by Teagan Kade
Deric clears his throat awkwardly. “No, actually. He’s flown out to LA to be with his mom,” he says, getting my full attention. It’s a small town, so naturally we’re all aware of everyone’s family drama.
Deric fills me in quickly. While Dex is coping with his own personal tragedy, we’re all pitching in to help cover the third arm of the business that Dex runs—kayaking and hiking tours. To be fair, my ‘pitching in’ means doing the mindless share of the work that Dean and Deric won’t have time to with their added tours.
“So, Dex had a tour coming up—three nights of kayaking and camping. I’m going to have to take it over, which means I need you to help Dean get everything lined up and ready for the remaining tours that he’s taking over and anything else that comes up,” Deric explains.
“Whoa, you mean I’ll have to work with Dean by myself?” I ask, not sure whether to dance a jig or develop a migraine. “You realize he hates that I’m working here right? This isn’t a good plan,” I say, grasping for excuses. “Plus, I have no idea how to prep gear for you guys. You know I’m not into this outdoorsy stuff. I’ll just screw things up.”
I mean it. Whatever Bear Grylls is, I’m the opposite.
“Don’t worry, Dean will show you what you need to know. Besides, we’re not giving you anything too important, and Dex needs our help, so get over yourself, will you.”
He’s right. I feel awful for Dex. Still… surely, there must be some other workaround.
“Why doesn’t Dean take the tour and you and I work on the stuff here?” I suggest.
“Because I didn’t have any tours scheduled during that time frame. Dean does. It’s non-negotiable,” Deric says in a rare, mature tone that leaves no room for arguing. If he ever stops dicking around, he might even make a good grown-up.
I sigh heavily, frustrated but with no legs to stand on.
“Don’t worry, I’m not thrilled about it either,” Dean says in a clipped tone behind me.
When the heck did he come in?
I turn to see him in the doorway, hair dripping wet. Whatever was in his eyes before is gone. He’s back to the same disapproving glower.
At least the world makes sense again.
*
I try to stay in the office for the rest of the morning. Dean goes out of his way to avoid me too, as if I might waterboard him at any moment. Not that he needs to throw eye daggers my way. I already know I need to maintain my own distance.
Logic is telling me to avoid him, but there is a small part of me that wants to understand his coldness, wants to find a way to heal it, and explore whatever it was that flickered between us when he didn’t know who I was.
He may not have recognized me, but as soon as I saw those eyes I knew him in an instant. There’s a stubble he would never have been able to achieve before, a dark dusting that screams ‘Man!’ and his body has filled in, squared off. The once lean muscles of boyhood have thickened and hardened in ways that make my mouth water. And still, I can so easily see the guy I remember, that surly kid who’d knock on the door and ask for Deric. Every time I’d watch from the side window, through the sheer cream curtains, wishing he’d look back, wishing he’d see me.
I know how pathetic and illogical it was to hope, but the way he looked at me at Riley’s… He saw me—not Deric’s little sister. For a moment he was just a hot guy hitting on a girl in short-shorts and, damn it, I want it back. I know I shouldn’t, I know I can’t, but part of me wants to feel that way again. I want to roll around in that moment where I was a mysterious new person capable of running off into the woods with a ‘stranger’ for a little afternoon delight.
The freak moment at the shower is beyond my deciphering, and it’s best I don’t go poking my head around it too much. I’ll just end up falling headlong into another senseless and ultimately disappointed crush.
*
I’ve been working on the website for three hours now. It’s starting to look better with the improved graphics and, you know, actual content. I’m no web designer, but all those hours Deric took off to go climbing or hiking with his friends I stayed inside. I played music, goofed around on my computer, and did all the attendant nerdy things awkward, introverted kids with too much imagination do.
At least it’s benefitting someone.
“Ava!” I hear someone call.
Deric took off an hour ago, so I go outside confused.
