The Mating Game by Lana Ferguson - 15

“So, how is Nowheresville? Have you found the yeti yet?”

I don’t make a joke at Hunter’s expense about his strange imperviousness to the cold; I know that would mean getting into his slightly undone flannel and his sweat and his axe swinging—all things that would have Ada foaming at the mouth and asking too many questions.

I flounce back against my bed instead, jaw working as I stare up at the ceiling. “It’s nice, actually. Quiet. I met a really nice girl in town too.”

“Excuse me,” Ada huffs. “Are you trying to replace me with a snow bunny?”

“Oh, shut up,” I laugh. “You’d like her.” I add, “It’s been cool to sort of unwind. It’s so pretty here. Nice and relaxing.”

“And I’m sure the scenery is nice,” she remarks innocently. “All that plaid.”

“Don’t even start.”

“You told me you’re staying with a sexy lumberjack. You’ve got to throw me a bone.”

“I don’t remember telling you anything of the sort.”

“And you’re all snowed in with him in some giant cabin,” Ada says gleefully, ignoring me. “How tall is he? Paint me a picture.”

“I don’t know…maybe like six foot four? Six foot five?”

“And he has a beard.”

“Yes,” I sigh. “He has a beard.”

“Have you wondered yet how that would feel between your—”

“Absolutely not.”

Lies , my traitorous brain whispers. You totally have.

“And how is…everything else?”

I pause. I haven’t told Ada about…everything. Not yet. I can’t even pinpoint why. I don’t know if I’m embarrassed or if it’s just something I want to keep to myself for now.

“It’s going okay. Hunter has been helping me practice shifting,” I tell her cautiously.

“He has ?”

“It’s not a big deal,” I say quickly.

“Wait, so you’ve been getting naked with him?”

“He never looks!”

He really doesn’t, and I know that, because I check every time. I can’t say why I’m always disappointed that he never tries to look.

Fucking hormones.

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to. You should let him look.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that.”

Except it is, but then again, it isn’t. It’s all very confusing.

“There was…a moment,” I admit. “Last week.”

“Oooh, tell me more.”

“We sort of…collided.”

“Collided?”

“He was trying to help me get a handle on being on four legs, and he was chasing me, and then suddenly he ran smack dab into me, and we sort of…changed back.”

And then proceeded to not-quite–dry hump the shit out of each other.

“Oh my God, so he has seen you naked!”

“It was an accident,” I argue.

What happened next, not so much.

“I’m imagining sweaty, tangled limbs.”

“Please don’t imagine that,” I groan.

“I can’t help it,” she huffs. “Apparently, you’re trapped in some sort of Hallmark-level winter wonderland with a hunky lumberjack, and you’re not even taking advantage of it.”

“It was more of a straddling situation, honestly. And he’s technically my boss, Ada.”

“You were straddling him? Come on . Stuff like ethics doesn’t exist in the mountains.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Girl,” she presses. “If anyone needs a hot sexcapade in the snowy mountains they can look back on fondly, it’s you.”

“Hey,” I protest. “Speak for yourself.”

“Bleh. The men in Newport are all either gym bros or entirely too into crypto.”

“You just like to find something wrong with all of them.”

“Shut up. This isn’t about me. Explain to me why you can’t let the hunky lumberjack split you like a log?”

I pull the phone away for a second to grimace at it as if Ada can actually see before bringing it back to my ear. “Well, that’s beautiful imagery and not horrifying at all.”

“Seriously. You can’t give me a hot story like that and then tell me in the same breath you’ve been hiding in your room all day.”

“I’m not hiding ,” I protest feebly. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy hiding,” Ada accuses.

“I had some reading to catch up on.”

“How is the world of Harlequin romance, anyway? Is it a laird this time? Or maybe…a lumberjack?”

“You’re a menace,” I groan.

“I love you too,” Ada laughs.

“Talk to me about something else.”

“I’d really rather talk about the possibility of you being able to feel the innkeeper’s d—”

“Nope. Nope. Nope.”

“But you were straddling him! Surely you must have felt som—”

“Something else ,” I urge, feeling heat creeping up my neck. I cannot let my brain even go where she wants it to. I won’t get any sleep for the rest of the trip. “Tell me how my favorite pseudo nephew is doing.”

“He’s at home with Mom today,” she tells me. “Probably goading her into buying him more Lego.”

“Is he still into that?”

