by Melinda Minx
“Did you see a road here? Or a car?”
“You don’t even have a car?”
“I have a truck,” he says. “But I keep it parked in town. Takes me forty-five minutes to walk there.”
“That’s...inconvenient.”
“People have different ideas of inconvenience,” he says. “For some, a 45-minute walk is inconvenient, for others, it’s having to babysit a careless and entitled hiker who--”
“Excuse me?” I snap. “I am not…”
Shit, I am careless, aren’t I? “I’m not entitled!”
He laughs hard from deep in his stomach. The dimples cut deep into his cheeks as he looks down at me, grinning wide and exposing his perfect white teeth. “So you give me careless then? You’re careless, and I guess expecting me to drop everything and drive you into town isn’t entitled. Got a good word for that?”
“Maybe,” I say, anger boiling in my gut, “Maybe it’s entitled to take off a woman’s clothes and to try not to look, it sounds to me like you did look.”
“Want to play a game?” Coal asks.
“What? No, I don’t want to play anything with you.”
“If you can take off my shirt and my pants while I lay down, and then put new clothes onto me and wrap a blanket around me without actually looking at me at all, I will carry you on my back into town, right now.”
“I didn’t ask you to--”
“You asked me to help you,” Coal says. “Just before you passed out in the snowstorm. Before I carried you back to the warmth.” He shakes his head. “And don’t flatter yourself so much, who says I even wanted to look? Ain’t nothing I haven’t already seen plenty of times before.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Like I’m going to believe you have all kinds of women trekking through the woods into a cabin in the middle of nowhere just to jump your bones?”
“I didn’t always live in a cabin.”
“I changed my mind,” I say, “I want to play a game.”
He smirks at me, and reaches for his belt. “Yeah? You just can’t wait to get my clothes off, or--”
“Not that game!” I take a sip of my coffee now. There’s no milk or sugar in it, it’s just black. I can taste a hint of acid, but it’s not to my taste at all. I scrunch my face up at it.
“I’ve got no ice cream with a dab of coffee that everyone drinks these days—I don’t have any of that crap in this cabin,” Coal says. “Try finishing the cup, I promise you’ll like real coffee by the time you finish it.”
“These days,” I say, mocking him, “You’re what, in your late 20s? Early 30s? Barely older than me. Neither of us is old enough to say these days.”
He shrugs, then falls down on the couch next to me. It’s a big couch, but having him this close to me is scary. Mostly because I’m not wearing any pants. I wrap the blanket tight around me.
“I’m not gonna bite,” Coal says.
He gives me a teasing look, then says, “Not unless you want me to. So what game did you want to play? What games do people play these days.”
“I want to play Truth,” I say.
“Truth or Dare? I think we’re too old for that, but I’ll bite.”
“Just Truth,” I say. “No Dare.”
He stretches his hands up into the air and yawns loudly. His muscles bulge and his body tightens as he yawns. He somehow even makes yawning sexy.
“Too boring for you?” I ask. “I guess something about you, and you have to tell me if it’s true or not. If I guess right, I get to ask another. If I’m wrong it’s your turn to ask me.”
“What is there to know about me?” he asks. “I live in a cabin in the woods. I don’t like sugar in my coffee. My name’s Coal. Done.”
I doubt it’s that simple. I notice the tattoo on his arm: an eagle holding what looks like the fire poker he used earlier.
“Are you military?” I ask.
“No,” he says.
I scrunch up my face and point at his tattoo. “The game is called ‘Truth,’ Coal, you can’t lie.”
“It’s a game,” Coal says, “You better up your game if you want to get anything out of me. I play to win. My turn now. I bet you haven’t had sex in the last six months. Am I right?”
My face burns red. I start doing the math in my head, and Coal bursts out laughing.
“That long, huh? Lucky for you, you just have to say ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ and you don’t have to embarrass yourself with the actual number.”
“No,” I say in a low whisper, grating my teeth.
