Page 4 of Stubborn Mountain Man

I headed over to the fridge and pressed the lever for the water that dispensed in the door. I hadn’t changed the filter, but I’d only lived here a few months, so it wasn’t like it had time to go bad. Even if it had, though, did it really matter? I drank unfiltered water half my life, and I’d survived.

“How do you stay in touch with your family?” she asked. “Or do they live in Sweetheart Falls?”

“My family’s in Tennessee,” I said. “They live in a mountain town called Rosewood Ridge. My brother and I talk on the phone about once a week. He’s the only one I’m in touch with.”

I came around the island and walked toward her, handing the pills to her over the back of the couch. She reached up and took it.

She didn’t break the stare, though, continuing to watch me. Was she studying me? Good luck trying to figure me out. Plenty of women had tried and ended up frustrated as a result.

“You only stay in touch with your brother?” she asked.

I stepped back, eager to put some distance between us. She’d been hiking, but she smelled amazing, like honeysuckle. It reminded me of childhood.

“Long story,” I said. “My dad and I never really got along, and my mom died while I was in the military.”

Why was I telling her all of this? It was none of her business. Next thing you know, I’d be telling her all about the way my dad abused us when we were kids, and how I’d never forgive him as long as I lived for abusing my mom. She’d gotten cancer and was no longer with us, while he still walked around healthy as ever.

“Do you think this will help?” she asked. She shifted her attention to the pill bottle. “How many should I take?”

Like I’d know. I usually just shook out two and popped them into my mouth, swallowing them down without even chasing them with water. She, meanwhile, was squinting to read the directions on the side, which were no doubt in the tiniest print possible.

She picked up her phone, tapped on the screen, and pointed it at the label, snapping a picture. Then she settled the bottle between her legs and smiled up at me.

“You just take a picture and enlarge the print,” she said. “I saw that hack on social media.”

Social media. One of the things I avoided like the plague. Not hard to do when you didn’t have an internet connection.

“Looks like I should take two,” she said.

She set the phone on her lap and snatched up the pill bottle. I watched all of this from behind the couch, trying not to stare at those thighs that had clenched the pill bottle and now served as a flat surface for her cell phone.

After opening the bottle and shaking out a couple of pills, she reached over to me. Only then did I remember I was still holding the glass of water.

I’d managed to keep my hands on the cap of the pill bottle while she grabbed from the bottom, but I didn’t have that kind of foresight as I thrust the glass in her direction. I was too busy worrying the water would slosh over the top, which it almost did.

She was distracted by sliding the pills between those pale pink, plump lips. They distracted me too. Which meant neither of us was paying attention as she reached for the glass. As a result, her fingers touched down on mine, sending a jolt of electricity through me like nothing I’d ever experienced. It caught me so off guard, I almost dropped the glass.

“Thanks,” she said, still holding my stare as she lifted the glass to her lips.

It was an innocent action. She just pressed the rim to her mouth and took a sip. So why did it feel like she’d slid those lips around the tip of my cock?

“Drink!” I said. “Do you want something to drink? Besides water, that is.”

I was well on my way to the kitchen halfway through that question. Distance was what I needed. Otherwise, I just might break my six-month record of no sex.

Sex meant attachments. I did not need attachments.

“Do you have diet soda?” she asked. “My friends give me crap for drinking it, but there are worse habits. My friend Emmalyn keeps a flask of wine in her purse. I don’t even drink.”

I paused at the fridge, hand on the handle. “I don’t have diet soda. I have water and beer. I think there’s some tequila in there.”

Why was I mentioning alcoholic beverages? She just said she didn’t drink.

“You know what?” she asked. “Give me some tequila. Just bring the whole bottle.”

“I’m not sure you’re supposed to mix alcohol and?—”

I paused there. She hadn’t taken the hard stuff. It was just over-the-counter pain pills. But she’d said she was a rule follower, and this was one of those rules.

---