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Everett
There’s something so restful about carving wood. Hearing the steady scrape, scrape, and watching little blonde curls rain onto the floor, and breathing the scent of fresh sawdust into my lungs. Normally, getting my hands on a beautiful block of wood is my happy place. It’s how I make sense of the world.
Tonight, though, I can’t get this right, no matter how long I try. It’s nearly midnight, the moon bright through my workshop window, and I’m too jittery to go to bed, but too on edge to carve anything worthwhile.
Can’t relax into it.
Can’t make my body unwind.
Fuck, Josie felt right in my arms.
She only hugged me because she was emotional, and I know that, but adrenaline has been coursing through my veins ever since. How am I supposed to recover from the green apple scent of her shampoo? From the way her soft hair tickled my chin?
The puff of her warm breath against my neck?
Jesus Christ.
“Prick,” I remind myself, and toss my carving tools onto the bench with a clatter. These jeans are old and worn, the fabric softened by hundreds of washes, but right now they’re restrictively tight. My cock is angry, pushing against my fly like a battering ram, and when I push to my feet, it’s fucking painful.
I’ve never wanted someone like this. Never wanted anyone except Josie, and now it’s like my body is making up for lost time. Piling up years’ worth of urges and focusing them all on this girl, working me up until my jaw aches from clenching my teeth.
An ice cold shower. That’s what I need.
And maybe I’ll hang a punching bag in one of these barns.
My footsteps are muffled against the sawdust-coated floor, and the workshop door creaks as I throw it open to the night. The stars are bright, winking at me like they know my shameful thoughts, and I feel one thousand years old as I cross the dry grass to my barn.
“Everett?”
Sometimes I think I’m hearing things. Conjuring up her voice out of pure longing. And I wouldn’t put it past myself to hallucinate Josie Martin’s whole visit to the Barns, except there’s a half dug vegetable patch here as evidence.
“Everything okay?” My feet carry me off in this new direction, into the shadows after the wisp of her voice. Josie’s standing outside Harry’s barn, the moonlight shining in her eyes, her bandaged hands clutched against her stomach.
“Um. Yeah.”
I stop in front of her and wait. She didn’t call me over here for nothing, but I won’t rush her along.
I’m happy enough tracing her outline with my eyes. Trying to picture how she’d feel stretched out under me. Would we fit together? I think we would.
Then Josie murmurs, “I need help getting undressed.”
…Okay.
I shove a hand in my pocket and pinch my leg. Fuck. Yeah, no, this is real.
“‘Cause of your bandages?” I ask, then want to kick myself. Obviously it’s because of her fucking bandages. It’s not like grown girls like Josie are routinely outsmarted by zippers.
The door swings open behind her, and Josie backs up a few steps, still holding my gaze with those moonlit eyes. The darkness inside Harry’s barn swallows her whole, and then I’m striding after her, heart pounding.
Don’t want her out of my sight.
Don’t want her stuck out here needing help.
When I flick a lamp on, the sudden light makes me wince. And Josie’s there, fidgeting in the middle of the rug, her mouth twisted and her cheeks pink. Her hands are wrapped up tight in white bandage strips, her fingertips peeking out of the fabric and her knuckles locked together.
“It’s—forget it. It doesn’t matter,” she blurts when I don’t move right away. “I can sleep in my shorts. They’re pretty comfy, really.”
The floorboards creak under my weight. Josie’s breath catches as I approach.
