Mountain Man

by Jules Barnard

  “Cold?” he says.

  I glance at the goose bumps on my arms.

  Lewis adjusts the air conditioning, but the chill that ran through me had nothing to do with damp clothes.

  Logic dictates I stay away from him and the complicated relationship he’s in with Mira, but a part of me wonders, What if? Lewis helped me with my car and he took the blame for the paddleboard incident. He’s not a bad guy and technically he doesn’t have a girlfriend, so my initial judgment of him was off.

  We pull into my driveway. “Thanks for calling your mechanic friend, and for everything,” I tell him.

  He lets out a sigh; it’s forced and heavy, like something’s weighing on his mind. “You have my number. Call me if you need a ride, or for whatever.”

  That’s right. He typed his number into my phone so I’ll have a ride the next time I get wasted. Excellent.

  It’s not Lewis’s job to take care of me. I’m not his girlfriend or his friend—wait, am I? We’re more than acquaintances, and there’s the unspoken stuff that makes it feel like we’re much more than friends.

  “Okay,” I tell him, and let myself out. The air is warm, but my clothes are wet and clinging. I beat a hasty retreat to the front door and hear Lewis’s car rev lightly, the gravel stirring behind me. I force myself not to look back.

  I walk inside the house I share with Cali and shut the door, slumping against the cool wood surface and closing my eyes. Today kind of sucked, with the dunking and my car breaking down, but it was also kind of amazing. Being with Lewis feels amazing. Even though he says Mira isn’t his girlfriend, I don’t understand what’s going on with them and that worries me.

  I’ve barely gotten my bearings over how confusing all of this is, when Cali comes at me like a hurricane, strawberry blond hair waving to and fro, making her head appear twice as large and fiery, like the look in her eye. “What the hell, Gen?” She points vigorously at the window. “What are you doing with that guy?”

  Holy shit. She’s gone off the deep end.

  Lewis and I aren’t dating. He gave me a ride home after my car croaked. Running into him was coincidental, though in all honesty, I was considering whether or not it would be so wrong to see him.

  “He’s not that bad, Cali,” I say. “Simmer down. It’s not what you think.”

  God, now I sound like Lewis. Cali’s acting more crazed than normal, but is she right? Am I letting down my guard too soon?

  “You’re doing it all over again. Did you learn nothing from your last boyfriend? Get a clue, Gen, this guy is using you!”

  Okay, now I’m pissed. I may have made errors in judgment when it came to men in the past, but I never allowed someone to use me. As soon as I figured out a guy was a dipshit, I cut him loose.

  “And you know so much about men? Did you know Eric hit on me? He wanted to sleep with me, Cali.”

  “What?”

  My eyes widen. Shit, what have I done? That’s not how I wanted to tell her. I’ve been trying to figure out the right words. I almost shared it with her once while we were on a hike, but the timing was off. After that, I was waiting for the right moment and somehow it never came. Now… Cali’s face is a mix of shock and anger. I waited too long. I wasn’t thinking. “I’m so sorry, Cali. I should have told you after it happened.”

  My cell phone vibrates in the side pocket of my tote. It buzzes twice more within seconds. I sigh in irritation and glance at the screen.

  Mom: Darling, we’re here! Pick you up in ten for golf.

  Crap, I forgot about my mom. She’s here for her visit and I promised her nine holes before work.

  “I tried to tell you,” I say. “But it was when you were happy with him. After you and Eric broke up, I told myself that if I mentioned it I’d be kicking you when you were down. I didn’t want to cause you more pain. I panicked, and more time passed…”

  “What are you talking about?” Cali’s face is flushed. She’s so angry. She has a right to her anger, but I never wanted her ex’s attention.

  Maybe getting out of the house so we can both cool down is a good thing. I quickly reply to my mom that I’ll be ready, and jam my phone in my bag. I stride into the bedroom and strip off my wet shorts.

  Cali follows and stands in the doorway.

