Page 16 of Jessica and the Jarhead
“Instead of assuming he doesn’t want you, assume he does,” my therapist would have said. I had enough sessions with her. I could predict how they would go by now. “How does that change things?” I thought of the bath last night where I imagined just that and wanted, desperately, for it to be true.
There was a time when Charles was my best friend and trying not to talk to him was like cutting off a limb. All I did was make myself miserable. At some point, I needed to stop icing him out. We could start as friends again. Maybe.
“So, what will we do with all this time?” He asked as he poured cream into his coffee and took a sip.
“Beats me.” I wrapped myself in a blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. Careful to keep the blanket wrapped around me, I waddled around the couch, and curled up on the cushion. I might sleep hot, but I was freezing the rest of the time. The only parts of me not covered by a blanket were my hands, which clutched my mug of coffee like it was a lifeline.
Charles noticed me wrapped up and immediately went to the fire to get it started. He didn’t seem bothered by the cold, but men rarely seemed that way. His muscles moved under his shirt while he stacked the logs and I momentarily forgot my coffee. I had been so wrapped up in Charles that I had barely taken a few sips. Nothing rates above coffee. Except, apparently, Charles. Shit.
“Start many fires in the Marines?” I teased, desperate for something to break the silence between us.
The look he gave me was wolfish. “Maybe.”
I was just trying to start an innocuous conversation, but that stupid grin had me thinking all kinds of things I wouldn’t have dreamed of just two days ago.
“We’re going to need some firewood today,” Charles said, interrupting pictures of running through the woods, being caught by him, and pinned to the nearest tree.
“Wood?”
“Firewood.” He turned to me with a little smile, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. “We’re going to need to get some. There is a lean-to a little way from here with a big pile of it. And while we’re at it, we might as well chop some more and replenish what we use. One can never have too much wood.”
“Right,” I said, a bit dazed as I wondered just how much wood he had.
The cold air nipped at my cheeks and the snowbanks reached almost to my chest in some areas. I had no idea so much snow could fall in such a short time.
“How are we supposed to walk to the woodpile in all this?” I asked Charles as we stood on the porch and surveyed the scene.
“With these,” he said as he lifted what looked like misshaped tennis rackets.
“I’m not sure playing tennis is going to help us get to the wood,” I said. In truth, I figured out they were likely old snowshoes. I just couldn’t help needling him.
His laughter rolled over me.
“Let me help you get these on. Sit over there.” He pointed to a large seat carved straight into a log just to the side of the small porch. I wiped the bits of snow that had fallen on it off and sat.
Charles just looked at me with a smirk on his face as he sank to kneel at my feet. Oh no, this position wasn’t going to do at all. I moved to get up and protest that I could put on my own snowshoes when he is hands came down heavy and warm on my thighs. He put just enough pressure on them for me to stay where I was. His hands were high up, near my hips, and he just held me there, caught in his gaze.
“Don’t you dare run,” he said in a low voice that tempted the limits of my sanity. I squirmed, and he just chuckled, before slowly, so slowly, dragging his hands down my legs.That’s not the right direction!My brain shouted at me. No, no, that wasn’t right. I — I couldn’t think with him there, leaning over me, pushing my legs wide. I whimpered.
He just sat there, between my legs, his hands holding me open.Oh, god.It took everything I had just to keep my pants on. I could feel the heat of him fueling the heat gathering in me. I wasn’t going to survive this. We were just supposed to be getting firewood.
I don’t know how long he sat there with his hands on my knees, keeping my legs spread wide for him before he continued moving his hands down to my feet. He picked up one and attached a snowshoe to it. It might have been my imagination, but I think he was breathing harder than before. I guess I wasn’t the only one affected by his nearness and position.
“Let me just get mine on and we can go,” he said once my shoes were on. The shoes were heavy and awkward on my feet and I had a feeling that I wasn’t going to get very far on them before falling right on my face. Once he had his shoes on, he held his hand out to me to help me to my feet and then didn’t let go.
“We’ll take it slow,” he said. I didn’t think he was just talking about walking in the snow.
I kept a firm grip on his arm as we headed out into the snow. It was a lot like hiking, but an ache was already forming in my hips. Charles, of course, looked like he was born in snowshoes and wore them everywhere. The jerk.
Halfway to our destination, I got too bold. I let go of his arm, thinking I was good to walk on my own, took two steps, and promptly fell on my face. I rolled over in the snow and just stared at the sky above me. Charles came into view and I could see his shoulders shaking, just a little, with suppressed laughter.
“Uh, jerk,” I shot at him and grabbed a fist full of nearby snow to launch at his face. My aim was excellent, and it hit square in the nose. He stood there unmoving for a moment before wiping the snow from his face.
“Did you just throw snow at me?” He asked, outrage coloring his voice.
“Maybe.” I was still in the snow and I spread out and got comfortable, like this is exactly where I wanted to be. “What are you going to do about it?”
He launched himself at me and I rolled before he could land on me. I tried to crawl away, but getting up in snowshoes wasn’t nearly as easy as falling with them was. My laughter burst out of me as I tried again to get away from him.
