Cabin Affairs

Step 10. Fuel

Step 10. Fuel

Playlist: “Fuel” by Metallica

Dripping with sweat and shirtless, wearing only joggers, Eric stares at me in anticipation of what I’m about to say. He eyes the cell phone in my hand and the guilty look on my face. He knows.

“So, how’s Matthew?” he asks me.

Suddenly, I can’t look Eric in the face anymore. I’m embarrassed of… what is it? Discussing my relationship with another man, or my atypical escapades and promiscuity for the past several hours, or my immediate arousal when Eric walked back into the room looking literally yummy?

“Hey, Jenny Lynn. What’s the matter? Did he say something that upset you?”

Eric comes to sit beside me on the couch, pulling my legs over his lap so I’m now facing him. His mood is genuinely concerned and perhaps even a bit annoyed - most likely just an extension of his protective streak. The position of us on the couch feels naturally intimate, so again I hesitate to look in his face. Eric, of course, won’t accept this retraction of mine inwards. He grabs my face in both of his hands and forces my gaze to meet his. He’s searching me for answers to the abrupt change in my mood. If I knew, I’d tell him.

“What did Matthew say?” Eric questions me.

“Nothing much, really. He just misses me. He wanted to make sure I was still feeling ok,” I tell Eric honestly.

“He hasn't changed his tune then? He’s not upset?” he asks with suspicion. Eric releases my face, but holds my gaze. Perhaps, like me, he expects that Matthew would be jealous. After all, theoretical hypotheses are much different from actual experimental findings.

“No, he doesn’t seem to be,” I reply with sincerity. “I was kind of surprised myself.”

Eric is still searching me, but his eyebrows are sinking lower, probably due to a new thought coming to him as the worry lines in his forehead begin to show. “There’s something else though, right? What else did he say?”

“Well, I can tell he likes the photos you’ve been sending. Thanks for taking that responsibility away from me, by the way.”

“Sure thing. But I doubt his enjoyment of the pictures would be the reason you went from happy at seeing me come in the door to immediately depressed.”

Has Eric always been this observant? I don’t remember this quality in my best friend. If he had been, surely he would’ve noticed my not-so-friendly romantic passes at him all those years that he claimed flew over his head.

I try to shrug my way out of the conversation one more time. “That really was the gist of the discussion. We only texted instead of calling because he was in a meeting. Matthew just wanted to make sure I was comfortable, and to remind me that I could come home whenever I want to.”

“Oh.” Eric’s response is short, but heavy laden.

“Oh?”

It’s his turn not to meet my eyeline. “So, I guess I should have asked, too, but you know I’m not always good at that kind of thing. How are you feeling now?”

“I’m fine,” I say, but even I don’t believe it. My voice had that upward inflection at the end that made the very short statement itself turn into a question.

“Don’t do that, J,” Eric admonishes.

“Do what?” I play dumb.

“That stupid girl thing where you say you’re fine, but bottle up the real problem in your head. It’s annoying, men hate it, and frankly, you and I are past that bullshit, don’t you think? I thought we were having fun here, but I can understand this is a lot… of change. I know this cabin isn’t exactly four stars either, but my hunting lease was the fastest thing I could come up with. Plus, it’s remote, so no one you know will stumble across us and question you, but at the same time, it’s still not too far from the kids just in case.”

Eric’s rambling is odd and out of character. I say nothing, but have to make a conscious effort to stop biting the inside of my cheek as I often do when I’m concentrating on a puzzle.

He continues, “You know, I’m still your best friend. You can talk to me about anything. What’s going on in that head of yours? You let me in everywhere else now, so why not there?”

“Shut up!” I shout while playfully shoving his shoulder. He’s still sweaty, but his muscles don’t move an inch. At least he’s smirking now, and the mood lightens.

“So, talk,” he demands.

“It just threw me unexpectedly when Matthew told me I could come home today if I wanted. Then he had to get back to work, and you walked in right as we said goodbye. It is a lot of change, as you put it. I’m just learning to navigate.”

