Page 59 of The Mating Game
I notice the way Jeannie’s lips press together, considering for a moment as if I haven’t asked a simple question. “Oh, it’s been nearly ten years now,” she says offhandedly.
“He was so young.”
“Mm-hmm.” She nods solemnly. “How’s the room, by the way?”
“It’s great,” I tell her.
She cocks her head, watching as I rub my neck. “Bed do that?”
“No, no,” I assure her, still rubbing at the crick that’s forming. “It’s just from bending over that floor all day. Has all my muscles hating me.”
“I don’t know if Hunter mentioned,” she says, “but there’s a hot tub out on the back deck.”
I perk up immediately. “Oh my God, I forgot about that.”
“Yep. Nothing fancy, but it’s got jets and hot water at least.”
“That literally sounds like heaven right now.”
“Well, finish your hot chocolate and get your sore butt out there,” she laughs. “Old thing would probably enjoy seeing a body other than mine and Hunter’s.”
“Hot chocolate and now a hot tub,” I say almost giddily. “Starting to feel like vacation rather than a job.”
“This is certainly a good place for it.” She glances at the clock on the wall then, making a show of pushing up off the bed. “Oh, well, shit. I have to feed Reginald. He gets ornery when I don’t feed him on time.”
“Oh. Sure. Of course.”
“You just leave that mug out on the hall table. I’ll pick it up in the morning. Make sure you cover the hot tub when you’re done using it. Last time I left it uncovered I found a damn squirrel swimming in it like he owned it. Don’t know how that water didn’t boil him alive.”
I laugh at the mental image of that. “I’ll be sure to cover it.”
“I’d bring a robe too. It’s gonna be colder than Jack Frost’s balls when you get out of the tub. There should be one in the dresser over there.”
“Perfect,” I answer, still grinning. “Thanks.”
I take another long gulp of Jeannie’s hot chocolate when she leaves me, tipping it back to finish it off as it settles warmly in my belly. A hot tub sounds like the perfect thing after a day of hard labor.
Plus…maybe the hot water will make me forget all about the hot innkeeper.
The robe inthe dresser that Jeannie mentioned isn’t the most stylish thing I’ve ever worn—faded flannel (honestly, flannel should be on the state flag) that looks like it’s seen better days—but it’s warm and long enough that it covers my ankles, which is much more important than style as far as I’m concerned. I pair it with my fuzzy boots and my pom-pom–topped toboggan as I make my way down the stairs to the back door leading to the deck, wrapping it tight as I take quick steps to avoid the creeping chill that the old ducts of the lodge can never seem to ward off completely. I obviously didn’t bring a swimsuit on this little adventure, but I figured my matching sports bra and boy shorts set would suffice. Even if I feel like I might be freezing to death.
Hot water, I remind myself.There’s hot water coming.
I meet one very cantankerous Maine coon on the way to the back deck, the black mass of fur stretched out on the checkered couch with his belly up as I pass. I pause near him as I consider the consequences of a sneak attack, reaching quietly until my fingers skim the soft fur of his underside—for exactly two seconds. Hehisses at me as he instantly pounces away, and I curse under my breath as I clutch my robe, watching him go.
“Mean ass,” I mumble.
Whatever. It’s too cold to worry about the grumpy old cat.
I’m doing something reminiscent of tap dancing and hopscotch as I barrel out through the deck doors, the frozen air taking me by surprise as the robe I’m wearing seems thinner than it did before I stepped outside. I’m only concerned with getting into the hot tub as fast as humanly possible to let the hot water warm me up, which means it takes me a second longer than it should to realize that I’m not alone on the deck.
Listen. There have been many moments over the last couple of weeks in which Hunter’s flannel-clad shoulders have made themselves at home in my thoughts, there’s no denying that. However, seeing them now—naked and broad andwet—that’s a different kind of brain malfunction altogether, and seeing him naked isn’t even a new experience for me. He hasn’t noticed me yet—his eyes are closed as he lounges in the water with his head resting against the edge—and I don’t immediately make myself known, because my brain is still trying to catch up to wet, naked shoulders and, what’s worse, wet, nakedchest.
Chopping wood has done wonders for Hunter, that much is obvious. His wide chest is defined in a way that some guys out in California kill themselves at the gym every day for. The dark dusting of hair smattered across his torso is a far cry from the waxed dudebros I encounter on a daily basis; it definitely completes the lumberjack vibe that Hunter’s dark curls and dark beard set the groundwork for. It makes him look…manly, as corny as that sounds. My brain can’t seem to form a more coherent thought than that.
I’m still openly gawking at him when I absentmindedly shut the sliding patio door, and the click it makes upon closing is what finally alerts Hunter to my presence. He looks surprised to see me when his head jerks up from the edge of the tub, obvious by the way his eyes widen enough for me to notice even by the dim glow of the old porch light a few feet away. I probably look ridiculous to him, standing there in the doorway in the freezing temperature while clutching my old flannel robe and clad in my fuzzy knit cap and fuzzier boots, and that thought shakes me out of my temporary stupor.
“S-sorry,” I manage after what is probably an awkward amount of time. “I didn’t know you were out here. Jeannie mentioned the hot tub, and I just thought—”
