Page 5 of Haunting the Mountain Man
“Cole Opolski. I work at the Carmichael Lumberyard with Calhoun.”
She nods, her black hair bobbing with the movement. A stray image of the dark strands wrapped around my fist as I enter her from behind springs to mind. I might not be good for much, but if she gives me a chance, I can show her one benefit of having an older partner.
If I can’t make her love me, I can at least make her love fucking me.
She’s too young for me, but I don’t give a damn. If she wants a husband, she’ll get one. Me.
I don’t exactly look like the kind of guy who likes spooky things. And to be honest, I didn’t. Not until I met Sabrina for the first time. Well, met is misleading. I saw her with her friends at a distance. She didn’t even look at me twice. But I was hooked. I learned something about myself that day.
I like my women curvy, and witchy. Sabrina dresses like she’s stepped straight off a horror movie set. Flowy dresses and skirts with lacy layers that sway with every swing of her hips and low-cut bodice shirts that highlight her tits. She stands out among the bright colored sundresses and flannels strolling around our town. I can spot her from a mile away. She wears black lipstick I want smeared across my pillow and my neck. Fake nails she shapes like tiny coffins with sparkly gems I’d love to feel scratching my back while I worship her.
“Let’s start with a date,” she says as she clasps her hands behind her back and spins on her heel. She starts walking away but doesn’t reach the first tombstone before she looks at me over her shoulder with a coquettish smile.
“Are you coming, big guy?”
My body kicks into motion with an eagerness I don’t try to hide. By some miracle she’s not going home to put a curse on me.
“Where would you like to go?” she asks as we exit the cemetery. Her arms swing freely at her sides, the sleeves of her shirt brushing mine with every step.
Where, indeed. It’s been decades since I’ve gone on a first date. The obvious choice is unavailable. The Fall Festival doesn’t start until tomorrow. I’m drawing a blank until I spotBean There’ssign with its black outline of a coffee cup.
“Coffee,” I mutter.
“Yesss,” she hisses. “Another dose of pumpkin spice to feed my soul.”
She brings her hands together in front of her chest and taps her fingernails against each other like a cartoonish evil villain.The wind bites sharper now the sun’s dipped below the peak. Sabrina shivers once, pretending she’s fine, but I see through the lie.
I strip off my flannel and settle it around her shoulders before she can argue. It’s covered in sawdust and smells like sweat but it’ll keep her warm. I’ll be fine in my T-shirt.
“Wear it.”
Her mouth opens to sass me, but I press a hand to the small of her back and guide her toward the sidewalk. I don’t shove, don’t crowd her, just keep her moving where I want her.
Feels right. Natural. Like she’s mine to protect already.
AtBean There, I open the door for her and tip my chin toward the warm interior.
“Go on, pretty girl.”
She glances up at me, cheeks pink, and for a second, I swear she’s about to say something reckless. Then she breezes into the coffee shop like a glittery black thundercloud.
There is a bar area where some of the regulars prefer to sit so they can talk to the baristas while the tables and booths lining the walls and filling the center of the shop are occupied by couples and friend groups. I typically order ahead and get my drink to go but she’s the type of person who’d prefer to sit and sip.
“I prefer the mocha latte,” I tell her as we join the ordering queue.
“Caffeinated hot chocolate?”
“I like sweet things,” I reply, my eyes unconsciously drifting down the frame of the sweetest treat I’ve ever craved.
Her blue eyes meet mine over her shoulder and she levels me with that look.
“Cole, you’re a terrible flirt. Like, actually terrible at it.”
“Bit out of practice,” I mutter as the barista waves us forward to order.
Sabrina reaches into her purse, but I grab my wallet and pay before she can.
“Hey,” she protests. “You don’t get to swoop in like some—”
