by Elaria Ride
Oh well, I think as I approach the entrance. I take a sip from my travel mug and unlock the thick brown door before swinging it open. I’m stuck inside, but if I play my cards right, maybe I’ll have time to hit a hiking trail before sunset. The canyon is especially beautiful this time of year, all glowing and gleaming in a fresh layer of frost. And around these parts, there’s always a fresh layer of frost.
I stride inside the center and flick on the lights, humming to myself as I begin my solo opening morning routine. Like always, I walk over to the coatrack by the desk, ease my coat over my shoulders, and hang it in place.
So far, all of this might seem normal — but bear with me, because “normal” is not a quality I’ve ever possessed.
I start with a wistful glance to Blowfish, the stuffed northern spotted owl perched just above the clock. Six months ago, I named him Blowfish; calling him Hootie seemed a little insensitive since he can’t hoot.
If you could see Blowfish, I think you’d understand my choice. Between his ruffled feathers and the eyes bugging out of his head, he has this perpetually-disturbed look going on. Kind of like Asher.
Maybe (just maybe) that’s why I’ve always found Blowfish to be simultaneously endearing and standoffish. Maybe that’s why I’ve adopted this part of the routine. But no matter the reason for this super-bizarre thing I do each morning, I wish more than anything else that I’d chosen today (of all days) to skip it. Unfortunately, my life is a perpetual joke, so I not only take part in this peculiar task: I pull out all the damn stops.
And what do I do, exactly?
Yeahhh… for some reason, I greet Blowfish with a different movie catchphrase every single morning.
To get into character, I stare up at Blowfish and draw a deep breath. Then I channel my inner stranded island castaway, stare into the owl’s beady little eyes, and drop my voice to the best tenor of desolation.
“Wilson!” I shout anxiously, trying my hardest to get his attention; this is unsuccessful, but I’m not deterred. “No... NO!” I bellow, shaking my fist. “WILSONNNNNNNNN!”
As soon as the final cry of Wilson’s name leaves my lips, I hear a rustling of movement from behind me… and unless I’m very much mistaken, this movement is quickly followed by a muffled snort.
Fuckkkk.
For a moment, all I can do is stand stock-still as panic washes over me. At first, embarrassment doesn’t cross my mind. Only park rangers have the keys to this place — and no one else is scheduled to work for hours.
I’m convinced this could only mean one thing: There’s an intruder I’m not at all prepared for. And he wants to kill me. The hair rises on the back of my neck, but I turn around slowly, so slowly, despite the terror coursing through my veins...
As I’m turning to face the intruder (or robber, or murderer, or whatever) four things happen very, very fast:
1. A huge, warm hand claps me on the shoulder.
2. I freak the fuck out.
3. I scream at the top of my lungs — louder than I’ve ever screamed before in my entire life — and, last but not least
4. I throw my travel mug of hot coffee into the air as I continue to shriek like a banshee, my arms flailing through the air like spokes on a windmill.
It’s only then, when my coffee is dripping all over my body and raining down onto the floor, that I stop screaming.
Because I’m looking straight in the face of the one and only reclusive Asher Bosco.
2
Asher
I’d like to say I was minding my own business when I startled my gorgeous co-worker, ruined her outfit, and ruined her day.
But that wouldn’t be the truth... and I know (more than anyone else) that honesty is better than speculation.
You see, a lot of the rumors that fly around about me are 100% true. I’ve never been one for gossip, but I hear the whispers that spread through this small town like a wildfire across a barren field.
And in some respects, the gossip gets it right: I’m a workaholic. I’m emotionally distant. I’m a recluse. I’m Automatic Asher, the brooding, hippie brother of the Bosco clan… and I didn’t earn that title easily.
But if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a liar.
So even now — as Autumn stands in front of me, her eyes wide in horror as she drips coffee onto the carpet, her ranger uniform soaking wet— I won’t pretend that my motives for being here are entirely work-related.