  I tear off my damp T-shirt and pull a clean one over my head. “Do you remember when I drove Eric to the store to pick up sunscreen while you were in the shower the first weekend in town?” She nods. “He came up behind me when we were there and wrapped his arms around my waist. He kissed my neck…and he said things. I pushed him away, but I was still getting over the A-hole and I freaked out. I worried I was doing something to cause the negative attention. That you’d think it was my fault…so I didn’t say anything at first.” I plead with my eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like. I’m like the creeper magnet.”

  “Are you kidding me?” she says. “You’re seriously telling me guys lusting after you is a hardship that forces you to betray your best—fucking—friend.”

  Tears fill my eyes and I blink them back. “That’s not what happened. That’s not what I’m saying.” Maybe Cali’s right and I’m a rotten person. I’m the common denominator in all this—Cali’s ex, my mother’s groupies and their wandering hands.

  “What exactly did he say to you?”

  I drop my head and stare at my hands. “He said he’d always been attracted to me.” Why does the truth sound so horrible? “That things were fizzling between you two and that you had basically become friends.”

  I glance up, and the expression on Cali’s face is dejected, betrayed. She grips her forehead with her fingers. I stand and walk to the bedroom door. I squeeze my hands together when what I really want is to wrap my arms around my best friend. But I don’t think she’d welcome it right now.

  My chest feels achy. I was right to keep this from her. No one wants the truth, not even me. Every word out of my mouth makes things worse.

  Cali looks up pointedly. “What did you tell him?”

  “No! I said no! I never wanted that. He made me feel dirty. I would never—”

  She turns away, her rejection so sharp I suck in my breath. After a moment, I grab my bag. “Cali, we need to talk, but I have to go or I’ll be late for work.” I don’t mention my plans with my mother. Cali and I both know I never leave this early, but I need to step away from this—to figure out how to make things right again. “I’m so sorry, okay?”

  Hugging my bag, stuffed with golf shoes and extra clothes, I wait at the curb for my mom and wonder if Cali will ever forgive me. Maybe what happened wasn’t my fault, but I was weak and afraid, and I didn’t tell her.

  Am I worth forgiving?

  I betrayed my best friend by keeping this from her—it wasn’t intentional, but it happened—and I’m attracted to Lewis and it’s wrong, with his complicated side relationship.

  I want him, knowing it’s wrong, and that’s worse.

  Chapter Seven

  “Jesus, Mom. You shanked it into the next county.”

  I knock my iron on the heel of my shoe and squint against the sun, searching for my mom’s hot-pink breast-cancer ball. My hand aches from gripping the club too hard, tense after my argument with Cali. I spot the ball up against a tree surrounded by thick rough. I thought the balls my mom brought were obnoxious, but I’ve changed my mind. We’d never find them if they weren’t neon.

  She turns prettily to the side, inching up her black mom-visor. She’s in a tight, hot-pink golf shirt (to match her balls) and blinding white shorts that hit an inch or two below her crotch. My mom is a terrible golfer, so of course she spends a small fortune on expensive clothes and subjects the world to her play at least once a week. I’m wearing cutoff baby-blue skinny jeans that fall mid-thigh and golf shoes I purchased from a discount store for $19.99.

  “I don’t see it,” she says, her attention on the fairway. “Are you sure it’s not up ahead?”

  Fred glances at me conspiratorially. He’s in khaki
golf pants and a striped blue polo, but Fred shoots in the seventies, so his expensive wardrobe is justified. “Come on, honey,” he tells my mom. “Go ahead and take a mulligan.”

  My mom twists her mouth like she doesn’t believe us, but she drops another ball and props the head of her five-iron on the grass, getting into position and swaying her hips. She looks down the fairway, wiggles her rear, looks up, readjusts her position, wiggles some more—

  “In this lifetime, Mom.”

  “Patience, Genevieve. You’re ruining my concentration.”

  Fred waves a foursome past us. At this rate, my mom will still be preparing for her shot after the group putts out.

  A few hours later, after the longest nine holes of my life, we make it to the clubhouse for sustenance.

  “My treat, Gen,” Fred says as he scans the menu, sandy blond hair parted on the side and feathering over his forehead, his tanned skin smooth from monthly facials.