“Unfortunately,” she huffs. “Do you know how expensive those damn sets are?”

“And you know your mom will fold,” I laugh.

“Of course she will,” Ada sighs. “She’s weak.”

“You’re no better.”

“That’s fair. He’s just so cute.”

And he really is—Perry is a little carbon copy of his mom, with his auburn hair and freckles, and simply thinking about him makes me miss the pair of them.

Through the speaker I hear a loud rapping of knuckles against wood on her end of the line, then a shuffling of movement before she takes me off speaker, her voice clearer now that it’s being spoken directly into the receiver. “Hey, the takeout guy is here at the gallery. Call you later?”

“Sure,” I tell her. “I’ll be here.”

“In Nowheresville,” she laughs.

“Yeah,” I answer with a soft chuckle. “In Nowheresville.”

She says her goodbyes just before the line disconnects, and I stay where I am for several moments after, chin perched on my folded arms as I stare at the opposite wall. I can’t help but blush as I recall all the things she said about Hunter, unable to pretend I haven’t been thinking about a lot of the same things. It’s hard not to when I do, in fact, know what he looks like naked.

Which is to say good , I think idly. Very good.

I heave out a sigh as I roll on the mattress, pulling myself up to sit at the edge before I turn my face toward the window. It’s been an extremely long day between staining the floors and helping Thomas, Chase, and Kyle bring in the rest of the stone to finish the fireplace, and for the first time since I got here, I feel like maybe I should take the night off and relax. I feel like I’ve earned it, with everything going on. The afternoon sun has already started to sink, casting a pinkish glow against the snow outside, looking serene and inviting. I groan as I drop down from the bed, telling myself to stop agonizing about the hot innkeeper.

And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

I know a hot bath would probably do me a world of good, but given that my room only has a tiny walk-in shower, and the idea of even attempting to stand under the spray sounds like something I’d rather die before attempting, I foresee a grumbly night right here on my bed.

At least until the knock at my door has me sitting upright.

“Yes?”

“It’s Jeannie,” she calls through the door. “You decent?”

“Oh. Yeah.” I push up to sit cross-legged on the mattress as she pushes open the door, carrying a little tray with a cup of some steaming liquid.

“I thought you might want some hot chocolate. I make the good stuff. None of that packaged garbage.”

“You have my full attention,” I say with a smile. She hands me the cup gingerly as she takes a seat on the edge of my bed, watching with anticipation as I take a slow, careful sip. “Oh my God.”

“Told you,” she says smugly. “The secret is a dash of cinnamon.”

“It’s like Christmas in a cup,” I tell her, taking another sip. “I needed this.”

“It’s nice to have someone to make it for,” she says. “Hunter isn’t so big on sweet things.”

“I would have never guessed,” I say, words dripping with sarcasm.

“He really has that old-man-trapped-in-a-young-man’s-body thing down pat.”

“Was he always like that?”

Jeannie considers. “He’s always had a bit of seriousness to him that made him just a little different from other kids his age, but I’d definitely say it’s gotten worse in the last decade.”

“I guess running a business will do that to you,” I muse.

Jeannie nods thoughtfully. “He’s had a lot on his shoulders for a long time. Too much for someone his age, I think.”

“When did he officially take over the place?”

I notice the way Jeannie’s lips press together, considering for a moment as if I haven’t asked a simple question. “Oh, it’s been nearly ten years now,” she says offhandedly.

“He was so young.”

“Mm-hmm.” She nods solemnly. “How’s the room, by the way?”

“It’s great,” I tell her.

She cocks her head, watching as I rub my neck. “Bed do that?”

“No, no,” I assure her, still rubbing at the crick that’s forming. “It’s just from bending over that floor all day. Has all my muscles hating me.”

“I don’t know if Hunter mentioned,” she says, “but there’s a hot tub out on the back deck.”

I perk up immediately. “Oh my God, I forgot about that.”

“Yep. Nothing fancy, but it’s got jets and hot water at least.”

“That literally sounds like heaven right now.”

“Well, finish your hot chocolate and get your sore butt out there,” she laughs. “Old thing would probably enjoy seeing a body other than mine and Hunter’s.”

“Hot chocolate and now a hot tub,” I say almost giddily. “Starting to feel like vacation rather than a job.”

“This is certainly a good place for it.” She glances at the clock on the wall then, making a show of pushing up off the bed. “Oh, well, shit. I have to feed Reginald. He gets ornery when I don’t feed him on time.”

