“Ohhh-kay, you two are done.” I reach up and press a kiss to my dad’s cheek. “We are leaving.” I take Jason by the arm and direct him back to the car. From over his shoulder, he mouths to my dad to call him, which my dad replies with a thumbs up.
Ridiculous. Hilarious.
When we’re saddled up in the car, I let out a long breath and shift my head to the side so I can look at him. Sincerely I say, “Sorry about that.”
With the biggest smile on his face, his hand lands on my thigh. He gives it a good squeeze and says, “Don’t apologize, that was fucking awesome.”
The two-hour drive to the house was . . . fun.
Oh my God, was it fun.
I tried to hold back, but there were times that Jason had me laughing hard, and every time he heard my laugh, it was like he was spurred to make me laugh even harder. We played stupid car games that he packed, like car Bingo, which was difficult to play since it was dark—a miss on his end that he admitted it—we played would you rather, the alphabet game again, and even jammed out to some old school songs from the sixties. He found the playlist on Spotify and it was called Dancing Songs for Toddlers. I was skeptical at first, but surprisingly, I was the one begging for more. They were perfect songs for him to sing to. And he sang, boy, did he sing. Terribly.
I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun, especially with just one person.
“This place is beautiful,” Jason says, taking in the front of the cabin. “How can you not live here full-time?”
“I know. I love it here.” I observe the much-loved family cabin with its wraparound porch and rustic-looking windows. With lush evergreens surrounding the beautifully renovated home on all sides, it’s calming and one of my favorite places of all time. I wish I had more spare moments to come up here. I make a mental note to put it into my calendar: more time at the cabin.
“Let me carry that for you.” Jason takes my suitcase from me and then motions to the house. “Lead the way.”
Leaves rustle in the wind as we make our way to the cabin, and then I unlock the front door and push it open for him. “The house has been prepped. There’s food and the power is on so we won’t be bumping over everything to find our way. The house is split into two sides, each side has its own master suite. I’ll take the west, and you can take the east.”
“Fancy.” He smiles. “Want me to take your suitcase to the west room?”
“No, I can roll it over there, but thank you. The living quarters, kitchen, and dining are all in the middle. The back porch looks over a beautiful lake and there are books, games, and a few movies in the closet over there to help with your time here.”
“Any naughty books in there? I love a good sex scene to put me to bed.”
I stare at him, not answering, which makes him shake my shoulder and laugh.
“Kidding. I don’t read. I watch porn, so how’s the Internet here?” Of course. He cooks, but doesn’t read.
“There is none.”
“Wait . . . no Internet? How am I supposed to watch porn?”
I know he’s kidding, but still I answer. “Looks like you’re going to have to read one of those naughty books.”
“Wait, you have some?”
“No. I think my mom would faint if we did. You’re going to have to let the sway of the trees and the sounds of crickets put you to sleep.”
“God, it’s like we’re mere peasants, being one with Mother Nature.”
“That’s the point. You’re supposed to relax here.”
He looks around, a big smile on his face. “That I can do.”
Fire flickering in front of us, we both have a cup of hot apple cider in hand, and it’s pitch black all around us besides the light from the fire and one side lamp next to me. We’re sitting in comfortable silence, absorbing the quiet peace of nature surrounding us.
“Thank you for not kicking me out of this trip,” Jason says, shifting his large body on the brown leather couch we’re sharing. “I was bummed when I had to move my vacation, so this is a nice getaway for me.”
“Oh, I forgot you had to move that. I don’t know, the Bahamas seem more fun than this.”
“Nah, I’d take the woods over the beach any day. No sharks.”
“Yes, but murderers can lurk in the trees.”
“A chance I’m willing to take.” Growing serious he says, “Seriously though, thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. It was nice to have the company on the drive, despite the wretched pitch in your voice when you sing.”
“Excuse me? Wretched?” He sits a little taller. “I’ve been told by many that my singing voice is beautiful.”
“Who told you? Your mother?”
“She’s one.”
I chuckle and take a sip of my apple cider, the spices doing all sorts of things for my belly . . . or is it the man sitting next to me? Maybe a combination of both. We changed into our pajamas, prepared our bedrooms, and met back out here for a relaxing hot cider before bed. Jason is wearing a full-on flannel pajama set, and if I wasn’t so intrigued by the flap at the top he left unbuttoned where I catch glimpses of his ripped chest, I’d think he was ridiculous.
“You said you sleep naked,” I say, remembering that little tidbit.
“I do. Would you like me to change into what I actually wear to bed? Because that can be arranged. It’s a quick lift up of a shirt and a push down of pants.”
“Are you saying you’re not wearing underwear?”
“Psh, no. Free balling; feels good against the flannel.”
Why do I find that answer erotic? Him not wearing underwear, only one layer of fabric blocking me from the view. I try to convince my eyes to stay on his face, to not glance down, but they betray me and fall to his crotch but quickly divert to my cider. I didn’t get a good enough look, of what, I don’t really know, couldn’t tell you, but whatever I was trying to look at, I barely got a glance.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Did you get those pajamas for this weekend?”
“I did, but I will admit, I might make them an every-other-Friday thing. My nether regions feel like a king.”
I shake my head. “Seriously, what is wrong with you?”
“What?” he asks, as if he doesn’t understand what’s wrong. “I talk to my friends all the time about my balls. We share products and such to help each other feel more comfortable. Try having two dangling balls hanging off your body. It’s very uncomfortable, so if something makes them feel good, I’m going to let everyone know.”
“I have boobs.”
He looks at them and back up at me. “That you do, sweet cheeks.”
“I mean, I have dangling things hanging off my body as well but mine weigh heavier than yours and they can cause backpain, plus they’re attached to very sensitive nipples.”
I watch him slowly swallow while his eyes fall to my breasts again. When he talks, his voice is a little squeaky. “Sensitive nipples, huh? Like what kind of sensitive? If I blew on them, would you have an orgasm?”
“Do you really believe that’s a thing?”