Page 5
Story: Ferocious Mountain Man
“Yes, there’s money in it. A lot. I can’t make a dime on my posts right now, but if I can just get to a thousand followers, I can start making money off ads. Maybe even get some sponsorships. It worked for ShelfDestruct.”
He’d know who that was. She was the one who posted his clip to start with. There were a bunch of videos of hunky lumberjacks on her feed. Her name had spread far and wide.
I could see why. If I lived to be a hundred, I’d never get rid of the image of him hurling that axe, sunlight bouncing off his muscles.
“Are you talking about Larsen?” he asked.
“I guess.” I shrugged. “I heard she makes twenty thousand dollars a month.”
That had him narrowing his eyes at me. “You sure about that?”
“No. Just something I heard.”
It was a rumor I picked up in my research. I definitely didn’t plan to report it. Although I would love to track down ShelfDestruct while I was in town, and now I had her first name.
“She lives here now, right?” I asked.
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he took another swig of beer. But his eyes stayed on me.
“She’s dating one of my buddies,” he said. “Moved in together about a week after they met. I don’t even know if they waited that long. Seems to happen a lot around here.”
Interesting. There might be a story in that. I couldn’t help but dig for more information.
“So, women move here and meet someone right away?”
He shook his head. “Women around your age visit and never leave, although I think that ShelfDestruct person you’re talking about actually moved here to work for her uncle before she met my buddy. He’s on our logging crew too.”
Women my age? What exactly did he mean by that? There was a generational vibe I was getting from it, and he couldn’t possibly be that much older than me. I was putting him in his mid-thirties.
“You’re in your early twenties, right?” he asked.
“Twenty-three,” I said, well aware of the defensiveness in my tone.
“Yep. They were that age when they got here. Twenty-three exactly. Every single one of them.”
“How many are we talking?”
“A few dozen.” He shrugged. “Maybe more. I haven’t met that many of them.”
My jaw dropped. “A few dozen? That’s a lot.”
“Seems like it.” He nodded. “Of course, I’m just going on hearsay. But from what I’ve seen since moving here a few months ago, it happens often enough to be strange.”
Suddenly, the whole reason I came here was tossed out the window. This was a much more interesting story. A town full of hot guys who attracted twenty-three-year-old women by accident? Maybe I shouldn’t abandon my Hardwood Hottie story, though. I could do both.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” he said. “What’s in it for me?”
The question threw me. I tried to place it in the context of the conversation—not because I didn’t understand what he was asking, but because I hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. And I wasn’t really sure how to answer.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“If I help you with your little project. You’re trying to make money off me, right?”
He was trying to shake me down for money. That was weird. He didn’t seem like the type. Not that I could blame him. I just felt a little disappointed that he’d care about money.
“I could pay you a fee,” I said. “Maybe a percentage. Like royalties?”
His face changed immediately in a way that told me I’d definitely misread the situation. “I don’t want money. You might not have noticed, but I’m not really into material things.”
He’d know who that was. She was the one who posted his clip to start with. There were a bunch of videos of hunky lumberjacks on her feed. Her name had spread far and wide.
I could see why. If I lived to be a hundred, I’d never get rid of the image of him hurling that axe, sunlight bouncing off his muscles.
“Are you talking about Larsen?” he asked.
“I guess.” I shrugged. “I heard she makes twenty thousand dollars a month.”
That had him narrowing his eyes at me. “You sure about that?”
“No. Just something I heard.”
It was a rumor I picked up in my research. I definitely didn’t plan to report it. Although I would love to track down ShelfDestruct while I was in town, and now I had her first name.
“She lives here now, right?” I asked.
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he took another swig of beer. But his eyes stayed on me.
“She’s dating one of my buddies,” he said. “Moved in together about a week after they met. I don’t even know if they waited that long. Seems to happen a lot around here.”
Interesting. There might be a story in that. I couldn’t help but dig for more information.
“So, women move here and meet someone right away?”
He shook his head. “Women around your age visit and never leave, although I think that ShelfDestruct person you’re talking about actually moved here to work for her uncle before she met my buddy. He’s on our logging crew too.”
Women my age? What exactly did he mean by that? There was a generational vibe I was getting from it, and he couldn’t possibly be that much older than me. I was putting him in his mid-thirties.
“You’re in your early twenties, right?” he asked.
“Twenty-three,” I said, well aware of the defensiveness in my tone.
“Yep. They were that age when they got here. Twenty-three exactly. Every single one of them.”
“How many are we talking?”
“A few dozen.” He shrugged. “Maybe more. I haven’t met that many of them.”
My jaw dropped. “A few dozen? That’s a lot.”
“Seems like it.” He nodded. “Of course, I’m just going on hearsay. But from what I’ve seen since moving here a few months ago, it happens often enough to be strange.”
Suddenly, the whole reason I came here was tossed out the window. This was a much more interesting story. A town full of hot guys who attracted twenty-three-year-old women by accident? Maybe I shouldn’t abandon my Hardwood Hottie story, though. I could do both.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” he said. “What’s in it for me?”
The question threw me. I tried to place it in the context of the conversation—not because I didn’t understand what he was asking, but because I hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. And I wasn’t really sure how to answer.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“If I help you with your little project. You’re trying to make money off me, right?”
He was trying to shake me down for money. That was weird. He didn’t seem like the type. Not that I could blame him. I just felt a little disappointed that he’d care about money.
“I could pay you a fee,” I said. “Maybe a percentage. Like royalties?”
His face changed immediately in a way that told me I’d definitely misread the situation. “I don’t want money. You might not have noticed, but I’m not really into material things.”