Page 78 of Seven Year Itch
Karen Gets Her Freak On
Calder
The fire crackles as I toss another log onto the fire and when I hear a car pull up outside, I swear my dick jumps with excitement.
God, I’m pathetic.
I assess my cabin one more time to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I’ve been cleaning since the moment we got home and only took a break to shower and polish myself up. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman over.
Since the birth of Stevie, it’s felt kind of weird to go out and bring home a hookup. My brothers and I used to go out in a pack. We usually went into Denver and hit up some decent clubs or bars... We had our routine. But lately, it’s felt different on Fletcher Mountain. Wyatt’s busy with the family, Luke seems distracted with God knows what, and I’ve been stuck with my hand most snowy nights this winter.
I usually don’t care what women think of my place because we’re here for one thing. And that’s the idea with Dakota too, but since we know each other outside this sexual arrangement, I guess I don’t want to add more fuel to the fire of her thinking I’m a complete fuckup.
My house isn’t much. It’s a classic pitched-gable cabin with the log finish on the exterior and interior, so it definitely has that rustic, outdoorsy charm. It has two bedrooms and one bathroom on the main level with a small office in the open loft area above. The decor is nonexistent. I have a worn leather couch, an armchair, and a couple quilts that my mom made because it gets cold as fuck up here in the dead of winter. My kitchen is decent-sized with black quartz counters and a wood-burning stove.
What can I say? I’m really leaning into the mountain man aesthetic out here.
The sound of footsteps on my front porch causes Milkshake’s head to pop up from where she’s curled up on the couch. Ready or not, this is happening. I straighten my black-and-white checked flannel and walk across the knotty pine floor to swing open the door and find Dakota smiling brightly.
“No cat greeting this time?”
“Huh?” I swallow the lump in my throat as the image of her on my front porch sinks in. Again. It’s such a strange dichotomy going from hating her to being excited to see her.
“You had your cat strapped to you last time I was here.” She points to my chest, and I look down like an idiot.
“She’s on the couch,” I murmur and step back so Dakota can walk in.
She unzips her long parka, and when she turns around and pulls it off, all oxygen leaves my lungs.
“Surprise!” She laughs as she holds her hands up to show off her outfit.
It’s my Rockies T-shirt and nothing else. Wait—not nothing else. Definitely something else. It’s the something else that’s sending my brain to my dick and making it difficult to form complete sentences.
She’s wearing thigh-high black boots that remind me of the ones Julia Roberts wore inPretty Woman. She has a pair of long white socks sticking out the top, and the strip of thigh exposed between the sock and the bottom of my T-shirt make my already struggling cock completely out of control.
“Nice dress, Ace,” I reply, clearing my throat and trying to get my fucking man card back as I take her coat from her and hang it on the hooks by the door.
Every time I’ve seen this girl in my shirt, I turn into a bumbling moron. Women have worn my clothes before. This isn’t a new concept. It seems to be a thing they like to do... take somethingof mine before they leave. I’ve lost more flannel shirts to the city of Boulder than I currently have in my closet.
But no one wears my stuff like Dakota.
“So this is your place. I didn’t get to see much of it last time I was here.” She turns on her heel to look around, her high ponytail swinging behind her as her boots click on the wood floor. She walks past the dining room table and into the kitchen, eyeing the random photos I have up on the fridge that I didn’t even print. Everly did.
“It ain’t much,” I huff as I walk past her to grab a couple beers. Beers help most awkward situations, and the situation inside my jeans is very awkward.
I pop her cap off and hand it over to her, and she takes it with a curious look on her face. “Thanks.”
I brace my hand on the island, struggling with what to say next, and then I see Milkshake slink over to wind herself between Dakota’s feet.
“Milkshake, get lost.”
“She’s fine.” Dakota sets her beer down and bends over to pick up my cat. “She’s really pretty.”
“Thanks,” I grumble, feeling irritated for some reason. I don’t like her being nice to my cat. I don’t really like my cat being nice to her either. I kind of want them to hate each other for some bizarre reason. But Milkshake loves everyone. She’s a whore just like her daddy.
Milkshake purrs and shoves her nose into Dakota’s neck, practically fucking her in front of me, the traitor.
“Come here,” I gruff and grab my cat out of her hands, setting her down so she’ll buzz off. “Go on.”