Thankfully, I also know the difference between volunteering information and being honest when prompted.
Even more thankfully, Autumn doesn’t ask.
Instead, we just stare at each other, drawing deep, uncertain breaths… and it’s about now that I accept that my luck has finally run out.
Since July, I’ve followed the same routine three days a week: I’ve woken at 4 AM in the darkness of my tiny cabin, hiked the short distance to the park, snuck inside the visitor’s center, turned on the heat, and slipped out the back. All before Autumn even shows up.
Of course, there’s a specific reason I’ve only done this three days a week. If she were to ask why I’m here, I wouldn’t be able to lie. I’d have to tell her the truth.
“Well, Autumn,” perhaps I’d admit (if I weren’t so fucked up), “for some reason, the thought of you sitting here in the cold makes me very uncomfortable. And seeing as how I’ve inappropriately lusted after you for the past six months, the least I can do is make sure you’re warm. Because God knows I haven’t been able to do that with my words or actions since you started.”
I almost release a snort before I catch myself. Yeah. That would go over well… telling my co-worker that merely looking into her eyes — six whole months ago! — had shaken me to my core.
If I were a better man, a less oblivious man, I’d take this golden opportunity. I’d confess that the workload of being a park director has very little to do with why I’m here right now. I’d tell her she’s important to me.
If I were a more sensitive dude, I’d also admit that I’d known something about Autumn was different the moment she’d tumbled across the parking lot and landed at my feet. I might tell her I’d assumed she’d be another green-thumbed rookie sent by the NNS… but the second she’d stared into my eyes, I’d learned how wrong I was.
Just looking at her last July had forced me to question everything I’ve spent the last fifteen years denying. The moment our gazes locked, it was like the air had suddenly filled with electric sparks… like the only thing that mattered was the feeling of my eyes boring into hers. It was such a powerful, immersive experience that I felt like I’d been staring down a long tunnel into a bright light.
And to be honest? This had scared me... because I’ve never felt that with anyone else.
Luckily, I’d been able to break the silence by playing it off with a line about something or other, but I hadn’t been able to stop from noticing that she’s exactly my type. Not that I know enough about women to know what my type really is.
Still, I reckon it’s someone like her: Even if Autumn hadn’t been beautiful and curvy, she’s hilarious. I’ve never met someone who is so good-natured, easy-going, and enamored with nature. But where most guys would seize this shining opportunity, I found myself more terrified than ever. To be honest, the weird, instantaneous connection I share with Autumn only scares me. Which makes me a total pussy. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve only become more detached from life since we met.
Being reclusive is my go-to. I learned early on that it’s a great way to avoid getting into trouble, the perfect defense against prying questions about my past.
And truth be told? I love the quiet life. I’ve spent the last fifteen years content to remain in my little cabin, ignoring the drama of the outside world. But Autumn is someone I haven’t been able to ignore, no matter how hard I’ve tried.
Her gloriously curvaceous body had been compelling enough, but then I’d seen her in action. I’d noticed her effortless shift from assertive to nurturing as she’d car
ed for visitors and wildlife alike… and just the sound of her voice had stirred something in my chest I hadn’t felt in years.
Still, I probably could have continued to be a total professional for the sake of my job… if I hadn’t had a certain dream that night. And as hard as I’ve tried to deny my feelings since then, that dream had forced me to realize two things: First, I was attracted to her — and even though we’d barely met, my attraction was stronger than it had ever been for anyone else. And second, there was no way I could act on that without getting fired.
By then, though, there’d been nothing else I could do. I hadn’t had a wet dream in fifteen years, but if there’s anyone alive who can bring out my inner angsty, horny teenager, it’s Autumn.
It was almost a relief when she’d drunkenly revealed her virginity (and her general view on relationships) a few weeks later during a work happy hour at the local bar.
