Page 18 of Jack Rabbit (Dark Trails #1)
18
JACK
T hree days later, I’m posting a notice about a trail closure by the main trailhead. In other words, I’m a captive audience when he comes up to me, cheeks flushed and bangs askew as if he had been running.
I scowl. I’m already annoyed — mostly at myself. I caught myself checking the parking lot yesterday for his car. When I didn’t see it, I expected to be relieved. Instead, there was something that felt way too much like disappointment for my comfort.
I squash down the unwelcome flutter of anticipation in my chest as he approaches. “What do you want?” I ask sharply. “I’m busy, so unless you’re here to tell me you just saw someone either bleeding out or on fire, beat it.”
“Just one more time?” He’s direct; I at least give him grudging credit for that. It sounds like he rehearsed what he was going to say because his words all tumble out in a rush.
“Only once — tonight or tomorrow or, I guess, whenever.” He looks a little sad as he adds, “And I promise I’ll stay the hell out of your way after that.”
“You practice that little speech in front of the bathroom mirror?” I ask with a sneer.
He ignores my jab. “Look, you said you’re moving soon, so it’s not like this could become, you know, regular. I know you’re afraid of that —”
I interrupt him. “I’m not afraid of anything.” I feel my pulse quickening. His pleading persistence is rousing something in me I don’t want to wake.
“Think about it; I have to come here — like, to the park — just to talk to you. I don’t even have your phone number. I literally have no way of contacting you after you leave, so you know I won’t bother you. And you’re — I mean…” He looks around before continuing in a hushed voice. “I know what you taste like. You must not totally hate me.”
I was holding onto my self-control by a thread. “Why are you so goddamn needy?” I snap.
He recoils as if I slapped him. “I —“ He flushes red and his eyes dart away. When he brings them back to mine, they’re bright with tears. “Nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do.”
I feel genuinely bad now, but this is the way it has to be. What I have to tell him next is on the tip of my tongue:
Look, kid — just go on one of the apps, make a profile looking for a dominant bear into degradation and humiliation who likes primal and impact play. Throw up a couple pictures of your ass, maybe one of your pouty lips or your smooth chest. Before you know it, you’ll have more hairy dick than the werewolves in your stupid stories, trust me .
But I don’t say that. Or anything else.
“I’m sorry, I’m sure you hate talking about this.” He blows out a sigh and scans the trees, avoiding my eyes as he swipes at his bangs. “Just like you hate everything about me, but I just want one more rough, dirty hookup in the woods.”
“Fine!” I huff out. “Once more — that’s all. Two night from now. And then that’s it. We’re done.”
“Right, right,” he says hurriedly. “Just a hookup. It’s nothing emotional, I promise.”
“Better not be if you know what’s good for you,” I say, glaring at him.
He doesn’t know what’s good for him, I think hopelessly as I watch him cross the parking lot with a bouncy, loping stride. He’s walking like he just got the best news he’s heard all week.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself. I’d never tell him, but that last warning was for me as much as it was for him.