The mood may have brightened, but Eric’s frown still casts a cloud over us. “So, is that the problem? Do you want to go home, and you don’t know how to tell me?”

“No, E. That’s not it,” I assure him. I sit up closer to him so he can see the rebuttal in my demeanor. He hugs my legs on his lap unconsciously.

“Keep going.” Eric is nodding.

“I think the problem is…” I begin.

That I should want to go home, I think to myself, but I don’t want to. I can’t fully explain it to myself yet, but I have never done anything this wild before. Or this satisfyingly selfish. It is not a side of myself I know, nor do I want to wave goodbye to it quite so soon. I feel like it’s important to soak this feeling in, because eventually I have to go back to being the caretaker of my life. Of course, I can’t say that out loud since it bears more questions I can’t answer, so instead I reply, “The problem is that I am hungry. Near hangry, in fact.”

Eric throws his head back laughing at me. “I guess that was kinda my fault.”

“That’s fine,” I say, swinging my legs off him and to the floor, standing up. I offer him my hand to help him off the couch. “How about we tame the wilds of the kitchen together? Pancakes?”

“Deal.”

We manage to make breakfast together without much incident, such as setting the place on fire, then settle into eating at the bar top of the kitchen peninsula. I’m into my second helping of mapley-drenched goodness and a side of not-burnt bacon when Eric leans back on the barstool next to me with folded arms and asks, “Would you like any more pancakes with that plate of syrup?”

“Oh, shut up,” I dismiss him with a wave of my hand and shove another bite into my mouth for good measure.

“That is the second time, young lady, that you have told me to shut up. There better not be a third, or you’ll pay the price.”

I swallow the deliciousness in my mouth and stick my tongue out at him. Then, I make a big show of swiping the next bite through as much maple syrup on my plate as humanly possible. The syrup drips down my lips, and I lick all around them while moaning how good it is. I meant the action to be childishly simple, emphasizing my love of sugar, but Eric’s Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows air and his eyes are hooded watching me.

“You are such a tease, J.”

“Am not!” I exclaim with a gasp.

He wants to see a real tease? Little does he know that I woke up this morning with the intent of seducing him before a fire alarm interrupted me. I gently grab his index finger and swipe it through the syrup on his plate since mine is now nearly gone. Then, I bring his finger to my lips and suck the syrup off. Eric shakes his head at me in disbelief. I take just a split second to glance down and check if my efforts at seduction are having any real effect. Happy gray sweatpants season to me!

Having exercised my rights as a woman, and successfully cleaned both our plates, I hop off the bar stool and walk around to deposit the dishes in the sink. I made Eric clean as we cooked, so these are the only things left to wipe down in the kitchen. I hate having my full stomach compete with a full sink. I turn my back to him while rinsing off the plates and mugs of coffee.

“I take it back,” Eric tells me, still shaking his head side to side. “You are not a tease.”

“Thank you!” I turn and smile across at him.

“Nope. You’re cruel,” he replies matter-of-factly.

I snicker and add out of habit, “Oh, shut up.”

Third strike. I’m out.

Eric’s grin is positively gleeful. I almost feel I was set up just now. He rounds on me in the kitchen.

“What are you doing, E?” I ask nervously, watching his feet come around the corner to the kitchen entrance.

“Collecting the fine for your discretion. I’m going to tickle it out of you.”

I point a finger at him in warning, pulling my head backwards in a defensive stance. “No! You know I hate being tickled. Don’t you dare take another step towards me.”

He does. To top it off, his face gloats about it, too. “Like this?”

When it comes to fight or flight, I am firmly in the ‘flight’ category. He is a trained soldier with about a hundred pounds of muscle on me. I know the odds are certainly not ever in my favor. The kitchen has only one opening and Eric is blocking it. The window above the sink, behind me, is far too small and awkwardly placed to choose as an escape route. So, in my anxious state, I lurch myself onto the counter, attempting to go over the bartop we were happily eating pancakes at just moments ago. Back when we were just a man and woman having brunch. Now, he’s playing hunter to my prey.

