Rachel Dyken - The Wager

Char smiled and looked out at the river. “Which ones?”

“The first son was turned into Mount Hood, with his head lifted in pride toward the sky.” Jake pointed toward Mount Hood. You could see it from here on a clear day, and lucky for them it wasn’t too dark yet. “The other brother was turned into Mount Adams, with his face down toward where his lover fell.”

Char was silent while she looked toward Mount Adams. “What about the girl? What happened to her?”

“She blew up.”

At Char’s sharp intake of breath, Jake laughed, feeling better than he had all day. “No, seriously. Legend says she was turned into Mount St. Helens.”

“So…” Char leaned back on her hands and tilted her head. “You’re telling me two brothers wanted her, she couldn’t chose, and in the end everyone suffered and then she died?”

Yeah, probably not the best story to tell Char at the moment, but he was grasping at straws, trying to keep her from asking him the obvious: what was wrong, and have him blurt his feelings.

“I think I know why you like the story,” she said.

Surprised, Jake snorted. “What? It’s just a story.”

“No.” Char pointed toward the river. “The whole ‘this is how deep the Columbia River is’ fact lesson was just you avoiding pouring out your feelings. The story, however, is your way of doing it.”

“Excuse me?” Since when did she become a shrink?

Char reached for a beer. “Would you have fought for the girl? For your lover, or would you have given up?”

Jake was silent. His eyes flickered to the two mountains in the distance. “I would have done what was easy.”

“And what’s that?”

He shrugged, Good God, what was with his shrugging! “I would have walked away.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what I do, Char. I walk away. I take the easy route. Is that what you want to hear? You want me to tell you that I’m different? That I’m the good guy? The guy that fights for what he wants? Well, I don’t fight for shit. I don’t have to, I’ve never had to.”

Char silently drank her beer, but her hand was shaking as she lifted it to her lips. He sighed and looked away. “I’m not that guy.”

“Says who?” her voice was pleading.

Jake shook his head and looked back toward the house. Laughter floated out of the backyard. “Everybody.”

“Even Grandma?”

“Fine, I have one fan.” Jake cursed.

“Two.” Suddenly Char’s beer was in front of him; she clinked her bottle against his and smiled. “You have two fans.”

Jake laughed. “Says the girl who’s threatened my life how many times in the past week?”

“Hey.” Char didn’t scoot away; instead, she leaned against him. “Fertility dance partners stick together.”

“Right. Apparently I need all the help I can get, you know, since my self-esteem is so low from the extra small condoms.”

“Who am I to judge?” Char winked. “I’m hitting the bottle and clearly I have a drinking problem.”

They fell into easy laughter, until the wind changed and Jake was able to smell her flowery perfume. He tensed, as if she could sense it too, and she lifted her head and leaned in.

“Char!” Jace called from the ground. “You up there? I can’t see you! It’s time for dessert!”

“I know.” Her eyes never left Jake’s.

“Pity,” Jake whispered, cupping her chin. “I was just getting ready to have my dessert early.”

“Most people have to work harder for such a benefit.”

He swallowed and looked down at her plump lips. “I promise I will.”

“Don’t be a mountain.”

“Huh?” He pulled back.

Char rose to her feet. “Don’t give up; don’t be a mountain.”

“So what am I supposed to be?”

Char didn’t answer him as she moved to the ladder and began slowly climbing down, but just before her head disappeared she whispered. “Yourself, Jake. Just be yourself.”

Char woke to yelling. After her odd conversation with Jake where she was at least eighty percent sure he was drunk, she’d faked a headache and gone to bed, skipping dessert and family game night.

With a groan she picked up her cell and looked at the time. One a.m.? Were they still up?

Not thinking, she swung her feet over the side of the bed and hit something soft. It groaned, then cursed as it pulled her feet out from underneath her, causing her to land with a thud against it.

“Jake?” She breathed.

“No, it’s some other half-starved, half-drunk, crazy seagull-talking lunatic. Yes, it’s me, Jake. Who else would be sleeping on your floor?”

“Good point.”

“You can get off me now.” He grunted.

“Why are you talking to seagulls?”

“That’s all you took from that last statement? Not even gonna ask about the whole starving or drunk thing, just straight to the seagulls?”

Char moved away from his warm body and sighed audibly. “It’s simple subtraction.”

“Huh?”

“Which thing is not like the other? Food and alcohol go hand in hand. Seagull taking? Not so much.”

“Either you’re brilliant or drunk. I can’t decide which.” The tone of his voice was gravelly. “Why the hell did you step on me? Better yet, why are you out of bed?”

“I heard a noise.”

“It’s called breathing, Char. Some people need to do it in order to live.”

“Shut up, you ass.” She pushed him down and walked toward the door. “It was more than that. It was like a scratching or something.”

“So, we have a squirrel problem.” He sounded bored.

“You hate squirrels.”

“Let them get me! You hear that, squirrels? I’m ready for you!” Jake lifted his hands into the air and sighed.

“How much beer did you have?”

With a curse he struggled to his feet. “Clearly not enough. Otherwise I would still be passed out right now, instead of having this ridiculous conversation with you.”

He moved into the moonlight.

Char’s mouth went completely dry.

The man was a god.

How had she forgotten that?