  Fred pays for everything. At first, I thought it was a part of their arrangement, whatever that is—I don’t want to know. But the more time I spend with him, the more my perspective changes. There’s no hidden agenda with Fred. He holds doors for old ladies and assists men struggling with heavy boxes; the guy is just nice, and he’s from the Midwest. He pays because he was raised that way. He’s a gentleman.

  I hardly understand the notion.

  People rarely dated in college, and if they did, it wasn’t in the typical fashion. We were all poor, so we paid our share. One date went so far as to shortchange me, and believe me, I was not impressed.

  The couple of times I’ve tried to pay in front of Fred, he’s found ways to slip me back the cash.

  Fred sets down the menu and silently hands my mom the alcohol list she’s determinedly reaching for. “So what time is the show tonight?” he says.

  Mom and Fred call my gig at the casino “the show” because my mom’s been looking forward to celebrating the day I walk around in slutty clothes since I was but a youth.

  “My shift starts at nine. You guys should get there early. Fewer people; I won’t be as busy.”

  My mom looks excitedly at Fred and says, “That won’t be a problem. We have a My Republic concert at ten.”

  I choke on an ice chip from my water. “Mom, that’s like, a young band—for people my age.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Gen, you don’t listen to music for people your age.”

  So I sometimes stop on the easy listening station. Her point?

  “Fred and I aren’t fuddy-duddies. We enjoy current stuff.”

  My jaw drops. “Are you trying to tell me something?” My mom thinks I act too old for my age and my best friend feels I betrayed her. I can’t handle any more truths today.

  She smiles and pats my hand, returning her attention to the drink menu. “Darling, you are perfect the way you are, even if your music choices are boring.”

  And this is why I dread my mother’s appearance tonight. Boring isn’t in her repertoire. Anything can happen, and it’s sure to embarrass me.

  “A little closer, honey,” my mom orders as I pose, my bicep quivering beneath a tray laden with drinks while Mom gets in a candid shot. The bartender smiles for the camera and adds another beverage to my load as I look on, and, per Mom’s orders, hold up my knockers.

  Jesus. I glance to make sure no one’s looking.

  The three patrons sitting in Mont Belle Lounge snicker behind their hands at my mother and the display she’s putting on. If Cali were watching, she’d be laughing her ass off right now—only she’s mad at me, so maybe not. I wish I could edit out half of our last conversation. It came out all wrong and I feel like a terrible friend. I couldn’t help what happened with Eric, but I could have handled telling Cali better. I hate that I hurt her.

  “Okay, Mom, I gotta return to work.”

  Chantell raises her eyebrows, her mouth a straight line of disbelief.

  “It’s going to turn into a mad rush soon.” A little white lie is necessary during times of parental embarrassment.

  My mom hands Fred the camera. “All right. We need to leave for our concert anyway.” She stalks over and pushes in the sides of my breasts, yanking in strategic places until my cleavage reaches my chin.

  I gape at her. “Are you finished feeling me up?”

  She puckers her lips and assesses her work. “Better. Work those tips.” She winks and smacks a kiss on my cheek. Fred grins at her, as if she’s charming. I don’t get it, but somehow they’ve made the relationship work and my mom seems happier than I’ve ever seen her.

  “Mom, flashing cleavage isn’t how I’d like to earn tips.”

  “I’m kidding.” She waves her hand. “You know I’ve got your expenses covered. Enjoy yourself, that’s all.”

  Now that she brings it up… I’ve only hedged around the issue before, have never flat-out asked. I’ve been too scared to hear the truth. “How, Mom? How do you have it covered?”

  Her gaze goes blank. “I just do, silly.”

  I glance behind her at Fred and lower my voice. “From him? Mom, he’s nice compared to the others, but I don’t want him paying my way. It’s not right.”

  She taps my shoulder lightly. “Of course Fred doesn’t pay for you. Why would you think that?”

  Is she kidding? Does she think I’m clueless? She has no means of financial support, no wealthy family backing her. How else does she pay our bills?

  Fred steps forward. “We better get going, Chantell. Great outfit, Gen. You look beautiful.” He smiles in a fatherly manner, his gaze never straying to my mother-enhanced boobs. I don’t think the notion even crosses his mind.

