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Goosebumps raise the hair on my arms as I gravitate toward him, preparing myself for something either completely unbelievable or downright terrifying.
His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he sucks in a deep, quiet breath… and bangs his fist against the fucking desk. “Boo!”
I flinch so hard the chair screeches across the floor, heart shooting into my throat.
Manuel lets out a booming laugh and plops onto the edge of the desk. “I’m just fucking with you, man. It was totally me.”
“You—” Pushing to my feet, adrenaline curls my hands into fists. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He grins unapologetically. “I peeked in through the window and you were drooling everywhere. The opportunity was too good to pass up.”
“You’re an asshole,” I growl, pulse still racing erratically.
That just causes him to smile wider. “Yeah. To be honest, Dennis smoked a lot of weed. Guy spent his nights hotboxing the shack, and it made him paranoid. I firmly believe he was off chasing unicorns or some shit.”
Snorting despite myself, I drop back into my seat. “Unicorns, huh? That what you guys call it out here?”
“Call it whatever you want, but he wasn’t all there at the end. That's why he went into the woods.”
“Yeah, well.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling all kinds of whiplash from the night's events. “This place has that effect.”
“Only if you let it,” he shrugs.
I glance at him curiously. “So how do you keep yourself entertained, then? Because I’m going fucking insane without internet.”
A smirk curls his lips and he beckons me closer, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I don't live in town during my off time like everyone else. Portland's a far drive, but it's worth it, especially after spending four days in this shit hole. I download all kinds of stuff.”
“Yeah, like what?” Wheeling the chair over, I take his phone when he offers it and choke out a laugh. It’s filled with naked people. “Dude. You just spend all night watching porn?”
“Jerking off makes it pass quicker,” he chuckles, pressing play on a video of three dudes going at it in the shower. “So does fucking. If you're into that kinda thing.”
My cock twitches involuntarily, and I glance up to find his eyes on my face. “Of course I'm into fucking.”
“Like that?” he asks, dipping his chin toward the video. It takes me only a few short seconds to realize what he's getting at.
Handing his phone over, I lean back in my chair and spread my legs slightly to make room for my growing erection. “Sometimes, yeah. Men, women, whatever. I'm not picky. Sex is sex.”
“Hmm.” He glances down at my crotch as a dark smile curves his lips. “And do you pitch or catch, Benji?”
I run my tongue over my teeth and consider his proposition. This is probably a bad idea. Not only am I on the clock, but I just met this man five minutes ago. Sleeping with coworkers never ends well, but it's not like there's anything else to do out here. And it's not like I plan on sticking around long, anyway.
Deciding to hell with it, I hold Manuel’s gaze as my fingers slowly drift toward the button of my jeans. “Like I said: Sex is sex. I'm not picky.”
So, basically, I spend my entire four-day work week fucking Manuel—or, Manny, as he likes to be called.
Can't say I'm proud of it, but he was right. It passes the time. Finding a partner who can keep up with my sex drive has always been a struggle, but Manny took everything I gave him like a champ. A lot of exes back home used to say I was a nympho who needed serious help, especially with my ability to keep a hard-on and come multiple times in a row.
According to my doctors, though, my blood work's all normal. Just lucky, I guess. Or not, depending on how you look at it.
Sure, I can fuck all night and never get tired, but the downside is I'm also never satisfied. No matter how many times I come, it's not enough, and maybe that's the part I need meds or therapy for. That post-coital afterglow has never been a thing for me and honestly, I doubt it even exists.
My thumbs tap against the steering wheel of my Camaro as I pull back into Deadfall on my first day off, some twangy folk song blasting over the single radio station that works. Gale gave me directions to his house when he stopped by to check in, letting me know that he'll be on a haul for a few days and I'd get the place to myself.
As eager as I am to see the home my mother grew up in, I'm also starving. Other than Paula's diner, the only place in town to buy pre-packaged food is the gas station.
Pulling up to one of two pumps, I kill the engine and stretch my legs. It's an unusually sunny evening, the setting sun making me squint after a week on night shift. The bell above the gas station door gives a sad little jingle when I step inside, and warm air hits me immediately, carrying the smell of burnt coffee.
It's a small place—three cramped aisles, a wall of coolers humming loudly in the back, shelves stocked with canned food and beef jerky. An elderly woman behind the counter looks up from a crossword puzzle, reading glasses sliding halfway down her nose.