“Hm,” Coal says, perking up. “This game is fun. I’m good at it. You’re here with a girlfriend, but you’re from San Francisco--no--you’re from the suburbs of San Francisco.”
Dammit. This game is not fun anymore. “Correct.”
“I can learn a lot about a woman from seeing her naked,” Coal says, voice teasing, “I guess I saw right through you, Andrea.”
“I thought you tried not to look.”
“It’s still my turn,” he says. “I bet you work in an office, and--”
“Nope,” I say, crossing my arms.
He bites his lip, those gleaming white teeth and that scrunched up face look so good in the light from the fire. “Cubicle,” he says.
Shit, he’s good. “You made your guess already with ‘office,’ I say. It’s my turn. You’re ex-military.”
Coal nods.
Bastard. Most people would consider themselves as “military” even after leaving the service. Not Coal, apparently. He’s done.
I look at the tattoo again. It’s not a fire poker, it’s a trident. “You’re a SEAL?”
“No,” he says. “My turn.”
Shit! I should have asked him, “You were a SEAL?” Now I have to answer his pervy questions again.
“You’re probably going to take this one the wrong way,” Coal says, grinning wide, “But it’s just a game, so relax and--”
“Just ask the question,” I snap.
“See, you’re already taking it the wrong way, maybe I’ll throw you another softball?”
“Ask,” I say. “And get over yourself.”
He licks his lips and leans closer in toward me. “Since it’s been so long since you’ve had any fun, and since I live all cut off from civilization, and since you can’t stop checking me out--”
“This isn’t a question--”
“Just wait,” he says. “With all that in mind, you’re mulling it over in your head. You have to stay the night here, and if you stay the night, you’re thinking you might as well let me take care of your six-plus-month dry spell. It wouldn’t be such a big deal since you could just leave in the morning, and you’d never come by here again or see me again. It would be almost like it never happened.”
My heart pounds as he speaks. It’s like he’s inside my head, reading my thoughts like words on a page. It makes me feel uneasy and vulnerable, and I don’t like it.
I stand up to get away from him. The blanket falls off and hits the ground.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Coal says, smirking at my bare legs.
I bend down and grab the blanket, wrap it around myself, and then I kick him hard in the shin. “You asshole!”
“Yeah,” he says, ignoring the kick. “I’ve been called that plenty of times. If you don’t want to fuck, you can just say ‘no,’ but I haven’t heard you say ‘no’ yet. It sounds to me like you want to, but are afraid to admit it.”
“I want to leave,” I say.
“I still don’t hear you saying ‘no,’” Coal says.
“Now.”
“Alright,” Coal says, “Let me check your clothes--”
“I will check them,” I say.
I take hold of the ankles on my jeans. They are damp. My underwear is dry, as is my shirt. The jacket is still damp as well.
“So?” Coal asks. “You gonna put those soggy clothes back on, and I’ll walk you a few miles through the snowstorm with a flashlight? Let me get my jacket. I’m gonna change my pant
s too...put on some really nice, warm, dry, and toasty insulated pants--”
“Shut up,” I snap.
I put the coffee down on the fireplace, it’s still only half finished. “You were wrong, this still tastes awful. Who drinks coffee like this?”
“I told you that you’d like it when you had finished the cup,” he says. “You didn’t even finish the cup.”
“Go get your stupid pants,” I say. “We’re leaving.”
“I’ve got cider,” Coal says. “But that’s bitter too.”
“Bitter drinks for a bitter man.”
Coal laughs. “Who says I’m bitter?”
“I do. You have some chip on your shoulder, and you isolate yourself because you’re afraid, but you try to play it off as some mountain man, lumberjack bullshit. You’re ashamed of what you were--what you are--and you’re trying to hide from it.”
Coal grabs my cup of coffee up from the fireplace and takes a sip of it. He smiles. “It doesn’t taste bitter to me. I’ll go get my pants.”