My name is called again, and I realize it’s Dean’s voice. I follow it to the shed where I find him with about six bikes laid out.
“I need your help,” he says brusquely.
I look at him dubiously.
He rolls his eyes. “I’ve got about a dozen bikes that have come in. I’ve just finished replacing parts, painting the frames, and tuning up the first half. We need to test ride them.”
“We?” I practically squeak. “As in ‘me’?”
“What? Don’t tell me you don’t know how to ride a bike.” He looks exasperated.
“Of course, I do,” I snap. “I’m not totally helpless.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “We’re only going to ride a half mile down the trail, only to go through the gear changes and test the brakes.”
My eyes widen. “The trail? As in… into the woods? I’m not sure about that. Deric specifically said I wouldn’t have to go in there…”
Dean’s green eyes spark. He snaps, “Fine. Jesus. Go back inside and hide from anything that could possibly break a nail then.”
My own irritation is starting to rise. “Hey, I’ll have you know I bite my nails!”
Ooooh, good one, Ava. You’re really showing him now.
“Thanks for clearing that up. Any other fascinating details you care to share? No? Good, because I need to get back to work since someone is too chicken shit to fucking help.”
“Excuse me for having completely reasonable reservations! Geez, what is your problem?” I hear myself break. “You know, I thought you were a loner by choice, but with a pissy attitude like that, it’s no wonder.”
He glares back but doesn’t say anything and I almost wish he’d insult me back so I wouldn’t feel like I just said something horribly wrong. Instead, he goes back to getting the bikes set up. I wordlessly follow him as he gets on a bike.
He looks back then. “Try not to crash and break it.”
Yeah, real nice.
I follow him towards the tree line and onto the main alpine trail. It breaks off to a maze of others, but I follow Dean as closely as I can, shifting through the gears as he shouts instructions back to me.
Dean’s way faster than I am, though, and shoots ahead with no apparent effort before returning after a few minutes. I follow his tread marks and we make our way through the bikes until we’re on the final two. I don’t see Dean, but I know enough to tell where I’m going. Luckily, it’s not too far into the brush. I can still see the sky well enough overhead and hear the creek by the Den, so the fear I thought would take over me is held at bay.
For now.
I shift to the final gear, but my shoe lace catches on the derailleur and my ankle knocks into the jagged spikes of the gears.
Crap, it hurts. I stop and look down. There’s blood dripping onto my sock, so I set the bike against a tree and sit down, attempting to wipe it up with my bandana.
“Get up. Get the fuck up!” Dean’s voice comes at me as he rides towards me.
I feel myself bristling and stay put in defiance.
“What are you doing? You’re sitting in poison oak!”
Oh, crap!
I leap into the air and look back. It looks unremarkable to me, but I’ve never really seen poison oak.
“Quick. Hurry up and follow me,” Dean mutters, shaking his head.
I climb on the bike and ride with him back to the shed.
He runs inside and rustles with something before jogging back and grabbing my arm. He pulls me in the least arousing way towards the outdoor shower, quickly switching the water on and soaking my legs, ru
bbing some kind of soap all over them.
The moment goes from annoying to incredibly sensual. My breathing catches as his hands glide up and down my thighs. His rough fingers move closer and closer to where I want them, until they stop completely. His eyes meet mine and every inch of me is on fire.
He suddenly drops the sprayer like it burned him and steps back. “Here, clean yourself,” he says, tossing a small bottle of Tecnu towards me. “It’ll get the oils off and hopefully prevent a bad reaction.”
“Thanks,” I manage to croak.
Dean drags a hand through his hair. “What the hell were you thinking sitting in poison fucking oak? How much more clueless do you have to be?”
“How the heck was I supposed to know?” I defend myself.
“Just hurry up and wash off,” he barks.
“You know, maybe if I wasn’t trying to follow your orders and keep up your bat-out-of-hell pace, I wouldn’t have fallen in the first place!” I shout, getting annoyed.