Fortunately (or unfortunately, I still can’t decide), that night, Autumn had provided me with two pieces of information that gave me iron-clad reasons to keep my shields up. After admitting she was a virgin during a game of truth or dare, she’d followed up her proclamation with: “Dudes are hot, but relationships are messy.”
And just like that, I’d been able to retreat from any real contact with her. Easy as pie.
You see, as a general rule, I don’t have sex with anyone — but if I were to have sex, it especially wouldn’t be with a virgin. Granted, I’m basically a virgin myself. Still, in my warped mind, I’m living in a perpetual shadow of what happened that night. Even though I know I should have gotten over it by now.
Furthermore, I know that casual sex is the norm in today’s society. But for me? That will never fly. If I took Autumn’s virginity, I’d carry that with me for the rest of my life. It’s a burden (and an honor) that would haunt me, much like it had the first time.
So even if I delude myself into forgetting that she’s my employee, even if I pretend she shares my feelings, I’m positive that Autumn doesn’t want an actual relationship — which is why this entire thing is a no-go. Like most rangers, Autumn is probably prepared to bounce to the next best offer… which is why I’ve tried my hardest to avoid living in what-ifs.
Simply put, relationships are just too much for me. I’ve always been a lone wolf, and I’m sure I’ll continue to be a lone wolf after Autumn leaves. And if I took her virginity? Yeah… I wouldn’t be able to bounce back from that and have a normal life. Not when I’d been with someone like her.
Besides that, if the NNS caught wind of any sexual contact between a superior and a ranger, they’d fire my ass faster than you can say Yogi. If I lost my job, I’d have nothing else; I’ve been handed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in landing this career, but even if my dad were President of the United States, there’s no way the NNS would forgive a scandal of sexual impropriety.
So for these factors combined, I know (from a logistical standpoint) that things between Autumn and me will never work out.
But shit… none of these logical reasons had stopped my fantasies. Every day at work is like being back in high school, except there aren’t 100 hot curvy girls: There’s just one.
And she’s hotter than all of them.
And she’s everywhere.
For the past six months, my eyes have been drawn to Autumn whenever she does anything. I spend most of my days oscillating between trying to sneak a peek and trying to be withdrawn and professional. But none of this stops me from touching myself every single night and pretending it’s her.
Still, I’ve tried to keep my attraction a secret. I’ve been smart — or as smart as I can, given that I get a raging hard-on whenever she walks by. Since the NNS cuts our staff down to three people over the winter months, things have only gotten worse; I’m forced to be with Autumn (and just Autumn) far more often.
But because I’m a fucked-up person, because I feel guilty for being so withdrawn and aloof, I do little things like show up early to turn on the heat before Autumn gets here.
And yeah, I know she doesn’t know — that’s kind of the point.
Normally I’m smarter about this, though. Normally, I sneak out before she even shows up.
At 3:30 a.m. my alarm radio had blared with two important announcements: There’s a blizzard coming in tonight — and there are rumors of Pacific red cedar poachers in the area. As such, I’ve had a double shot of bad luck: Autumn was right on time (or closer to on-time than usual), and I’d actually had a good reason to show up early.
I clear my throat and shift uncomfortably, my eyes never wavering from hers. I’m not the type who can connect to his feelings and articulate them well. And as I approach my 35th year of life, I doubt I’ll ever be anyone other than Automatic Asher.
So instead of acting on anything, I keep staring at Autumn, and she keeps staring at me, and this look is so tense and stretches on for so long that I’m beginning to wonder why the hell my training didn’t cover this. I’m two steps from losing my mind and admitting why I was here and telling her how sexy and lovely she is…
But then — at the 11th hour — the corner of her lip twitches. And Autumn starts to giggle.
Just like everything else about her, her laugh is beautiful. It’s a melodic, tinkling sound, so much prettier than any other laugh I’ve heard. It’s so contagious that I’m overcome the second I hear it, and for the first time it occurs to me that — yes — this is a goddamn hilarious situation: I just interrupted my coworker making a desperate plea to a stuffed owl, and during said interruption, I startled her so much that she threw her mug into the air.