“Oh. Sure. Of course.”

“You just leave that mug out on the hall table. I’ll pick it up in the morning. Make sure you cover the hot tub when you’re done using it. Last time I left it uncovered I found a damn squirrel swimming in it like he owned it. Don’t know how that water didn’t boil him alive.”

I laugh at the mental image of that. “I’ll be sure to cover it.”

“I’d bring a robe too. It’s gonna be colder than Jack Frost’s balls when you get out of the tub. There should be one in the dresser over there.”

“Perfect,” I answer, still grinning. “Thanks.”

I take another long gulp of Jeannie’s hot chocolate when she leaves me, tipping it back to finish it off as it settles warmly in my belly. A hot tub sounds like the perfect thing after a day of hard labor.

Plus…maybe the hot water will make me forget all about the hot innkeeper.

The robe in the dresser that Jeannie mentioned isn’t the most stylish thing I’ve ever worn—faded flannel (honestly, flannel should be on the state flag) that looks like it’s seen better days—but it’s warm and long enough that it covers my ankles, which is much more important than style as far as I’m concerned. I pair it with my fuzzy boots and my pom-pom–topped toboggan as I make my way down the stairs to the back door leading to the deck, wrapping it tight as I take quick steps to avoid the creeping chill that the old ducts of the lodge can never seem to ward off completely. I obviously didn’t bring a swimsuit on this little adventure, but I figured my matching sports bra and boy shorts set would suffice. Even if I feel like I might be freezing to death.

Hot water , I remind myself. There’s hot water coming.

I meet one very cantankerous Maine coon on the way to the back deck, the black mass of fur stretched out on the checkered couch with his belly up as I pass. I pause near him as I consider the consequences of a sneak attack, reaching quietly until my fingers skim the soft fur of his underside—for exactly two seconds. He hisses at me as he instantly pounces away, and I curse under my breath as I clutch my robe, watching him go.

“Mean ass,” I mumble.

Whatever. It’s too cold to worry about the grumpy old cat.

I’m doing something reminiscent of tap dancing and hopscotch as I barrel out through the deck doors, the frozen air taking me by surprise as the robe I’m wearing seems thinner than it did before I stepped outside. I’m only concerned with getting into the hot tub as fast as humanly possible to let the hot water warm me up, which means it takes me a second longer than it should to realize that I’m not alone on the deck.

Listen. There have been many moments over the last couple of weeks in which Hunter’s flannel-clad shoulders have made themselves at home in my thoughts, there’s no denying that. However, seeing them now—naked and broad and wet —that’s a different kind of brain malfunction altogether, and seeing him naked isn’t even a new experience for me. He hasn’t noticed me yet—his eyes are closed as he lounges in the water with his head resting against the edge—and I don’t immediately make myself known, because my brain is still trying to catch up to wet, naked shoulders and, what’s worse, wet, naked chest .

Chopping wood has done wonders for Hunter, that much is obvious. His wide chest is defined in a way that some guys out in California kill themselves at the gym every day for. The dark dusting of hair smattered across his torso is a far cry from the waxed dudebros I encounter on a daily basis; it definitely completes the lumberjack vibe that Hunter’s dark curls and dark beard set the groundwork for. It makes him look… manly , as corny as that sounds. My brain can’t seem to form a more coherent thought than that.

I’m still openly gawking at him when I absentmindedly shut the sliding patio door, and the click it makes upon closing is what finally alerts Hunter to my presence. He looks surprised to see me when his head jerks up from the edge of the tub, obvious by the way his eyes widen enough for me to notice even by the dim glow of the old porch light a few feet away. I probably look ridiculous to him, standing there in the doorway in the freezing temperature while clutching my old flannel robe and clad in my fuzzy knit cap and fuzzier boots, and that thought shakes me out of my temporary stupor.

“S-sorry,” I manage after what is probably an awkward amount of time. “I didn’t know you were out here. Jeannie mentioned the hot tub, and I just thought—”

“Well, get in if you’re going to,” Hunter says with a lot more composure than I have. “It’s cold as shit out here.”

And then it hits me that I’m about to be alone with him in a hot tub, since my brothers went into town for the evening. I swallow thickly, eyeing his wet chest again and wondering how I’ll survive the experience.

Painfully, I’d wager. Very painfully.