“I wouldn’t have to order you around if you actually paid attention to what you’re doing,” he says, and I realize I’m not even pointing the sprayer at myself anymore. “Now, if you don’t want to look like a walking STD with an itchy, red rash all over you, you’ll wash off any part of you that touched those leaves—twice.”
That’s it. “Fine, I will,” I say, and drop the sprayer to pull my torn tank top up over my head, tossing it to the side and standing in front of him in my strappy black sports bra. “Happy?” I ask, with a spiteful confidence I can only assume comes from my stubborn anger because no way did I ever imagine stripping in front of Dean.
He stands there for a beat, looking at me with a heated intensity that quickly erases whatever false bravado I just held.
And then he turns away.
“Just hurry up and wash off,” he mumbles, already walking away.
I do, but it does nothing to prevent the goosebumps that have little to do with the poison oak and everything to do with the way he was looking at me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DEAN
Is it possible for balls to turn so blue they simply fall off? I almost hope so, because at least it would put an end to this torture.
Ava’s little poison oak mishap didn’t help things. Safe to say, it’s not exactly advisable to personally bathe the object of your sexual desire, at least not if said bathing isn’t going to have a happy ending. It took every single fiber of willpower I possess not to slide my hand further up her thigh and stroke her until she was crying out for me to finish her. Just thinking about it now is getting me dangerously close to making a mess in my riding shorts.
If only it had been a one-off. It feels like if I’m not protecting her from my own twisted thoughts, I’ve got to be on the lookout to protect her from herself. In the end, I’m stretched to the point of snapping and Ava stands to be the casualty.
Deric is gone now on his tour with Dex’s group and it’s just the two of us for the next couple days. Today, Ava had to accompany me on a short half-day hike for a business group that was more interested in their matching team-building T-shirts and accompanying photo op.
When they stopped at the view point, I caught her nearly eating a handful of baneberries, mistaking them for currants. The thought of what might have happened chills my blood.
I had been busy setting up their group photo when I turned around and saw her wander towards the brush. She squatted down and I was so distracted admiring the perfect curve of her ass that I nearly missed the fact she was plucking the red fruit off the branches. I didn’t have time to do anything else but make some weird mangled animal sound and dive at her.
“Hey!” she cried out, as I knocked her off balance and we fell to the ground.
“Jesus H. those are poisonous!” I shouted, catching my breath and trying not to notice the fact that our bodies were pressed together, her perky tits brushing against my forearm as I scrambled to get back up.
If she didn’t feel my hard-on, it’s a goddamned miracle, but that’s hardly my concern at this point. The combination of her cluelessness and my body’s response to her is becoming dangerous.
And yet, something about protecting her feeds a hunger in me I can’t quite source.
At least for today she’s already headed home. Something’s got to give, though, or I’m going to end up mauling her before long.
I’m in the shop trying to change out an inner tube—a totally mundane, routine task, but I can’t focus. My mind just keeps wandering back to those brief moments when circumstance allowed me to touch her.
This can’t happen and you know it.
I slam my hands down on the table and something flutters, catching my eyes. It’s my dad’s old Marine Survival Guide Book. I was only six when he died. He’d barely taught me to ride a bike before he got his deployment orders. But, years later, I found the book in the boxes of his stuff Terry made my mom pack away. Its pages were well worn from use. It felt like a connection to him, so I pored over every word of it, memorized all the wisdom he’d never gotten the chance to share with me.
Nearly everything I know about surviving in the wilderness I learned from this book. I examine the weight of it in my hands. It’s not that thick and certainly not particularly engaging on its literary merits, but there is a lot in here that might help Ava.
Maybe if I don’t have to keep coming to her rescue it’ll help prevent what is starting to feel inevitable. Hell, it’s worth a shot.
Anything is.
*
“Here,” I say, tossing the manual on the desk in front of Ava as she’s settling in for the morning.
