Chapter 14Goldie

Chapter 14

Goldie

T here's a tremendous hacking sound from behind us and we both turn to see that Buck has just come into the room from down the hall, apparently catching the last part of Grumpy Luke's order.

"I…uh…must've misheard," he says.

"You didn't," Grumpy Luke replies.

"How many fish did they catch? Twenty? Thirty? I'm starved, so I hope they caught a mess?" Buck asks him. Then to me, he adds, "Hey, you know how to gut a fish? If not, I'm happy to show you—"

"Bucky. Stop. I think she's been shown quite enough today," Grumpy Luke answers for me before I can politely decline while hiding my disgust. I have no desire to ever gut anything. Ever.

Although, Bucky? Did I hear that right? The most cantankerous man on the mountain calls his brother Bucky?

Why do I find this so adorable?

"What are you talking about?" Buck asks his brother. Then he glances at me. "What's he talking about?"

Suddenly, I'm quite interested in the space we're in. You know, maybe it isn't half as bad as when I first saw it and thought I was drowning in a sea of dusty, mismatched clutter—

"Hey, Goldie, I asked you what he's talking about?" Buck says again, sounding slightly hurt now. I'm pretty sure, from his changed tone, that he notices my flushing cheeks.

"Let's go outside and have a word," Grumpy Luke says to Buck. Then he points at me. "You behave."

Buck shoots me a questioning look. I shrug with what I hope is an apologetically reassuring smile and plop down on the couch, propping my foot up.

Buck follows his brother outside, and as I hear the screen door clatter behind them and then the wooden door slamming shut, Grumpy Luke's question from earlier comes back to me, shaking me like an earthquake.

What are your intentions with my brothers?

What were my intentions with Lynx and Nash?

Aftershock—I didn't have any intentions, none at all.

Intention implies a plan, and for once in my life, I didn't have one. I was just living in the moment. Swept up in desire.

What if Grumpy Luke hadn't interrupted? I wonder again.

Would I have actually lost my virginity with one of them? Or both of them?

No. Of course not, and I catch myself before I start laughing out loud like a crazy person. That's the last thing I want Grumpy Luke to walk back in on.

Well, maybe not the last thing—that would have been my near-threesome, ugh .

Not that I believe there's anything at all wrong with having a threesome with men you just met. If that's your thing, you do you, boo. But I have not waited thirty years to lose it in the heat of the moment. I have spent countless hours dreaming of it, planning for it, ever since my teen hormones kicked in and I discovered the steamy romance novels my mother kept strewn everywhere were much more exciting than any of my childhood favorites. I devoured book after book, romance after romance, imagining which glorious scenario would end up being my perfect first-time real-life fairy tale. Where would I be when I finally shared my eager and ready body with the Prince Charming of my dreams?

Not next to a body of water with two burly guys whose fingers are literally cock-sized. One thrust from their actual cock into my virgin vag might have launched me straight into the river.

SPLASH! Nothing perfect about that scenario.

Wait a second though…just how big are their actual cocks? Like, baseball-bat-sized? Because I did not bring any lube with me, nor did I see any in their medicine cabinets…

Rose-Gold Locke, control these ridiculous intrusive thoughts!

Like, why am I even thinking about this? I am not impulsive. I am methodical. I plan, I execute, I get things that matter to me done right and done well. I'm not going to have sex with any of the Bj?rnssons.

But…

Dammit if certain parts of me don't wish I was that impulsive sort of girl who could say, hmmm, I kind of want to do this, and then just do it!

I'm lost in my own thoughts, trying not to let them keep me wildly turned on, because even mentally debating sex, when the Bj?rnsson brothers are a part of the equation, has me squirming in my seat, desperate for any kind of friction to ease my desire. I don't think I've ever—no, I know I've never been this horny in my life.

Until I hear the shouting. It's not the happy, playful sort of shouting I heard that first led me to the brothers bathing carefree in the great outdoors.

I adjust my angle a bit and I can see Grumpy Luke and Buck through the window—which is cracked open. I can't hear the full conversation, but I catch bits and pieces. There are mainly two words being bandied back and forth a lot that make my ears perk up.

The first: Sasquatch . The second: Pa .

I bite my lip.

It's not like I've been around for weeks or months and can say without a doubt, yes, there is a definite pattern here, amongst all ten of the Bj?rnsson brothers. But from the interactions I've had with them…I can say that they have tended to get squirrely, change the subject, or just shut me down whenever I've mentioned their mother or father.

What did Rusty say when I asked where their parents are? We don't really discuss our past.

Now Grumpy Luke is heatedly gesturing at Buck, punctuating every other sentence with a finger jab/jaw clench combo. He's said Pa at least six or seven times, and Sasquatch more than that.

I wonder if he's this ferociously passionate in the sack.

What the actual hell is wrong with me?

Too late, I realize that Grumpy Luke and Buck have fallen silent, and they're both gazing at me, obviously staring at them. Eavesdropping. Not that effectively, mind you, since I heard about five percent of what they were saying, if that. But eavesdropping nonetheless.

Grumpy Luke scrunches up his eyes at me and then stalks farther away from the cabin. Buck follows. I lose sight of them, and they're completely out of earshot.

I bet Luke is ferociously passionate in the sack.

I close my eyes and let my thoughts wander.

In the fantasy, when I open my eyes, Grumpy Luke looms over me. His beard looks like an overcrowded mass of tangled, gnarled roots from an ancient tree. His face is divided into thirds by his abundant mustache and his bushy almost-unibrow. The craggy lines in his forehead tell me his life hasn't been easy, and I doubt his hair has ever actually come into contact with any commercial brand of shampoo, but something irresistible burns in his eyes. There's a softness, and a lust. His heart is as hungry for love as his loins are for sex. I cling to him, holding on for dear life, as he growls and takes me one with swift thrust…

I shake my head and the Voltaire quote, Perfection is the enemy of good , tumbles out.

What if all this time I've been saving myself for perfection when I could've been having an entire decade plus of good, really good sex? Ferociously passionate sex, even.

If it weren't for my pesky virginity, I definitely wouldn't be opposed to a hate-fuck with Grumpy Luke. Just to see how ferociously passionate he really is.

What in the backwoods erotica hell has happened to my brain?

And then, as if out of nothing other than sheer rebellion against my negative self-talky insults, my brain starts working properly again, the cells belly-bumping each other in triumph, as they put a wild—but plausible—theory together.

Whatever Grumpy Luke is railing at Buck about involves both their Pa and Sasquatches.

And…in my fantasy, the vision of Grumpy Luke looming over me with burning eyes…he did look very Sasquatchy. In a hot way. Wild, untamed, feral. Beastly, even, but…sexily so.

Is it possible their father…

No.

But…

Is it possible the mysterious, captivating Bj?rnsson brothers could be half-Sasquatch?

It wouldn't be a turnoff, I realize.

But more importantly, far more importantly: Could their father have been the Bigfoot that saved me?

It's an out-there theory, but…it's plausible. And…if it's true…I have to know. I have to know what happened to him, where he is. If it's true, the answers aren't out there in the woods. They're right here in this cabin.

I have to know.

But they aren't going to talk to me about it.

Rusty's words ring in my ears. We don't really discuss our past.

I'm not proud of myself for what I'm about to do…but…I have to know their story. I have to know the truth.