Page 11 of Grumpy Bear

Sawyer—I guessed that’s what I was supposed to call him since everybody else seemed to—pulled up near them and lifted his chin when they waved.

When Sawyer parked, I panicked. I couldn’t get out of the cart. My dick was still hard. It had been the entire ride down.

I tried to stall or at least distract him with more conversation. God help me. It seemed like the minute I started talking, he looked away. “You guys have a lot of these go-carts, huh?”

I was wrong. Not only did he look at me, he pushed his sunglasses into the dark hair on top of his head and studied me like he thought I might be suffering from some kind of serious illness. “This is not a go-cart.” His scathing tone made me want to crawl into a hole and die.

“Sorry. My bad. Um… golf carts? ATVs, I guess you probably call them.”

He released an exasperated breath. “That is a golf cart.” He pointed to an obvious specimen puttering along the path. “This is a Yamaha Viking EPS. Everyone around here calls it an ATV, but technically it’s a UTV.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Utility. Task. Vehicle.” He enunciated every word.

I pretended he wasn’t being rude and condescending. “It’s killer.” I ran my hand along the dash admiringly.

He frowned. He thought I was making fun of him.

“No, really. Totally badass.” I smiled, but when his expression remained unchanged, I switched to a more serious tone. “I can see the appeal and the practicality.”

The look he was giving me now was more than enough to send my dick into sad, scared-snail mode.

When he climbed out of the UTV and greeted the staff, I adjusted myself quickly and discreetly.

I followed him along the flagstone path that curved around the building. I was completely incapable of not staring at the hard, brown muscles of his calves. It was a body part I swooned over. The other guys parted to let us pass. Up close, every one of them looked like Austin had indeed been cloned and genetically modified to create a race of muscular boyish cubs.

“Hey,” I said, generally, holding my hand up in a lame wave. “What’s up?”

Only one of them said “Hi,” baring his teeth in a grin that was a mix of friendly and predatory, but I felt all their eyes on the back of my neck.

The storeroom, with its bare cement floors and vaulted ceiling, was shadowy and cool. Sawyer found the edge of a bright blue tarp folded on a shelf above his head wedged between some large plastic tubs. He grunted as he struggled to yank it free, his triceps popping out, the V of his lats spreading wide across his back.

I stepped forward, unnecessarily trying to help. I caught the artificial piney musk of his deodorant before narrowly avoiding getting elbowed in the face.

“Here we go.” He handed me the tarp and scanned the enormous rack of metal shelves. He added another silver-gray tarp and a plastic box of bungee cords to the pile in my arms before announcing we could leave.

He carried four dark-blue rolls of some rubbery fabric. “Yoga mats.” He winced. “I didn’t see the airbed Jim was talking about. If it was as nice as he said, somebody probably already snagged it.” He looked back at the shelves with regret. “I don’t see any air mattresses in here at all. Sorry. But you can layer these into a decent bed roll. I’ve done it myself.”

I pinched one, nodding. “Yeah. Okay. That’ll be good.” I hoped my smile reassured him.

“I’ll have the next staff person who goes into town pick up something better for you. We really need to have a few spares on hand anyway. Guest campers have airbed blowouts all the time.”

I couldn’t help but visualize a couple of these tank-sized men pounding one into the ground. “Pesky tree roots.” I chuckled awkwardly. “Rocks poking up and shit.”

Again, he studied me like he thought I might have a head injury. I needed to stop trying to chitchat. He was clearly incapable or uninterested.

After securing the cargo in a net at the rear of the UTV, he drove us back to the lodge. This time, I vowed I wouldn’t say anything unless he said something to me first.

He didn’t say a word.

I pretended to gaze out at the scenic mountain landscape, the lush woods, but honestly a good ninety percent of my consciousness was focused on the sensation of our legs touching again.

I wondered how old he was—mid-thirties at least. He could be ten years older than that. He was so adult and masculine and hairy and built… Like someone who would play a drill sergeant in a movie. In a porn movie.

He jumped out of the UTV before it even stopped rolling, pulled the equipment out, and set it firmly on the ground in one neat stack.

He moved his sunglasses to the top of his head and squinted. He finally made eye contact and spoke to me simultaneously. “Do you know how to set all this up?” He looked a little bit… worried.