“What you have to know about Harry and Logan is that they’re avid hunters. Uncle Henry’s a hunter too, but our father has never liked it much, much to the disappointment of his own father. But that’s another story. Anyway, Gatsby’s not a hunter.”
I nod. I didn’t know that, but it makes perfect sense.
“And not only is he not a hunter, but he’s also vehemently opposed to it. He’s always loved animals, but it’s also because of that thing that happened when he was younger.”
“What?” I ask.
“That’s a whole other story. If you want me to get into that, I can, but it’s best that Gatsby tells you himself.”
I nod reluctantly and wait for him to continue.
“Well, Logan was sick, and I wasn’t in the mood, so Harry and Gatsby decided to go hiking themselves. They pack their backpacks for a day-long hike and leave early in the morning.”
Wyatt stops talking and looks away again. Why can’t he just go on with it? I feel myself getting angry.
“So what happens?”
“What happens is that Wyatt should keep his dumb mouth shut,” Gatsby says.
His voice is deeper than Wyatt’s, and he startles me. Where did he come from? How long has he been here?
“Sorry.” Wyatt shrugs. He doesn’t seem bothered at all. “I thought she knew and then she insisted that I tell her.”
“Fuck you, Wyatt.” Gatsby shakes his head.
“No, it’s true,” I insist. I’m trying to cover for Wyatt, but I also want him to finish. I want to know what happened.
“So what happened?” I turn to Gatsby.
I reach out to touch him, but he’s steaming. His face is flushed. He is still wearing a bathrobe, which he takes off. He starts changing into a pair of jeans and a light sweater, which he retrieves from the closet. Wyatt excuses himself and leaves the room.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Atticus is nowhere to be found. I figure it didn’t go well.
“I don’t know what the fuck they’re doing here,” he says. “This is supposed to be our weekend. I don’t need all this family drama in my life right now. I’m here to unwind. I just hate them for bringing all this shit here.”
I don’t know what to say to make things better, and I really want to hear the rest of the story. But I need to give him time, so I suggest that we go on a little walk instead.
The air is crisp, and a cold front is blowing in. I take his arm and lead him through the sea of grass toward the pines. We don’t speak for awhile and just enjoy the silence instead.
“You know, I’m starting to think that I’ll always associate you with nature,” Gatsby says, finally breaking the silence. I nod. I feel the same way.
We had met in the wild. And now, in my mind, the wide open sky, the effervescent pines, and the green grasses remind me of Gatsby. His kind eyes. His rough hands. His wide shoulders. His toned body.
But my feelings for him are starting to develop into something else. It isn’t just his physical attributes that draw me to him. Now it is beyond that. It is the way he smells, the way he treats me, the way he looks at me. He is a mystery that I want to unravel.
“The story that Wyatt started to tell you wasn’t his to tell.”
Gatsby looks into the distance at the eagle floating among the clouds. He is holding my hand so tightly that I can feel his heartbeat.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Harry and I were just supposed to go on a hike. That was it. And if it weren’t for him, none of that would’ve happened.”
He stops talking, and I give him space to continue. I want him to get lost in thought and let the words just spill out without a filter. I fear that if he remembers that I’m here then he won’t tell me.
“We packed for a day-long hike, not an overnight, and drove to the Gallatin Mountains. It was a beautiful early summer day, and I don’t let those pass me by without going outside when I’m in Montana.
“Deep in the Gallatin Mountains, the wildlife just takes your breath away. There’s elk, moose, wolves, coyotes, tons of rabbits. I want to take you there sometime. I think you’ll really appreciate it.”
I smile. I want to go.
“Harry and I don’t have much in common,” Gatsby continues. “He’s brash and boisterous and unkind in many ways. But we used to be really close when we were little. And he wanted to go, so I thought, what the hell? What’s the worst that could happen?” Gatsby laughs sarcastically under his breath.