Eric catches my ankle just before I clear the counter, but I kick it out of his large hand. He laughs, looking up at me, and clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Now what, Jenny Lynn? You can stand on that bartop all day, but the next move you make, I’ve captured you. You’re essentially trapped.”

He’s right, but I hate giving him the satisfaction of saying so. I chose lying instead. I place my hands on my hips, trying to sound confident even though I am ducking my head from hitting the ceiling, a head which is completely devoid of any ideas on how to escape my trained hunter. “I have a plan.”

Eric just laughs harder, like he’s having the time of his life. He shrugs and pretends to turn as if about to give up the chase and walk away. I check the pendant light hanging next to me so that I am not about to hit my head with any next movement, and while my eyesight is distracted, Eric yanks my legs off the counter. I fall forward, now draped over his shoulder like a giant bag of potatoes, while he holds my legs tightly to keep from kicking.

“Look, I promise I won’t tickle you, but you still have to pay the price for telling me to shut up.” And with that, he spanks me. I yelp, but it doesn’t merely sound surprised. It sounds brawny and inviting. Damn it! Why did he have to find out how much this turns me on? He’ll forever be using this against me. Well, actually, he only has this week, I remember. Hastily, I push that thought from my mind as it surely will kill the mood again.

Eric swings me around so he’s holding me bridal style against his chest. I wrap my arms instinctually around his neck to steady myself and hold up some of my own weight. I know he doesn’t need the help holding me, but even in circumstances like these, I hate to appear burdensome and weak.

“Wanna know your first mistake?” he asks.

“Sure. Enlighten me.”

“Well, for starters, never never go up. Any seasoned hunter looks up. You think you’re being smart, but really you just watch too many movies. All you’ll ever do is trap yourself. Instead, use the landscape to your advantage. Like spraying me with water from the sink, or opening the fridge door to block me and buy you some time. Use your size, too. Go low instead of high.”

“Thanks, professor. I’ll try to remember that, but I don’t find myself being hunted all that often.”

“You never know, J.” I hate how ominous that sounds, so I decide to change the subject.

“Well, in any event, you’ve taken the kill shot, so you can put me down now,” I remind him.

However, Eric makes no move to release me. His eyes bore into mine, and his grip thighs on my waist and around my thighs. The fact that he is a firefighter is now about the silliest thing I can think of. This man is a pyromaniac, constantly burning me alive in his gaze. No, I misspoke. He’s igniting both of us.

“Eric…” I whisper. I don’t have the words. The way he looks at me unglues me from reality. “You have to stop looking at me like that.”

“Why’s that, J?” His voice is deep and dark, more like gravel than the dirt and rocks under my car in the makeshift driveway outside.

“Because I said so.” It’s all I think to say without giving away how his piercing eyes are turning my world upside down.

“Then, no,” he says.

I need to put out this fire before we rage out of control. And what’s the one thing sure to douse a fire? A hose? His hose…

Stop it, Jenny Lynn! I scold myself profusely. The answer is, water.

“You know what, handsome?” I tell him sweetly.

“What, beautiful?”

I lean into his face just slightly, as if I was about to kiss him. I see his eyes close as he anticipates me. I want that kiss so badly, I almost reconsider my plan. Almost.

“You smell,” I say flatly.

My lips curl up into a smile meant to disarm as his eyes fly open. It’s not a lie, actually. He does smell from his long outdoor run. Yet, for some odd reason, the musty scent of masculine sweat is not entirely unwelcome.

Eric is disarmed, though. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I do need a shower.”

“I have to agree with you.”

“OK, you win,” Eric rolls his eyes with a smile. Still, holding me tight against him, he starts walking towards the bathroom. “Let’s go.”

So much for my fresh makeup and blowout.