He disappears into a room--what looks like the only room other than the living room--and shuts the door.
The warmth from the fire has reached down into my bones now, and I feel toasty. The memory of the snowstorm is somehow distant, like a dream. Now I’m going to walk back out into it, with wet jeans.
He just had to cross the line. If he had been more of a gentleman, I’d have been happy to sleep on the couch by the fire, while he slept far away in his own room. But no, he had to say aloud what my lizard brain was thinking, that he is hot, and that some part of me--a tiny part of me--wants him.
It’s been eight months. That’s not even a year! It’s normal when you’re busy--and when all guys are such assholes--to have dry spells. If I wanted some meaningless hookup with a total asshole, I could have just gone to a dive bar. I was waiting for something real. I’m tired of guys who just want to fuck around.
At least I thought I was tired of them. Coal is forcing me to reconsider. That’s why I need to walk back out into the snowstorm and get away from him before I do something stupid.
He steps back out in thick clothes with a scarf draped over his shoulders, and his hands are full of more clothes.
“So,” he says. “I cut a few dozen extra notches in an old belt of mine, I think with some creativity I can get these warm pants onto you.” He frowns. “I really didn’t think we’d end tonight by me getting pants onto you.”
He throws the pants and belt onto the couch beside me. “Call for me once you’ve got these on.”
He’s gone before I can even say anything. I wonder if I did actually piss him off. Maybe I hit too close to him with my amateur psychoanalysis of him. Though seriously, no one shuts himself off in a cabin like this if he doesn’t have some kind of issues.
I make sure Coal is gone, and I remove the blanket. I pull the pants on. They go up to my tits almost, and they are as loose as a burlap sack. I wrap the belt around my waist and tighten it. The pants stay up, but they are by no means comfortable. I roll up the bottom of the legs so they don’t drag on the floor. I put my own shirt and bra on, which are thankfully dry.
“I’m ready,” I shout.
Coal comes back out with an extra jacket. “This will be too big for you, but it’s better to be too warm than too cold. Put it on.”
I nod and obey. The sleeves swallow up my hands.
“I can’t get my hands out.”
“Good,” he says. “You won’t need gloves then.”
“What if I need to...carry stuff?”
“I’ll carry everything. You’re a terrible hiker, Andrea, you’ve proven that. I want you to stay just a few steps behind me at all times. If you can’t touch or carry anything, all the better. Less for you to screw up.”
He grabs my wet jeans and stuffs them into a bag. “Ready? Last chance to back out. I can sleep on the sofa--”
“I’m ready,” I say.
I’m too stubborn to turn back now. As soon as I put the big, dumb, oversized pants on, I should have just called the whole thing off. But the last thing I want is to admit to Coal that he was right.
I follow him to the door, and the moment he opens it, the wind sucks every last drop of warmth out of the cabin.
I shiver instinctively, and my eyes widen.
Coal turns back toward me. “Look, the hood can tighten.”
He takes his hands and adjusts the hood for me, pulling it over my head and down my face. He grabs the strings and pulls, and the hood tries to engulf my face. I feel like a vacuum-packed Eskimo.
He smiles, “You look hilarious.”
“Asshole.”
“Come on,” he shouts over the howling wind.
I follow him onto the porch, and with the walls no longer shielding us, the big gusts of wind slam into me. The clothes actually keep the worst of the cold out, but when I step into the snow, it goes up to my ankles.
“It’s deep,” I shout out to him.
“It will probably only take us about an hour and a half,” Coal shouts. “As long as we keep a good pace.”
An hour and a half. Holy crap. What does he consider a good pace? He’s almost two feet taller than me, and his legs can move a lot faster than me. Especially since he’s wearing clothes that fit properly.
We trek through the deep snow, and Coal keeps us on the path. My feet start to feel cold after only a few minutes, and I look back toward the cabin with longing. The fire light through the windows already looks small, and I feel like I’m walking away from warmth and safety. For no reason.
