Page 26 of Wild Cub

“No, you horny bitch. Wasn’t it enough that you were a peeping tom..” I try to continue but am cut off.

“I was not peeping! I knew when to close the blinds.”

I sigh dramatically. “Look, I need to take care of some business...”

“Just make sure you wrap it before you tap it.”

I know when to hang up on this conversation. I check myself in the bathroom near the office. Looking at myself, I notice that I’m flushed, the messy bun on my head a bird’s nest. I’m not in the mood to fix it, so it’ll have to do.

I glance at my watch. Crap, I’m going to be late, and Jackson might have my ass, literally. I yell good night to my late shift people and practically run out of the office.

The new shelter is outside the city. The city is more hustle and bustle, and we’re trying to think more of trauma-informed care. Plus, gives us the chance to open more programs. The ideas are endless.

The plan starts formulating in my head, what I want to say and what to avoid. I didn’t want to be fully immersed in Jackson’s world, but I imagine he may have more resources than I can fathom. I’ll show him the shelter building and maybe pull on the heartstrings, then put him on a mission to find some information.

The sun’s setting and the golden hour’s here. I already called Hammitt, the project leader, letting him know I would be at the work site. I enter the dirt parking lot and notice Jackson’s bike and a tall, handsome man leaning against it, his arms folded across his chest. I look at the clock; I’m only five minutes late, which is my personal best.

I park the car.Breathe Bjorn, don’t make yourself anxious. Yet, my palms are sweaty and my heart rate increasing.

“What did I tell you about being late?” A hint of tease comes from his lips.

A sly grin comes across my face. “I believe that you said I’d be rewarded with a kiss.” Even in my wedges, the brute is tall.. I press my lips against his, sinking into it with a soft laugh. What is this man doing to me? Is the snow queen inside melting?

Jackson presses harder, going from playful to passionate without warning. His hands travel down my back, sending goosebumps all the way down. Jackson cups my ass in both of his strong hands, and a fire grows in my belly. A smack lands where his hands used to be and a gasp escapes my mouth. He leans over to my ear, knowing Hammitt is in the trailer.

“I would take you over this bike if I didn’t know we have an audience. You know I don’t like to be kept waiting.” His breath is hot on my ear.

“And yet, Leif Erickson, you’re still here and touching my ass. We have a date to get to.” I grab his hand off my ass to lead him towards the trailer. I can see his shocked expression out of the corner of my eye, and I’m almost giddy with laughter. With a nod from Hammitt, we don our hard hats and enter the building.

It feels like the building is a blank canvas, waiting for the color to explode within. The shelter portion is on one side, with three floors, including a cafeteria and tutor rooms. The other half of the building will be administrative departments, case managers, and volunteers. We build, rather than lease, so that we can give more hope to others in our community.

The work lights are still on, shining through the open spaces. The echo of our footsteps fills the hallway.

“So, am I going to actually get a tour, or will I have to be creative and imagine it?” Jackson says from behind me.

I chuckle. “I like to start off my tours by asking what would they like to know first?” It’s not a total lie, but something stirring inside of me is making me feel like a ball of nerves.

Jackson plays along. “Okay, what’s the purpose of the shelter and why such a large one?”

“Currently, we’re operating a shelter within an older home. We saw a need for a bigger space for individuals escaping a domestic violence situation and families experiencing homelessness. There’s more to homelessness than just not having a home. Think of an onion: as we peel back someone’s story, we can start to understand what led to their current situation,” I start to explain, which leads my mind into many directions of conversations.

“That’s commendable, trying to get people off the streets. What happens after they enter the shelter?” I lead him through the empty rooms towards the staircase to the second floor.

“Our hope is to find them permanent housing, which can be difficult. Honestly, there’s a lot we can and can’t do.” The second floor is just as bare as the one below, but it fills me with hope that the shelter will be filled.

“I don’t know how you can do this every day and not feel attached,” he says, looking through the empty spaces intended to be family rooms. Seeing the curiosity in the caring giant I’ve gotten to know melts my heart.

“Who says I don’t get attached? That’s why people in my field usually see a therapist.”

“You still see a therapist?” He turns to look at me through the open space, a fire simmering on low in his eyes.

“Some demons are hard to get rid of,” I admit softly, not giving him a chance to peer through the looking glass.

“Care to share?” He steps closer.

“Mm, nope. Not the time or place.” I look down, kicking the dust. Suddenly, his boots line up with mine.

“Then come find me when the sands of that hourglass are up.” He tilts my chin up to his face and plants a soft kiss on my lips. For a moment, my eyes close, like this is all a lucid dream.

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