“It happened in the afternoon. After we had been hiking for a few hours. We came upon this meadow with pines all around. The sun was shining brightly in the sky. In the middle of the meadow, we saw a sleeping grizzly. He was gorgeous. Large and imposing and yet so peaceful. We were so close to him we could hear him snoring.
“But I knew that it wasn’t safe to be so close to him. He could wake up at any moment, and then we could really be in trouble. So I signaled to Harry to get back. I wanted us to back up into the woods and just make our way around the meadow.
“But Harry had other ideas.”
Chapter 20
Gatsby stopped talking and dropped my hand. I wait for him to continue.
“What?” I finally ask. “What did he do?”
Gatsby turns toward me. The only thing I see in his eyes is pain.
“He reached into his backpack and got out a gun. A nine millimeter. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The gun was already loaded, and he pointed it at the sleeping grizzly.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper and put my hands over my mouth. I don’t want to hear what happened next. I can’t stand the idea of someone shooting a sleeping bear.
“I didn’t know how much time we had. But there was no way he was killing that bear while I stood and watched. So I knocked the gun out of his hand. It fell to the ground, and we started to fight over it. He grabbed my hair, and I punched him in the stomach. Somehow, he got on top of me, and then I managed to push him off.
“I have no idea what we were doing really. We were tussling and fighting and grabbing for the gun, paying no attention to the fact that it was a gun or that there was a sleeping grizzly less than fifty yards away.
“And then the gun went off. Startled, I jumped back and saw that Harry was hit. He was crying and moaning and holding his right shoulder. Blood was gushing out all over his arm. I froze. I didn’t know what to do.
“It was then that I remembered the bear. He wasn’t that far away from us, and Harry was bleeding so much, I could smell his blood!
“But when I turned around toward the bear, all I saw was his huge behind disappearing into the forest at the edge of the meadow. The gunshot must’ve scared him, and he got the hell out of there. I remember letting out a huge sigh of relief.”
“It could’ve been much worse,” I say. “You were lucky, really lucky. That bear could’ve just as easily rushed both of you.”
Gatsby nods and again looks away. A howl of a wolf pierces the silence.
“The rest of the day was pretty much a blur,” Gatsby continues. “I don’t really remember much of it. But somehow, we hiked the ten miles back to the car. It took much longer than a couple of hours it took us on the way out. Harry could barely move, and I had to almost carry him the whole way. It was pitch black by the time we got to the car and then another hour before we got to the hospital. Our parents arrived when he was almost out of surgery.
“All I remember now about the rest of that day was just how mad I was at him. Oh god, Annabelle, I was just so so mad at him. Why did he bring that stupid gun with him? Why did he want to shoot a sleeping bear? But throughout all that, I wasn’t sorry. I just know that what I did was right. He had no right to take that bear’s life. Harry was wrong and, a part of me was glad that he was in pain.”
I look at Gatsby, and I see just how personal and intimate the story that he had just shared with me is. His eyes are glazed over with a bit of moisture, and he can’t make eye contact with me. I am grateful to him for sha
ring it with me.
“My days as a ski bum were pretty much done then.” Gatsby gathers his thoughts and smiles.
“Why?” I ask.
“My father had to make a lot of arrangements with his brother, Harry’s father, and the authorities to keep it all on the down low. Secret. To keep the newspapers and the gossip columns out of our business. But not just that, to keep me out of jail.
“Our attorney was flown out from LA, and there were a lot of tense talks with the local prosecutor. Finally, they agreed to defer to Harry and his family. Then we had to wait for Harry to feel a little better so that he could make legal decisions.
“At first, he didn’t want anything to do with it. He wanted me to serve time in jail. He hated me for doing that to him. He was an avid tennis player, and getting shot in the arm was going to put his career on hold, according to him. His father reminded him that he didn’t really have much of a tennis career, but he was still mad as hell. He wanted me to pay for what I did.”
Gatsby smiles and shrugs, as if he finds this whole situation whimsical and humorous.