  They leave, my mom’s final response not really an answer to my question, which doesn’t surprise me. It’s consistent with her answers to my questions about my father.

  Shortly thereafter, as I’m pondering all this, Drake Peterson enters the lounge. He takes in the empty tables, and unlike Fred, makes a full perusal of the breasts I didn’t get a chance to tuck back in. “Looks slow,” he says. “How do you feel about helping me with a group of colleagues I’m entertaining in one of the suites upstairs? We could use a waitress, and I promise great tips.”

  I don’t trust this guy, hooter gazing notwithstanding. Then again, I’ve designated a lot of men as not-to-be-trusted. I’m not the best judge of character. And he’s my boss’s boss—or something like that. Can I even say no?

  “I’m the only one here tonight.”

  He gestures to the empty tables, his mouth curling up on one side. “The lounge will survive without you for a few minutes.” He hands me a key card. “I’ll have Maryanne cover for you. Come up in thirty,” he says, and walks away.

  My supervisor Maryanne works the pit across from the lounge, adjacent to the bar where Jaeger’s friend Mason works. I catch Mason glaring at Drake as he leaves.

  What’s up with that?

  Mason was one of the guys Cali wanted to set me up with when we first started at Blue. I tried spending time with him. He was nice and cute—safe, because my feelings were never deeply involved. I would have dated him a couple of months ago, but the A-hole taught me that playing it safe can backfire. Mason tried to kiss me and I shut him down.

  Damn that botched kiss. If things weren’t so awkward between Mason and me, I’d ask him why the look. But things are awkward and I’m too chicken to go over there.

  Everything will be fine. I’ll serve a few patrons upstairs and earn good tips—pad the college fund. No big deal.

  Thirty minutes later, I rap lightly on the door to Drake’s suite as a formality and enter using the key card he gave me. The ginormous room is sleek, decorated in beige with dark blue accents and blond, modern wood furniture; the focal point a picture window overlooking the lake and mountains.

  Drake lounges across the room in a plush upholstered seat, his elbow over the back of his chair, swirling a clear drink in his hand. He’s all sophisticated nonchalance, hair lightly rumpled, eyes a bit glassy.

&
nbsp; It’s only been thirty minutes since I last saw him. Could he get drunk that quickly?

  The coffee table in front of him is cluttered with all manner of empty glasses, and it reminds me of the night at the Blue club when I drank way too much too quickly. So yes, it seems it would be possible for Drake to be drunk. But if he has access to alcohol, why does he need me?

  Five men chat casually around the coffee table in front of Drake, but Drake’s the only one wearing a suit, his jacket removed, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The other men are dressed in business casual—khakis and polo shirts—like they’ve just come from the golf course.

  Drake glances up, a hungry smile sliding across his face. “Gentlemen,” he says, grabbing their attention. “This is Genevieve. She’s here to offer her services.”

  Whoa. Why would he say it like that? He makes it sound like—

  Gazes roll over my body like an oil slick, sticky and pervasive. A man with a puffy face swivels his chair toward me, crossing his legs at the ankle. A lazy smile plays on his thin, narrow mouth, his eyes half-lidded and focused on my chest.

  My hands grow cold and I duck my head, fidgeting with my cash caddy. I’ve gotten used to the skimpy uniforms—being checked out is a part of the job, but this… It’s not right.

  “Over here.” Drake gestures with two fingers.

  I plaster on a fake smile and approach, determined to get this over with. “What can I get you?”

  Drake’s eyes roam my neck, my breasts, to my hips and legs, and back up. I swallow hard. He leans forward, vodka fumes emanating across the short gap separating us. “Genevieve, you look radiant this evening.” I watch in slow motion as his arm snakes out and coils around my waist, bringing me to his side.

  My heart sputters in my throat. I smile awkwardly, which is strange, given I’m convulsing inside. I dance on tiptoes in a ridiculous attempt to inch away. I don’t see, but sense—which is even creepier—his other hand drift behind my knee and up my thigh in a menacing manner.