Page 3 of Spring Breakup
He didn’t understand why Rosie and Leo had chosen to go somewhere freezing for spring break, rather than a hot, sandy beach with an open bar. But if it weren’t for Rosie, Tyler would currently be staring at the ceiling of his bedroom feeling sorry for himself while his asshole of a boyfriend packed up his belongings and begged for another chance.
Ex-boyfriend.
“There should be mountains there,” he said as they drove out of Anchorage and toward their destination, a cabin outside the tiny town of Silverbrite Springs. “The Chugach Mountains.”
“Are you sure?” Dean asked. Tyler didn’t miss the way Dean seemed to always be watching him. It put Tyler on edge.
“Yes,” he said. Of course, he was sure. They were covered in low-hanging clouds, but they were there.
Tyler was a quintessential know-it-all. He felt the snarky monster inside him gearing up for a fight. That snarkiness had been trampled down lately, but it was still there. The problem was that Dean tongue-tied him, even before insinuating the trip was some grand matchmaking plan by Rosie and Leo.
A plan Dean was obviously opposed to. He’d made his disinterest super clear.
Dean was gorgeous, clever, and confident. He had an almost-invisible cleft lip scar at his cupid’s bow, slightly shaggy brown hair, a sexy voice, and dark eyes. His smile was always rakish and did funky things to Tyler’s stomach. The first time they’d met—at a county fair where Rosie had submitted a peach jam for judging—Tyler had been struck by Dean’s carefree laugh. The next day, during their lunch break, Rosie had mentioned that Dean was in Leo’s newest art book as a model, and Tyler hadn’t been able to resist buying the book for himself.
Francis had been shocked and hadn’t let Tyler keep the book of erotic art on the coffee table, even though it was a coffee table book. Now Tyler could keep whatever the hell he wanted on the coffee table. Except the table was Francis’s, so Tyler would need to buy a new one.
Fuck, he would open that book up to Dean’s page—a watercolor painting of Dean’s strong hand wrapped around a dick—and leave it on the floor of his living room for all to see.
Strangely buoyed by that thought, Tyler relaxed. He wasn’t going to let Dean or Francis ruin the gift of a week away from the outside world. He’d have six days where he wouldn’t have to look at a lesson plan. Six days without answering to school administrators or cleaning up after an untidy child. Six days without Francis nagging him about his clothes or his taste in TV. Six days of nature and wine and hanging out with Rosie. That was cause enough to celebrate.
For the whole drive to Silverbrite Springs, Tyler daydreamed about their cabin, the soapstone fireplace, the barrel sauna, and sharing a room with Dean. Everything would go flawlessly. Nothing would be awkward. Tyler would have fun and be chill and cool. It would be great.
Then they arrived. Tyler stepped out of their rented van and slipped ass over teakettle into the mud.
Not chill. Not cool. Not great.
Leo hurried over to help him back onto his feet. Tyler’s butt and the back of his coat were wet and covered in gray mud. Dean moseyed over and reached the group as Tyler finished a long litany of curses.
Tyler’s hair was all over his face, and he went to swipe it out of his eyes.
Dean caught Tyler’s wrist. A stunned silence followed. Dean’s hand—that hand, yes—was bigger than any hand had a right to be.
“Mud.” Dean flipped Tyler’s palm up to show that it was covered.
Tyler’s breath hitched, and he nodded. Dean let him go and stepped back. Tyler glanced up, a thank-you on the tip of his tongue, but Dean took a bigger step back like he couldn’t get away fast enough.
Ouch.
Cool, chill, great.
Tyler’s hair was still in his eyes, and he tried to blow it away. Rosie rushed to assist, brushing it aside.
A door opened at the cabin to their right, and Tyler turned gratefully toward the stranger who emerged. He was embarrassed and latched on to the distraction like a lifeline.
There were four cabins along the driveway lane, three for guests and one for the owner of the resort. The guest cabins were private and obscured by the trees, barely visible except for their hot-pink doors. The host’s cabin was simpler and easily seen from the gravel road. Tyler clocked the rainbow flag in the front window, his brain zeroing in on the small comfort.
A young woman wearing a T-shirt and seemingly unaffected by the cold came down the steps from the host’s cabin and waved at them. “Oh, bad luck. That glacial silt is slippery. Are you okay?” She reached them and shook their hands, except Tyler’s, because his were filthy. “That silt will brush off your clothes once it’s dry, but I also have a washer and dryer you can use if that doesn’t work.”
“Thanks,” Tyler mumbled.
“I’m Brooks Rossi, by the way,” the woman continued. “Part-owner of Chum Smoke Cabins. I’m around most days if you need anything. I’ve lived in Silverbrite Springs my whole life, so I’m a good source of info. But there’s also a welcome packet in the cabin full of information about the town, our property, and seasonal activities.” She shot them a bright, crooked smile.
Brooks had an appealing outdoorsy vibe. Tyler had a feeling she probably knew how to pitch a tent in the rain and clean a fish. She oozed confidence and competence.
“You might see my brothers, Wrangell and Sarg, around,” Brooks continued. “They’re my handymen. But you’re the only guests, so you’ll have a lot of privacy. We won’t come bothering you unless you need bothering.”
They exchanged more chitchat before Brooks left them to settle in. As soon as they were out of earshot, Dean said, “So she’s gorgeous.”
