I groan as her deft little fingers circle around me and begin pumping in earnest, her mouth arching up to meet mine. She's working me so hard that I prop us both against the car door, making sure we remain upright. I grab a firmer handful of her ass as she continues to work her hands, but after another few seconds of this, I can't take it — she's getting me too close to the edge.