“I hope you didn’t have the same attitude then that you do now,” I say. He shakes his head. “Of course not. I mean, I did, but I couldn’t show it. They would’ve never let me slide otherwise.”
“So what happened?”
“Harry finally agreed not to press charges. But only in exchange for my father’s beloved fifty-foot yacht in Marina Del Ray. You should’ve seen my father’s face when he asked him for it. I thought father was going to shoot him in the other shoulder just for requesting it.
“But that was all he wanted. And so, very reluctantly, father signed over the Mona Lisa to him for his pain and suffering.”
Everything suddenly becomes very clear to me. Why he is such a reluctant CEO. Why he seems to be running away from his family. Why his brothers have to chase him just to deal with the IPO situation.
“So that’s why you’re the CEO?”
“Yes, partly. I didn’t start out being CEO, of course. But working here is my punishment for what I did. And I also have to pay off the yacht.”
“How much does it cost?” I ask. He takes a beat and smiles.
“Close to a million dollars.”
I lean toward him and plant a kiss on his lips. We are still outside. Lost in the story, we have wandered far away from the lodge. We are all alone, and darkness wraps us in a warm blanket giving us the illusion of privacy.
Gatsby pulls me close to him. He is in control, and I love how this makes me feel. I like him pushing and pulling my body in whatever direction he sees fit. I especially like the thump that my body makes colliding with his.
I feel a shiver of excitement as Gatsby lifts me up in the air. Without giving it a thought, I wrap my legs around his torso and hold on tight. His arms are holding my ass, and I smile when he gives it a few flirtatious squeezes.
Then things get more serious. Gatsby carries me somewhere even darker. All stars disappear from the sky, and all I see are branches. The back of my head hits something hard. It’s a trunk of a seventy-foot pine tree. Luckily, this one has a bare trunk at the bottom and no spiky branches impale me.
Now, Gatsby pushes his body into mine against the tree trunk, and I revel in exhilaration.
He turns me on. Excitement is sparking through me.
Our bodies are intertwined. Gatsby pushes his lips onto mine, parting them forcefully with his tongue.
I moan and bury my fingers in his hair. I want to be close to him. Even closer than we are now. I want the layers of clothes that separate us to disappear.
I want him. All of him. On me and in me.
My wish is his command.
Suddenly, our kissing becomes even more frantic. He drops my legs, and I land on the ground. Shaken from the impact, I am unstable on my feet, and he is forced to hold me up.
He unzips his pants and takes them off over his shoes. I am in my work clothes from earlier that day again. It’s the only thing I have.
He pulls my skirt up toward my waist and then takes a step back in wonderment.
“No panties?”
It’s dark, and he can’t see me blush. I look away. “I’m sorry, we got out of the room so quickly that I couldn’t find them.”
I mumble on, but he is already kissing me. I feel his hands slide down in between my legs. His large cock pushes against my stomach as he pushes me against the tree. I’m in the air, and he is holding me up. I pray that he doesn’t drop me suddenly because this time I will not have the strength to remain on my feet.
He eases himself slowly into me and then begins to move up and down. I don’t know whether he is pushing himself in and out of me or if he’s moving my body up and down the tree trunk. Either way, I am lost in ecstasy.
We orgasm almost at the same time, but he continues to hold me up after he climaxes. Eventually, he pulls out of me, and we drop down to the forest floor.
Intertwining ourselves in each other’s arms, we fall asleep and wake up only when the bright rays of the unforgiving morning sun shine into our eyes.
Chapter 21
In the morning, we go down to have breakfast in the dining room with the rest of the Lodge’s guests. Gatsby doesn’t want to, but I insist. Both Wyatt and Atticus are already there, their plates overflowing with all sorts of delicious goodies from the buffet.
I am starving and pile spoonfuls of omelet onto my plate. The Belgian waffle, which is made before my very eyes, makes me salivate, and I pour a generous amount of maple syrup into each square.