She looks at me curiously, reaches for the book and leafs through it, her brows knitting together as she scans the table of contents. For a minute she reminds me of the nerdy little girl I remember from all those years ago, the one I found huddled at the base of a redwood terrified and shivering.
This is exactly why nothing could ever happen. There is too much history here, and even if there wasn’t, she’ll always be my best friend’s sister. Deric expects me to look after her while he’s gone. What kind of piece of shit would take advantage of that?
Good question, hot shot.
“This looks pretty old,” Ava says, feeling the spine.
“It was my dad’s,” I answer.
She looks up, startled. Her warm brown eyes meet mine and I read the sincerity in them. “Oh… thank you.”
I nod. “There are a lot of dangers out here in the wilderness. Read it. It might save your life,” I explain.
Ava’s lips curve slightly. “Aw, you do care,” she teases lightly. Some of the edge between us is wearing off. I can feel it.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, if you go off eating all the poisonous wild mushrooms you find, who’s going to finish the website?”
She touches a hand to her forehead and feigns rapture. “Oh, Dean! Who knew beneath that rugged, mountain man exterior there lived the soul of a poet?”
I turn around and walk out, tossing over my shoulder, “I’ll leave you to your vapors then.”
The sound of her laughing follows me outside.
*
“It’s crazy how many wildflowers are blooming all of a sudden,” Ava says, pointing to the mustard yellow flowers around the shed.
We’re well into mid-spring now and the drizzling rains and snow melt from the higher elevations have caused the woods to explode with sprays of bright blooms.
“Yeah,” I agree, glancing up from the derailleur I’m working on. “Those are nasturtium… or you might know it as watercress. It’s wild, but you can eat it if you want.”
She goes over and picks a few leaves, hesitates, then puts them in her mouth and slowly chews. “Oh weird, they’re peppery. Not bad, I guess, but way different than I expected.”
“Just don’t eat them after the flowers are gone—they turn bitter. They’re still safe, but not anything you’d want to choke down unless you had to. If you’re set on eating wild plants,
make sure you’re paying attention to what part of the plant you can eat and when you’re eating it.”
“Like cattails, right? Different parts of it are edible at different times,” she reads. “Although, I can’t imagine it tastes all that good, they look so unappetizing. Too bad the foxglove is so poisonous. It’s so pretty.”
The purple, pink, and white bells dot the open grasses of the field the Den is nestled into.
“Not all that glitters is gold. A few nibbles of that’ll drop a grown man flat,” I remind her. “Same thing with lilies or anything with white berries or milky sap, just as a rule.”
She nods and even though I’ve still got a handful of bikes to finish refurbishing and repainting the frames, I find myself taking time to point out small things here and there. Ava picks up the information quickly, recognizing things from the manual I gave her and demonstrating more comprehension than I expected. It surprises me how much I actually enjoy sharing this information. None of the girls I dated during my pro riding days would have dreamed of eating leaves off the side of a trail. They were all into the status of dating a professional athlete. Of course Ava would be different. She always was unique, I smile to myself.
I’m beginning to wonder whether I maybe underestimated her. I have to acknowledge, at least privately, that Deric was right. The extra help is useful. I just wish it came in a less appealing package.
Even with her limited knowledge of bike mechanics, Ava’s been a big help prepping all these frames, and just in time, because I’ve got a night hike tonight, not to mention the big group ride tomorrow.
We seem to have settled into some sort of truce and I’m not so sure that’s a good thing. Interacting with her is easier, but it also means there is one less barrier there between us.
*
The scout group arrives in a big white van. The group spills out in front of the Den in their khaki shirts and I realize suddenly these are not the eighth-graders I was told to expect.
Not in the slightest.
“Hi, I’m Rick,” the driver says, getting out. He’s got slicked-back hair, the collar of his khaki shirt is popped, and he walks over ballooning his gum behind mirrored aviators like he thinks he’s fucking Ice Man.
