Page 8 of Roughing It

He purses his lips, and I know I’ve won. Fist pumping in triumph, I crow, “You won’t regret this, Kirk. This will be massive!” With a giddy grin, I kiss his cheek, laughing at the blush heating his skin.

“Get out of here. I need to call my husband and tell him I’ll be late.” He dismisses me, his words softened by the friendly tone. “Finding someone who can handle you won’t be easy.”

The high I get from social media, the buoyant lightness that only comes with likes and comments, fills me now. This time, though, it’s even better. I created this happiness for myself. I made this happen.

As I bounce out the door, I call back, “I don’t know what you mean. I’m a dream, and you know it.”

CHAPTER THREE

hudson

I adjust the bill of the stiff baseball cap harder than necessary. I can’t get the damn crease right. Of course, this wouldn’t be an issue if my jackass middle brother hadn’t pilfered my favorite hat before leaving on a ten-day wilderness retreat.

Asshole.

I reread the sticky note he left me, then crumple it and toss it away.Needed one that’s already broken inwith a goddamn smiley face as if that makes up for it. Fucking Gray.

Our business phone rings. I ignore it. The same number’s been calling off and on for the last couple of days, but seeing as I don’t know anyone in Austin, I let it ring. If it’s someone wanting to book a guided hunt or excursion, they’ll leave a message. Is it bad business to not answer? Too fucking bad. I have a shit ton of paperwork to do.

And a hat to break in.

In the fifteen years since my family moved to Trail Creek from the Panhandle, we’ve owned and operated a jack-of-all-outdoor-trades business. Fly-fishing, guided hunts, hikes,rafting—even skiing and snowboarding lessons in the winter—Peak Adventures does it all.

We’ve done well for ourselves, so much so that our parents took early retirement, leaving the business for my brothers and me—mostly me—to run five years ago. Since then, we’ve added ATV tours, cabin rentals, corporate wilderness retreats, and survival training.

Gray’s out on a combo corporate retreat and survival training with the bigwigs of some tech company from Albuquerque. Lucky bastard. I’d trade places with him in a heartbeat. Give me the quiet and beauty of the northern New Mexico landscape over spreadsheets and invoices any day of the week, but someone has to keep us in the black. And technically speaking, they requested anyone but me.

Apparently, I came off asrudewhile booking them. I’m not rude. I just don’t have time or patience for wishy-washy weekend warriors who can’t decide what to book. Yeah, I can be direct, but give me a straight shooter over a bullshitter. If I ruffle a few delicate feathers, so be it. No sweat off my sack.

With a grunt, I refocus on the blue-light glow of my multiple screens. Fucking paperwork. Did the font shrink when I wasn’t looking? I’m squinting at the tiny numbers when my youngest brother’s voice startles me, and I delete an entire row of data.Shit.

“Looking for your readers, old man?”

“Ha, you’re real funny asshole. I’m thirty-five, not seventy. Why are you here, anyway? Thought you took that bachelor party from Santa Fe fly-fishing.”

Bo shrugs and plops into the chair next to my desk, kicking his feet up. “Already met our limit.”

“And where are the paying clients now?” I can’t help but notice the twitch behind my eyelid coincides with Bo’s arrival.

He grins at me, the same one that gets him out of troublewith our parents and into trouble with the single women in Trail Creek and the surrounding areas. “Dropped ‘em off at Ava’s and told them to order the stuffed sopapillas. I’ll pick them up after I clean and bag their catches.”

“And then?”

“I’m taking them to the hot springs. It’s like a strip club without the cover charge.” He waggles his dark eyebrows at me.

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “That’s not true. It’s gonna be you and twelve other dicks in a giant pool of hot water.”

Bo’s easy laugh has my lips curving up in spite of myself. “You’re not lying, brother. It’ll be a sausage fest, but hell, they paid for two full days. Gotta keep our ratings up.”

Ratings. Reviews. Fucking social media. Another aspect of this job I hate. I stay as far away from all that as possible. Gray and Bo have better temperaments for it, anyway. They are the ones who reply to customers and post “thirst traps” with our brand in the shot. Hell, I didn’t know what a thirst trap was until I stumbled onto one of our socials and got a full view of my baby brother’s bare ass.

If I had my way, I’d do nothing but guide work, and the rest would sort itself out. Despite the entire world revolving around social media, you sure as shit won’t catch me on camera cheesing it up or bro-ing it out. What could you hope to gain from strangers on the internet fawning over you? Seems like a waste of time and energy and a vapid void for people who need their egos stroked.

I’ll leave that to the younger Brooks brothers. Of course, the town eats it up, too. Saul, Trail Creek’s daddy figure, scolds Bo and Gray for being “salacious,” but the old man loves the attention it brings. Their most recent post supposedly went viral. Peak Adventures collaborated with several other TrailCreek businesses, including the Great Dane, Flora and Fauna, and Davis Designs, for a cross-promotional series.

What a bar, a tattoo parlor, a custom home builder, and our company have in common besides being in Trail Creek and guys in their thirties willing to take their shirts off on camera is a mystery to me. Still, Bo and Gray assure me the post is business-minded and garnering positive attention. They also pointed out it wasn’t just men; the Davis women were involved as well—as if that makes it better.

My gut says my brothers use that crap to score dates rather than drive up business. But so long as they keep me out of it, they can do what they want. The socials are their domain.

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