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“It’s really not so bad, I guess. Maybe a little lonely. But it’s better since you’re here!” he finishes with a wink.
We smile at each other for a few minutes, each reliving the last few days. It’s been physically demanding, but incredibly satisfying too. I never would have thought I would enjoy it this much, but now I am not sure how a single man ever kept me satisfied.
Then again, did they? Tucker may have been a low point in my history, but he is certainly not the first selfish lover I have ever had. Most men seem to put their own desires first, with my needs a vague afterthought, if they even think of me at all.
Scott was better, but I never really felt completely satisfied by him either. I reasoned that it just takes a long time for people to understand each other’s rhythms. But of course he wanted to satisfy me, didn’t he? It’s just difficult for them. I mean, men seem to get off nearly every time, so it’s not impossible… but our needs are more complex, right?
At least, that’s what I told myself. Now that I’ve found myself satisfied in novel and surprising ways, I’m starting to wonder whether Scott ever really tried very hard at all.
But even young Timothy has shown himself to be a more tender and attentive lover than Scott ever was. Timothy would kiss me for hours, if I let him. He can focus on my neck or earlobe until I turn to jelly, pushed beyond what I ever knew pleasure could be, without asking for anything for himself.
Focus, I tell myself as I begin to shudder, ready to leap into his arms to see what delights await me today. He’s talking. Try to listen!
His expression darkens and he squints. “Actually, I should probably tell you something,” he admits.
Limping over to the window, I take the seat next to him and hold my hand out for him to take. He smiles shyly and clasps my hand in his, as pleased as a teenager, and I try not to get distracted by the memory of him sucking on my fingertips.
“What is it?” I ask hoarsely, banishing the thought.
“Well… I know you said you want to stay here…”
“Yes, I really do,” I repeat confidently. “This is just what I need, Timothy. I love being here. Don’t you like having me here?"
“Oh, of course!” he insists. “It’s just that… There are still people looking for you, you know.”
My mouth
falls open a little bit. “Oh, I guess I sort of forgot.”
He presses his lips together and stares off into the distance. “They started a search for you on the trail… Found your skis. Since there wasn’t any sign that you were carried off by a bear, it’s only a matter of time before they find the cabin, Lola.”
“No… I’m nobody,” I insist. “I’m sure they’ll give up pretty soon.”
He looks at me, hard, his silvery-charcoal eyes masked over with what seem to be some pretty complicated emotions. “It doesn’t sound like they’re giving up,” he says softly. “And what if they find us? What if they end up here?”
My chest begins to hurt. I realize suddenly that Timothy is looking out for me, but he’s looking out for his big brothers too. He realizes that Jake was right all along: outsiders are dangerous. And it’s just like Jake told me: everybody gets found eventually.
“Are you asking me to leave?” I ask in a trembling voice.
He opens his eyes wide. “No! Of course not! I would never do that, Lola!”
Relief floods me. I sit back in my chair, waiting for my heartbeat to slow down. The thought of leaving now is just too much. But what else can I do?
“Listen, Timothy… What if there was a way everybody could get what they need? Do you think Carty would listen to it?”
“Carty mostly listens to himself,” Timothy shrugs. “I don’t know if you have ever tried negotiating with him, but…”
“I know what you mean!” I laugh. “But, the thing is, there may be a way to solve more than one problem here. What if I let my boss and my best friend know I’m okay? What if I told them that I’m working on a story? Something like that? It might get them to leave us all alone.”
He narrows his eyes. “If you think that you are going to write about our story, Lola, I can tell you right now that Carty will never let that happen. Not in a million years.”
“But I don’t have to write about it, is the thing,” I suggest optimistically. “I could just say that I stumbled upon a story. Journalists do that all the time. I won’t tell her where I am or what’s going on. I’ll just tell her I’m okay and I need some time to do some investigative journalism. Don’t you think that could work? Without mentioning your names, I promise!”
Timothy’s expression darkens. I wait nervously as he seems to weigh the options.
“We really can’t risk anybody coming here,” he says again softly.
“That’s what I’m saying!” I insist. “You should let me contact Nance before they find this place, don’t you think? I mean, it’s within walking distance of the cabin, right?”
