His smile turned out to be as captivating as his eyes. “Nice to meet you. I’m Logan Charles.” He glanced down, and for a moment, I thought he was checking out my crotch. “Looks like your snowshoe is fucked.”
I’d been wearing snowshoes?
I followed his gaze.
Sure enough, the rawhide webbings were twisted and ripped through by the entangled branches.
“I didn’t know people used old-fashioned snowshoes anymore. Have you seen the new models? Might be a good investment.”
Again, my smartass reply was cut off as he bent down and began freeing my foot from the ruined snowshoe. If this is how Cinderella felt, I was beginning to understand the appeal.
Even after I was freed, though somewhat less painful, standing on my own wasn’t really an option. At least not standing and moving at the same time.
He, Logan of the two first names, motioned toward the stump. “How about I help you over there and then I check out the snowmobile?”
Real prince charming for a straight guy. “Sure, thank you.”
From my stump of a pedestal, I watched as Logan began inspecting the machine. The snow was nearly up to his knees, but he made moving look effortless. And, although the night was cold, he was clad in nothing more than black snow pants and a waffle knit shirt. He definitely did at least one sit-up a day. And, judging from the form-revealing shirt, a bunch of other stuff that I would need a gun to my head to do.
He slapped the side of the snowmobile, startling me out of my inspection. “Well, this thing is fucked. My brother’s going to kill me. Punctured something under there, judging from the different colored fluids gushing all over the place.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Nah. Know enough to drive it, but that’s it.” He glanced around. “You park close to here by chance?”
I gaped at him, my tongue finally overcoming his looks. “You do know we’re out in the middle of the woods, right?”
He appeared to not notice my sarcasm, or maybe just didn’t care. “Yeah, just wishful thinking I guess. I’ve been riding this thing for about an hour. I bet I’m a few miles from my brother’s place. That’s a lot a walking through the snow, especially when it’s this deep.”
So, I’d learned three things about Logan. He was pretty. Very pretty. Apparently cold didn’t affect him like a normal person, considering the lack of jacket, scarf, or hat. And he had a propensity to enjoy stating the obvious. Thank God he was pretty. Not the right word at all actually. The Marlboro man wasn’t pretty.
“Do you smoke?”
Oh fuck.
Yes, I just said that. Welcome to my life.
He smirked at me. Making him even cuter. Again, not the right word. “Used to. Quit several years back. Why, you a Jehovah’s Witness for the cigarette companies or something?”
Now, four things. He could be a smart-ass too.
Good.
“Not hardly. Sorry. I was ah… just thinking we might need a lighter.” Yeah. I know. Not my best.
He patted his pockets, like I might not trust him. “Nope. No lighter.”
We stared at each other for a moment.
Him probably wondering if he could just book it and leave me to freeze without getting into trouble.
Me trying to think of a solution that didn’t involve getting a straight man naked.
I won, surprisingly. “It would be a trek, for sure, but my Jeep isn’t more than two miles away. If you don’t mind helping me, we can get there, and I can drive you back to your house, errr, your brother’s house.”
Logan didn’t even pause. “Sure. That’s the best option.” He crossed the distance toward me once more.
“You might wanna get your stuff out of the snowmobile before we go, considering that the snow doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.”
Confusion fell over his face, and he glanced back toward the machine before addressing me again. “What stuff?”
“Your supplies. You know. Jacket, matches, food rations.”
“Food rations?”
If I didn’t know better, I would have thought I’d heard the hint of a laugh behind his words, but it couldn’t be. I should be laughing at him. “Yeah. Food rations.” I motioned over my shoulder, indicating my backpack. “I’ve got some granola bars and such. In case something happens.”
He shrugged. “Wasn’t planning on anything happening.”
The bunching of his massive shoulders, as big as they were, didn’t distract from my amazement. “That’s the point. You never know. They’re a safety precaution. You need to be prepared.”
He was definitely grinning. “Well, I’m glad that it was a Boy Scout I nearly ran over. I’m for sure going to need a snack by the time we get to your truck.”
I didn’t respond. I also managed not to growl at being called a Boy Scout. I get so sick of that.
* * *
We walked for a long time in silence, at least I’m pretty sure we did. Logan could have started reciting Hamlet, and I wouldn’t have noticed. I barely detected the pain of my ankle. Every thought I had was directed at my cock. Demanding that it stay flaccid. That it not notice every movement of Logan’s muscles as he helped me walk, or the clean yet earthy scent that was every cliché of how a man should smell. Or how I could feel his body heat through my layers of jacket, sweater, and long johns.
The beauty of the snowfall from the short time before had vanished. Though I’m certain it looked the same, it now had an irritating quality. The snow didn’t seem to glitter like falling stars as it smacked into my eyes, making it hard to see. I had to keep wiping at them with the back of my mitten in order to tell where we were headed.
Logan didn’t seem to have that problem. “You know, you were giving me a hard time back there about not being prepared, but in this huge backpack of yours, you didn’t bring goggles?”
“I wasn’t exactly moving at high speeds.”
“Hmmm.” He clucked his tongue. “I guess you’re not quite as much of a Boy Scout as I thought.”
I did growl that time.
Logan didn’t notice. “I bet we’ve gone about half a mile. Mind if we stop for one of those food rations you mentioned?”
Fifth learning about Logan. The teasing in his voice was as annoying as my little brother when we were kids. “We’ve only gone half a mile?”
He shrugged again. “Don’t know. You’re the one who’s prepared. Don’t you have a pedometer in there or something?”
I did. But I wasn’t about to admit it. Instead, I slipped the pack off my shoulders and began rummaging through it. Finally I pulled out two granola bars and passed him one.
“Thanks.” Logan tore off the corner of the wrapping with his teeth. “So what else you got in there? Looks like you have half of REI in that thing.”
I finished chewing a bit of my own granola bar before replying. “Just the basics. Water, matches, first aid kit, tent, pepper spray for bears, compass—”
“You’ve got a tent in that thing? How the hell?” He twisted to see it better. “Does it work like Mary Poppins’s carpet bag or something?”
I barely caught myself from blanching at his comment. How many straight men referenced Mary Poppins? Or anything with Julie Andrews, for that matter. “Yeah. It’s small.”