Page 58 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
Her mouth quirks into a wry smile. “Then yes, I must’ve been absolutely certain. But now…”
Another breeze sweeps across the yard, cooler this time, carrying the faint metallic smell of rain.
“What now?” I ask.
“Now… I’m not so sure. Or maybe I’m more sure—just in a different way.” She laughs softly. “I’m sure the answers are more complicated than I ever wanted to admit. But I’m less sure what the right thing actually is. Does that make sense?”
“Totally. Life’s complicated. The Earth’s ecosystem is complicated. Climate change is complicated. Anyone who claims they’ve got it all figured out is… well, probably delusional.”
She laughs, bright and unguarded. “You mean like the members of Kill Climate Change?”
I chuckle back. “Well… maybe.”
She swats my arm lightly. “Naughty boy, Eric. But yeah—that’s the same conclusion I’ve been coming to. Trouble is, that’s where all my friends are. Very soon I’ll have to decide what I want… but not now.”
The first drops of rain spatter against my skin. Luna tilts her face skyward, squinting at the gray clouds.
“It’s starting to rain,” she says.
I nod, pulse thudding in my ears. “Want to come to my room? We can keep talking there.”
We lie together on her bed, side by side. The warmth of her body pressed against mine feels strangely comforting, like something I’ve been missing without realizing it. She leans her head on my shoulder in a companionable way, and for a moment, I let myself believe this could be the start of something real. Something lasting.
“How are you feeling?” she asks softly.
“In truth? I ache like hell after holding that goddamned chainsaw all afternoon. Jeez, it weighs a ton.”
She chuckles. “I took a massage course back in college. Just an evening class, but it was really good. Fancy a massage?”
I glance at her, my pulse quickening. “I’d love one, Luna… if you’re sure?”
I’m excited—nervous too—but mostly excited. Already tingling at the thought of her hands on my bare skin. God, I just hope I don’t embarrass myself by reacting too much.
“Of course I’m sure,” she says brightly. “It’ll be fun.” She bounces off the bed, suddenly full of energy. “Okay! We need towels and oil. Towels are in the bathroom—you get those. Grab three.”
By the time I return, she’s already rummaging through her things. I step inside—and freeze.
She’s down to her underwear.
She catches my look and smiles mischievously. “Didn’t want to get oil on my clothes,” she says. “And I found this—Johnson’s Baby Oil. Says it’s gentle and soothing for your baby’s sensitive skin.” She gives me a wink. “Perfect.”
Then she tilts her head, teasing. “Come on, baby. Get your clothes off.”
“What, here?”
“Yes, of course, here.”
“What… everything?”
She grins. “Yes, everything. I can’t exactly massage you through your clothes, can I? And anyway, I won’t be seeing anything I haven’t already seen before.” She pats the bed. “Come on, give me those towels. Now, strip.”
I do as I’m told, while she strips back the sheets and lays the largest towel across the undersheet.
“Okay, lie on your tummy. I’m starting with your back.”
Once she’s positioned me, she dribbles baby oil into her palm, rubs her hands together, and then smooths them firmly up my spine, spreading outward across my shoulders before sliding back down. Her touch is warm, confident, and practiced.
She focuses first on my left side, long sweeping strokes up my back to my neck, then plunging down across my hip, thigh, calf, and finally the sole of my foot. Over and over, until every knot loosens. Then she shifts to my right side, repeating the rhythm, coaxing the ache from my muscles.