Wyatt waves to me, and I head in his direction. They are sitting at a four-person table and move their trays to accommodate Gatsby and me. It’s is the first time that I see his brothers in the daylight.
They are even more beautiful than they were last night. They both have strong jaws, defined cheekbones, and large eyes. Wyatt’s eyelashes are so long that they give him a wide-open look, which I am sure he expertly uses to his advantage to woo girls. Atticus is more serious. He doesn’t smile much, and he looks as if he is holding up the world on his shoulders.
“So which one of you is the oldest?” I ask after we make pleasant chitchat about how everyone’s night was.
I suspect that Atticus is, but I’m not sure. Wyatt is definitely the youngest. He has this carefree attitude that suggests nothing bothers him and that everything’s going to be fine, which I know runs in youngest children.
“I am,” Gatsby says, sitting down next to me.
From the look on his face, I can tell that he’s not happy that I have decided to join his brothers for breakfast. But I am curious about them because they are part of him, and I want to know more.
“Gatsby’s the oldest, but Atticus won’t forgive him for it,” Wyatt jokes.
Atticus rolls his eyes, and Gatsby just looks away with a guilty look on his face. The tension between them can be cut with a knife, but Wyatt seems to just find the whole thing curious.
“So what are your plans today?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
Atticus ignores me, but Wyatt says, “We were actually planning on going sky diving.”
I feel my eyes open wide. Sky diving! He mentions sky diving as if the idea is as casual as going to get some coffee.
“Really?” I ask excitedly. I never told anyone this, but I have been wanting to go sky diving for sometime now. I am terrified at the thought, but that’s what draws me to it.
“Yeah.” Wyatt nods and looks at me. “Why? Do you want to go?”
The invitation is so informal that I am not sure if it’s real. But before I know it, I accept.
“It’s okay if we go, right?” I turn to Gatsby.
He nods, but the expression on his face says something else completely. He is not happy. At this moment, I don’t care.
I am suddenly filled with a strange mixture of adrenaline, anticipation, and fear. I don’t know what came over me, and I say yes before even coming to my senses. But a big part of me is glad. Sometimes c
oming to one’s senses is overrated.
“It’s just that I’ve never been,” I add, trying to explain myself. “You don’t have anything planned, do you?”
Gatsby opens his mouth to say something, but Wyatt cuts him off.
“Even if he does, there’s no way it’s as cool as sky diving.”
I smile. I know he’s right. But the expression on Gatsby’s face worries me.
“No,” he says reluctantly. I know he doesn’t want to go, but I feel an unexplainable urge to go. I am afraid and excited at the same time. And I can’t pay attention to how Gatsby feels.
“Great,” I say quickly, well aware of my self-involvement. “Then we’re in.”
After Wyatt and Atticus leave the room, Gatsby and I are left alone at the table. He looks at me with a disapproving expression on his face. His eyes are narrowed and his lips are turned downward.
I look away. I don’t care that he’s upset. No, that’s not entirely true. I don’t want to care. I want to go, and I don’t want him to take this away from me.
“Why did you do that?” he asks, finishing the rest of his mimosa.
I eat the rest of my Belgian waffle before answering.
“Because I really want to go. I’m scared shitless, but who isn’t, right? I’ve wanted to go sky diving for a long time, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. To go with you, I mean.”
“Yes, except that you didn’t ask me.”
“I thought you’d be down for it.”
He looks away from me. Now he doesn’t look so much disapproving as disappointed. “It’s not that I don’t want go to skydiving with you. It’s that I don’t want to go with them.”
“They seem perfectly fine,” I say naively. I realize how innocent I come off. It’s not that I’m trying to take their side, I’m just trying to make peace. At least for this weekend.
“You don’t know them,” Gatsby says.
“I think it’ll be fun,” I insist.
Auctioned to Him 4: His Addiction Page 32