And I’ve drenched her in coffee. From head to toe.
Before I know it, we’re both doubled over in laughter as tears stream from our eyes. God! I shake my head and wipe my face. Like always, these moments with Autumn are bittersweet; they’re perfect because I know she’s the most hilarious, adorable weirdo on earth… but they’re also miserable, because I know we can never be together.
That second thought sobers me, but Autumn’s still going pretty strong.
“Well,” she says a second later, catching her breath. “I guess my secret’s out!”
I smirk as she collects herself, and I can’t quite choose between respecting her privacy or indulging my curiosity. She makes the choice for me a second later.
“What’s wrong?” Autumn asks, pushing a soggy tendril behind her ear.
I sigh, unwilling to meet her gaze. “Normally I’d let this go,” I admit, staring at my boots. “But uh… what were you doing?!”
There’s a pause, and I tilt my head up to meet hers. As soon as I do, a conspiratorial look steals over her features. Autumn leans in close, and I honestly can’t tell if she’s planning a murder to planning to kiss me.
“Ranger Bosco,” she says with a furtive glance around the room. “Can you keep a secret?”
I reply with a confused nod.
“Good,” Autumn whispers, her eyebrows knitted. Then she pulls back and gives me a wink. “So can I.”
Oh.
The chortle escapes me before I can help it, and I slap a hand over my mouth. If I’d been drinking anything, I would have spit it all over her. God, she’s hilarious — and maddening and cute. But Lord knows I have my secrets, too. If she doesn’t want to say anything, far be it from me to push.
“Fine,” I relent with a shrug. “But uh… you should get another outfit from the supply closet.” I jerk a thumb behind me. “You’re soaking wet, Ranger Walker.”
Another moment of silence falls between us.
Looking back, I don’t know what I expected from that. An outright dismissal? A giggle?
Instead, there’s only mounting quiet… and it’s not until another smirk twitches Autumn’s lip that I even realize what I’ve actually said.
Oh.
Fuck.
Just like that, my composure slips. I shudder in wide-eyed horror, fully prepared to grovel for an apology. It was an honest mistake, and I’m just a hopeles
s idiot, and shit I’ve imagined her being wet more times than I can count, but I hadn’t meant to say that out loud!
But Autumn doesn’t look offended. She’s staring right at me, her pupils big, her eyes unfocused. I swallow as she draws a sharp breath, her hair fluttering around her face.
As hard as I try to deny it, something changes in the air between us, just like it had the first time we met. A pulsing electricity radiates between our bodies — a magnetic pull that’s forcing us closer. I’ve only had this sensation once before, almost six months ago…
Without warning, my eyes flit to her mouth. I don’t spare a thought to how unprofessional it is for me to fixate on her full lips, the ones that haunt my dreams.
Almost as if she can read my mind, Autumn’s pink tongue darts out, just a little... and fuck. I don’t stop the groan that comes from somewhere deep in my chest.
Just like that — even though I’m standing in the middle of our workplace — all the reasons I’ve distanced myself fall to the wayside. In that moment, it no longer matters that she’s my employee. It no longer matters that my previous relationship destroyed my life. It no longer matters that she’s a virgin.
All that matters is the way her tongue caresses those perfect, full lips — the ones I’ve longed to kiss since I first saw them. All I can see is those lips traveling down my neck, nibbling at my jaw, wrapping themselves around my…
I swear I don’t even tell my body to inch closer; it just happens. Fortunately, it happens to her, too; our feet shuffle forward of their own accord… until Autumn and I are standing only inches apart.
We’re so close that I can nearly feel her chest rising and falling, so close that I can make out the individual flyaway ringlets around her face, so close that I can smell her shampoo beneath the coffee... and I’m just leaning in to cup her jaw, to do the stupidest thing I’ve never done, when something even worse happens:
