Page 47 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

“No, the opposite, actually.”

Marlow’s eyes flare but she’s quick to disguise whatever fleeting feeling she had about my brazen comment.

“Okay, now you,” she says.

“Me what?”

“Your most embarrassing sex story. Go.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I’m not giving you any more reasons not to have sex with me. You seem to have enough already.”

“I never said I didn’t want to have sex with you. I said I can’t. Tell me some off-putting story to remind me why. You must have plenty of them.”

Well, now I definitely don’t want to.

“Come on, it’s only fair.”

“Fine,” I relent.

But all I can think of is that tiny ray of hope that Marlow just gave me. That tiny possibility that she might want something more from me. I hold onto it tightly, committing the words and the face she made while saying them to memory.

But she’s staring at me now, expecting a story.

There must be some story where I’m being an amazing sex god and then do something mildly embarrassing. Some moment when I was just too damn good at sex. Something like peoplesay in job interviews when asked about their biggest weakness. Something like Marlow’s story.

But nothing comes to mind. That’s the thing about most of the sex I’ve had: it’s forgettable.

Marlow is staring up at me now like she’s wondering if I’ve ever actually had sex before. So much time has passed since I last spoke. A laugh is sitting just behind her lips, swelling up behind her smile.

Then it hits me.

“My first time was sort of embarrassing.” I cringe as the words leave my mouth. This is not something I usually share, particularly with women that I’d like to sleep with.

“Did you have anAmerican Piemoment and finish before you even touched the poor girl?” she laughs.

“No, I had that covered. The embarrassing part is that I was twenty-two.”

Marlow studies my face as if she’s a trained CIA agent trying to decipher a lie. She’s sitting up ramrod straight beside me now, her legs no longer stretched out in front of her.

“You’re so full of it,” she finally laughs. “There’s no way that Ryan Ehler, Sex King of Eastern Tennessee, has only been practicing his craft for the lesser part of a decade.”

I shrug. “I wasn’t the high school football star you think I was. In fact, I was about as unpopular as they come. Shy, too. The closest thing to sports that I ever did was Boy Scouts…and I did that until I was eighteen.”

Marlow gasps. “No way. I didn’t even know it went up to that age.”

“Technically, it’s Eagle Scouts by then, but yeah. That was my thing, I guess. I liked being outdoors, learning to tie knots and start fires and all that. It definitely didn’t make me very popular with the ladies back then.”

“Was there a uniform?”

“Oh yeah.”

“And where exactly is the photographic evidence of that stored?”

“Somewhere you’ll never, ever see it,” I say with a wink. I’m so tired that I’m not sure if I pull it off.

“So when did things change? After Blair?”

“The Forest Service had a lot to do with it. When I started working there, I gained a lot of confidence. I knew exactly what I was talking about, more so than a lot of the other people who come through here do. I liked teaching them what I know, hence the volunteer coordinator position. And once I broke out of my shell at work, it helped me to be more social in other parts of my life. When Blair and I broke up, that translated into talking to more girls at the bar.”

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