Page 40 of Mountain Man Bad Boy

He flicked on the light and without any embarrassment went to close the blinds. I watched him move, his butt tight, his cock deflating. I didn’t know what claim I had on this man, but that I was the one in his bed right now was enough. He certainly was nice to look at.

Impervious to my musings, Porter turned around and crossed to the dresser. He took out two towels and handed one to me. I accepted mine with a grin, climbing up off the mattress. We wrapped ourselves up and snuck out of the room to the bathroom. Luckily, there was no one in the common area, and we escaped notice. Locking the door, Porter turned on me, blessing me with a passionate kiss before turning the shower on.

“You want to go first?” he asked.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to make him wait any longer, when he clearly had been wanting a shower all night. He didn’t need any more encouragement, dropping his towel and hopping into the stall. I could see a hazy outline of his figure through the frosted plastic walls. He didn’t waste time; he simply scrubbed his chest with a bar of soap. I drifted back to the mirror to look at myself. My hair was knotted again. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to chance another visit to the hair salon. Maybe I could just go back to my hotel and get my own brush.

Porter finished and left the water running for me. He toweled off, waiting until I had freshened up before indicating that we should leave. I held one hand to the clasp of the towel, my other hand clutching his. He opened the bathroom door and peeked into the stairwell.

“Oh shit.” He snapped the door shut again.

“What is it?” I asked apprehensively.

“Mark’s home,” he whispered.

“Who’s Mark?”

“He lives across from me,” Porter pulled the door open one more time, just enough to see a sliver of the landing. “Come on.” He led me out, and we raced across the kitchenette as fast as we could, reaching the safety of his room just as footsteps sounded behind us.

I pulled the door closed before Mark could wander out into the common area and catch us naked. Holding my breath, I leaned up against the wall. It felt like we were kids, sneaking around his parents’ house.

“I can’t believe you have to share a bathroom with five other people,” I laughed. “We have to get you a better apartment.”

He smiled, but I could see something uneasy pass behind his eyes. I had crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed. It wasn’t my place to tell him where he should live, and my use of the word “we” indicated I assumed I would be a part of his future. I cursed myself silently for the infraction.

“I didn’t mean anything by that,” I tried awkwardly.

He shook his head as if it didn’t matter. He pulled the towel off, revealing himself again, and walked to the dresser. Inside, he found a clean pair of boxers and an oversized T-shirt. Climbing into the shorts, he handed the shirt to me. I thanked him with a smile, understanding instantly what it meant: he wanted me to spend the night.

I dressed in the impromptu nightshirt and sat down on the bed. “Where are we gonna eat?”

“Here.” He opened the closet to reveal a small dorm fridge and pulled out three bananas and a jar of almonds from the depths. Porter continued to unpack until a feast of nibbles lay on the sheets beside me. He pulled out two bottled waters and handed one over. “We’ve got fruit and nuts, crackers, and I’ve got a package of muffins.”

“It looks delicious,” I said happily.

It was funny what passed for food in different people’s houses. At my own apartment, I had a refrigerator dedicated to vegetables and leftovers. I preferred to cook for myself, though I didn’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen. My favorite dish was angel hair pasta with spaghetti sauce, but that was a treat, so I didn’t have it often. Porter, I could see, was unaccustomed to stocking his apartment with food. Understandably, he didn’t want to venture back out to the common area or store his own dinner in the common fridge. We sat munching on his stash of healthy foods, until my belly was full, and my soul revived.

“What do you do for fun here?” I asked, just to make conversation.

“Nothing.” He shifted, picking up an almond. “I used to get high or drunk and go around looking for trouble. Now… I just work.”

“You don’t have a TV,” I observed. “Do you have a phone or a computer?”

“I have a phone,” he said, “I finally got minutes added, so I can surf the web. But I can’t stream anything.”

“Sounds boring.”

“I suppose I could invite a girl over,” he teased.

“That might make things more interesting,” I admitted.

“It would have to be the right girl.” He hesitated. “Because I wouldn’t want someone who was all into a guy’s car and his job and everything.”

“That type of girl might want a mansion,” I replied, stealing a nut from his pile.

“Hey.” He circled his stash protectively. “Stay on your side of the banquet table.”

I couldn’t remember a more relaxed evening in my whole life. It seemed like I spent so much time working toward the next big thing. When I was in college, I was hell-bent on graduation; then it was getting a job; then being the best nurse I could be. I didn’t think I had ever stopped to just appreciate where I was. It was so comfortable in Porter’s room, just the two of us, joking like old friends. We finished our dinner, and he cleaned up.

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