Page 36 of Aim for Love

I come like that, my back arching away from the bed, Hunter’s head between my legs. If my life were a book, I’d want this moment to be the epigraph to my 30s. The inspiration for what’s to come. I hope he left a trail to find his way back again and again, because I want him to live there, nestled close to me.

When he slides inside me, I rub my entire body up the length of him, trying to cement this moment in my head. I craved thisfeeling last night—of Hunter’s bare skin pressed against mine, of his length inside me—as though I’ve already grown addicted.

His scent as I tuck my nose into the spot between his neck and shoulder reminds me of the best things about winter: it’s fresh and clean, like fresh snow. I bite down on the soft flesh there, unable to help myself, needing to mess up that perfection a little. Wanting to own a little bit of it for myself. He grunts against me and comes almost immediately, and now I know something about Hunter’s body, too: that he likes a little possession.

There’s something very different about this casual hook-up; it’s nothing like encounters I’ve had back in the city. It’s in the way Hunter knows my body so well already. The way he makes sure I’m warm after we both come. And how, even if I have to let go at the end of the week, I’ll want to remember this forever.

The next morning, I wake to find Hunter snoring on his back beside me. I watch him for a little while, smiling at his unconscious ease, before I have to get up and use the bathroom.

The house is quiet. I think everyone else is still asleep, so I tiptoe to the kitchen to find some water.

Tom is sitting at the table, surrounded by maps and gear, drinking coffee. He’s wearing a pair of reading glasses. “Pot’s still on,” he offers quietly, not even changing expression when he sees me.

“Thanks,” I murmur, very aware that I’m in an awkward space between Hunter not wanting his boss to know about us and his boss knowing and not caring.

“Sit down,” he adds, after I’ve filled a mug with coffee. It doesn’t sound quite like an invitation; more an order. But almostevery time I’ve heard Tom speak, he sounds like he’s giving orders. So I hesitate.

He takes his glasses off and gestures at the table, his gaze steady on me. So I sit.

“Hunter’s not as hard as he looks on paper,” Tom says bluntly, not waiting for me to take my first sip. I pause with the mug held in both hands, half-way to my mouth. “He’s softer than my other guys. Easier to hurt. Oh, not out on the trails. In here.” Tom puts his hand over his heart.

Not sure how to respond, I nod.

“I’m a bit protective of all my guys,” Tom continues. “But Hunter’s special. He dedicates himself to everything he does. And everyone.”

Not sure how to respond to being someone Hunterdoes, I stay silent.

“All I’m saying is, let him down easy when you go. Don’t do that thing they do in the city—the ‘ghosting.’ Please.” He makes quotation marks around the word, pursing his lips like it’s dirty. I feel the same way about the practice. It dawns on me that it would be hard to ghost someone in a town as small as Telluride. You’d see them on the street or at the grocery store whether you wanted to pretend they didn’t exist anymore or not.

“OK,” I say. Hesitating, I add after a moment, “I can’t guarantee he won’t get hurt. I can’t guarantee we won’t both get hurt.”

The older man surveys me. “That’s a true statement if I ever heard one. For a city girl, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

I’m not sure if I’ve ever valued a compliment more than this one. Hunter’s scary father figure approves of me, at least a little.

He holds up the reading glasses and shakes them at me. “Hunter does too. He’s the one who told me to get these glasses,you know that? I put it off for so long and he was right, they change everything.”

A good idea can change everything. The phrase lands in my head suddenly, startling me with its insistence. I don’t know where that came from. It’s like I woke up 30 and suddenly started giving myself inscrutable advice.

“At least you’re in it together,” Tom adds. He puts his glasses back on and goes back to what he was reading, seeming to dismiss me. I start to stand before his final comment, said almost to himself: “That counts for something at the end.”

thirteen

HUNTER

Mollie toldme Tom saw her that morning in the house, but he doesn’t act any more grumpy than usual when I meet him in the office to go over the books.

Tom hates this part of the business. Yet he won’t turn it over to me, saying between the two of us non-math-majors we should be able to catch each other’s errors. Which is fair, I guess. I don’t have any more training in running a business than Tom does.

Still, I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with the numbers and Tom’s business might not last for long if it keeps going like this.

I’ve tried to talk to Tom about it before and gotten a non-answer, and I try again that morning. Being with Mollie makes me think I should try harder. If I can do more than lead expeditions, I should at least give it a shot.

“Don’t you worry about things you don’t control, Hunter,” Tom says. “You have enough going on in your life.”

That’s a new one. And proves that Tom seeing Mollie this morningdidmake an impact. “I’m not distracted,” I say, uncertain whether this is Tom’s critique. “I can still do my job.”

“But this isn’t your job, is it?” Tom, sitting behind the desk, peers at me. He’s wearing reading glasses. He hasn’t mentioned them, or that they were my idea. I can tell they’ve made it easier for him to concentrate on his screen. I guess knowing I did some good is enough for me, even though I’d like some credit for helping.

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