Page 31 of Grumpy Bear

“Trey. Clint. Greg. Cabin stews. Linens, beds, towels. Toilets and toilet paper.” Trey gave his buddies some not exactly discreet side-eye. Everybody knew they wanted to be cabana boys, but Jim and I had discussed it. They didn’t have the personalities for it. It wasn’t an underwear fashion show featuring untouchable muscle guys with Zoolander faces. That’s not what the guests were looking for. We needed genuine, A-level flirts and sweethearts serving drinks at the pool.

“Austin. Ryan. Pool boys. Cabana bar. Hopefully my additions to the dam yesterday held up after last night’s storm. I’ll come around and check in a while. Finish cleaning and get the water going ASAP. Use the hoses behind the bar, the utility sink in the laundry, and run another one from the bathhouse spigot. We need every drop running full blast to get that thing filled by tomorrow. Yes, the heater is on, but unfortunately with fresh water it’s gonna be cold as shit. It’s a fucking pool party, but lucky for us, the emphasis is always on the party.”

This was the part where I was expected to make some kind of speech, some rah-rah nonsense to pump everyone up and motivate them for the weekend. I usually got Jim down here for this when I could, but he was in the office tending to the phone, which had been ringing off the hook.

“Our number one goal is to make our guests and residents happy. Keep the booze flowing, but safety first. Everybody on this property is potentially gonna be hugging a toilet, and you’re the girlfriend holding their hair. If you’re having fun, the guests will have fun, but the guests’ fun is the priority. Know your alcohol limits, and remember you’re working. Fool around with the guests if they want to and you consent, preferably when you’re off the clock. At least try not to do it in the public spaces. Got it? Let’s have an amazing season. Bring it in.”

All hands in, we counted off on three, then fists in the air, shouted, “BEAR CAMP!”

Luke looked a little bewildered, but he made a good show of keeping up.

As the boys applauded and disbanded into their smaller work assignments, Luke and DJ Danny turned to me.

I fished a spare key out of my pocket and handed it over to Danny. “You’re spinning in The Cubby Hole tonight. Marco will be here late, but he’s pool side tomorrow. Go ahead and set up your equipment. You can lock up and hang on to the key until you check out. You’re staying the weekend?”

“Yeah, I’ll head out on Sunday if that’s cool.”

I thanked him and turned to find Luke patiently standing by, eyebrows raised. “Surfer Cowboy, you’re with me.”

Austin watched us walk away. He waggled his eyebrows at Luke. I ignored whatever passed between them, resisting the urge to roll my eyes and shake my head. That’s when I noticed Trey standing there also, hip cocked and arms folded, glaring at us.

I jumped in my UTV and passed Luke an extra pair of leather work gloves, stiff from use. “You’ll probably want these if you haven’t got any calluses.”

He smiled. “Just on my fingertips.”

We flew down the holler like yesterday, our knees pressed together, his obscenely hairy calves tickling mine. An image came to me in an unbidden flash—Luke standing in the middle of my cabin, nothing but a towel twisted around his hips…

He looked over at me with an uncomfortable smile. He had to yell to be heard over the noise of the tires on gravel. “So, what are you going to have me do?” Mother of God, why did everything he said to me sound like the beginning of a porn in my head?

I swallowed, trying to sound casual. “Mowing lawns. Some landscaping.”

I drove past the pool house complex with the storage building we’d visited yesterday. At the bottom of the holler, the creek began to widen and twist through the level part of the valley with three small bridges arched over it. A curve to the right took you out to the gate, but straight ahead downstream, nested in among trees and shrubs and flower beds were the elaborate decks and patios built by the RV residents—planters, hot tubs, small water features, porch swings, pergolas, and entire outdoor kitchens that rivaled Levi’s galley at the lodge.

The outdoor living spaces dwarfed the indoors. The massive decks came into sight well before the tiny trailers parked next to them.

Luke laughed. “Wow. Trailer Park Avenue, indeed. Leave it to the gays to make trailers look like something out of a magazine. I think HGTV needs to shoot a series redefining the term trailer park.”

I smirked. “The stereotype does hold up. Some of the butchest guys you’ll meet here have the prettiest flowers. Case in point.” I nodded toward a short, bald, musclebound couple in matching speedos adjusting their retractable awning over a deck framed by bright red rhododendrons.

“Are they twins?”

“Married couple. Mike and Kyle. Longtime regulars from Atlanta. They’re up here most weekends. Sweet guys. Attention whores. They like to be the first thing everybody sees when they arrive.”

They waved to us as we sped by.

I pulled up in front of a small metal garage artfully hidden behind a row of tall evergreens.

Luke hopped out and looked around, shaking his head in wonder. “These guys take their outdoor entertaining seriously, huh? I can’t even imagine what their real homes must look like, considering what they put into an RV.”

“Fortunately, they maintain most of this themselves. Which brings me to our job.” I hit the garage door opener, revealing a small fleet of tractors and lawn equipment. “Please tell me you can drive a lawnmower.”

He gave me an offended look. “I may not be a bear or a muscle cub or lumber sexual or whatever, sir, but I can mow a lawn.”

I snorted. “Lumber sexual?”

He pointed back up the holler. “Those guys have Abe Lincoln beards and utility kilts, and they brought their own chainsaws.”

I couldn’t suppress a snort. “They also have very specific axe preferences. We have lumberjack competitions in January.”