Why? Just to show Coal that I don’t want him, even though I really do? Isn’t it just a sign of weakness? If I really don’t want him, then I can just sleep on the couch and part ways in the morning. This journey into the snowstorm is...what is it? What am I trying to run from?
4
Coal
“Coal!” Her voice shouts over the howling gale.
“Yeah? I say, “If we keep stopping like this, it’s going to take even lon--”
“Let’s go back.”
I resist the urge to grin at her, to gloat that I knew she was being stubborn. But I keep my face passive and neutral, and I nod to her. “Alright, yeah, we can go back.”
I take the lead, and after a short time we’re back at the cabin again.
Andrea is cold all over again, and I disappear into my room to get some extra blankets for her--and to give her a chance to undress.
I don’t know why I want her so much. I never need a woman, not really. Sex for me is usually something I just let happen. Most times that I go into town for a drink, sex tends to happen. I never have to chase it, and I never get hung up on any one woman. Far from it.
But ever since I carried Andrea into my cabin, ever since I didn’t quite avoid seeing those perky tits, I’ve wanted to get a taste of her. Maybe it’s because she tries too hard to convince herself that she doesn’t want me? Or maybe it was just that I was forced to take care of her? Usually the only care I spend on a woman is on making her come as loud and hard as I can, and then I’m done with her. I can’t remember the last time I actually cared.
“Don’t get soft, Coal,” I whisper to myself.
I’m not the kind of guy that should ever be responsible for another human being. Afghanistan made that crystal fucking clear.
When I step back into the living room, Andrea is on the ground next to the fireplace, rubbing her hands together just a foot or so from the flames.
“I got my room cleaned up for you,” I say. “I’ve got some really warm blankets on the bed, and I’ll get the stove in there running high so you don’t freeze.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Andrea says. “Right by this fire.”
“The bed will be more comfortable,” I protest. “I don’t mind the couch myself.”
“Neither do I,” Andrea says. “I like the fireplace. I’m sleeping here.”
“Alright,” I say, nodding. “If you change your mind and get cold, don’t come cr
ying to me to swap.”
I grin at her, but she rolls her eyes.
“Do you have a spare toothbrush?” She asks.
“No teeth brushing in the log cabin,” I say. “Wannabe lumberjacks don’t believe in personal hygiene.”
“Right,” she says, “Your teeth are just gleaming white from all your black coffee and cider.”
“Let me show you to the bathroom.”
I guide her into my bedroom, and I see her eye the bed with longing. I’m not going to offer it to her again though. She made her choice.
The bathroom is a tiny little closet-sized room with a sink, toilet, and shower.
“Oh, running water, fancy!” She says.
“It’s a pain in the ass to keep the pipes from freezing in winter, but if you want to take a shower, let me know.”
“Maybe in the morning,” she says. “I don’t want to get all wet again.”
I lick my lips and eye her up and down. “You sure about that?”
She tries to shove me, but she’s not strong enough to make me budge. I just laugh at her.
I dig in the cabinet under the sink and find a few toothbrushes still in their packaging. “Here you go. Still packed up, since I don’t use them.”
“Stop pretending like you don’t brush your teeth, that’s disgusting. I can see your toothbrush right there!” She points at it.
“You caught me,” I say, throwing my hands up. “Maybe I even shower sometimes too.”
“I’d be able to smell it if you didn’t shower,” she says.
I reach over her to grab my toothbrush, and my body presses against her. I feel the heat of her radiate onto me, and she tenses up, as if she’s holding her breath.
I step away from the sink with the toothbrush and the toothpaste.
“Let me have that,” she says, grabbing for the toothpaste.
I pull it away from her and turn my back to her. “Me first.”
She grabs for the toothpaste, I feel her big warm breasts press against my back as her hands grab at the tube. The sudden warmth of her stuns me, and I make no effort to resist. She snatches the toothpaste from my hands.
“Alright,” I say, “You can have it.”