Thick-corded muscles lined his abs and plunged into his pajama pants. Every part of him was smooth and tan. Just… way too beautiful to be real. She stepped forward. Was it possible for a man to be Photoshopped? In real life? In person?

Curious, she pressed a hand to his chest. He was so damn warm, and hard. Dang, but his body was hard.

“Char?” His voice was hoarse. “Are you sure you’re not sleep-walking?”

Jerking her hand back, she laughed nervously. “I thought I saw a, um, scratch, just there.” She pointed to the perfectly smooth skin on his chest.

“A scratch?” Jake’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Well, if you’re so concerned I’m sure I can take off my pants and you can check everywhere else. Wouldn’t want me not waking up in the morning. I’ve heard scratches can turn septic.” He winked.

“Ass.” Char pushed against him and reached for the door, opening it a crack.

“Char,” Jake groaned. “I’m exhausted. Like I said, it’s probably nothing—”

With a curse, Char hit him directly in his hard stomach and told him to shut up, then pointed to the hallway.

Sure enough, Kacey was making her way down the hall toward Travis’s room. His door was open. He was mouthing directions to her and pointing to the floor. Did he expect her to army crawl? And then he made a motion with his hands and cupped his ear.

“Hmm,” Char whispered. “Squeaky floor?”

“Yup.” Jake chuckled; his breath was warm on her neck.

“You know where the spots are?”

“Oh yeah.” He moved past her out into the hall and looked smugly from Travis to Kacey.

Kacey’s eyes narrowed. She made a cutting signal with her hand across her throat then flipped him off.

Like a lunatic, Travis was making obscene gestures toward Jake. It looked like he was threatening him, but Char couldn’t tell. It was like watching a mime get angry. His hands were everywhere in the air, but it was too comical to mean anything.

And Grandma, bless her heart, was sitting in a recliner in the middle of the hallway. Mouth ajar, snoring louder than sin. Her leopard print pajamas practically glowed in the moonlight, and her face was covered with one of those creepy sleep masks with the eyes painted on as if to say, she’s always watching.

Jake took a tentative step toward Grandma.

Kacey waved her hands frantically.

Char covered her mouth to hide her laugh.

Kacey glared in her direction.

A loud creak sounded down the hall. Jake took another step. The second creak was even louder.

Travis began banging his head softly against the wall.

Kacey looked like she’d started praying.

And then, all of a sudden, Grandma moved. Without pulling the mask up, she pulled a gun from underneath the cushion and pointed it directly at Travis.

“You sneaking out, son?”

Char’s mouth dropped open as Jake hurried back to their room and stood near safety.

“I, uh…” Travis closed his eyes. “Do it. Just kill me. I’m miserable enough as it is. Sorry Kacey, I can’t do it. I can’t make it; if that makes me weak, so be it.”

“Kacey!” Grandma scolded, pulling back her mask so she could see. “And to think! I was blaming poor Travis for this fiasco, but look at you! Halfway down the hall! You little hussy.”

Jake snickered behind Char.

“Both of you!” Grandma waved the gun around in the air. Travis eyed it tentatively while Kacey slumped against the wall.

“Now.” Grandma pointed the gun at Travis. “Back in your room. Go to bed. You’ll be married soon, and then you can have all the sex you want.”

“Grandma just said ‘sex’.” Jake commented behind Char. “I think this is my favorite night ever.”

“And you!” Grandma pointed the gun at Kacey. “Stop tempting him! He’s a boy! He can’t help his urges.”

“Just kidding,” Jake said. “ ‘Urges’, ‘urges’ trumps ‘sex’.”

“Now! The both of you, back into your rooms so you can put this fornicating business behind you!”

“There it is,” Char whispered. “The winner of the night.”

“Fornication.” Jake held out his hand from behind Char. She gave him a high five before they slowly closed their door.

Grandma called out their names.

“Quick!” Char yelled. “Get on the floor! This is not a drill!”

Jake dove for the pillow and face planted onto his blankets just as Char sprawled across her bed. The door clicked open.

Grandma sighed. “Such good kids, so well-behaved.”

When the door shut, Char exhaled loudly. “That was close.”

“I’m curious.”

“About?”

“She had a whistle this morning… and now she has a gun. I swear my dad locks the gun cabinet for that very reason. He even hides the ammo.”

“I’ve stopped asking why when it comes to Grandma.”

Jake laughed. The sound of his voice caused a warmth to drape over Char as she moved to her side and looked over the edge of the bed.

Jake glanced up. “What? Looking for more scratches? My offer still stands, you know.” With a wink he moved his hands to the band of his pajama pants and began sliding them off.

Char covered her eyes. “Keep your pants on.”

“Hmm,” Jake said. “I think that’s the first time a girl’s actually asked that while in the same room with me in the dark.”

“How’s it feel?”

“Stings a bit.”

Char’s eyes were still closed when she felt Jake’s hands on her cheeks. She had no choice then but to open them and feel the full force of what his hazel eyes did to her. He smiled, a real, hot, honest-to-goodness, soul bearing, I’m-going-to–sell-my-grandmother-to-North Korea-in-order-to-marry-this-man smile. “It always stings before it gets better.”

“W-what?” Words weren’t really forming well, not with his hands on her, his shirtless torso before her, and his eyes gazing at her face as if she was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever encountered.

“Scratches. They always sting before they heal. So it stings to get rejected, but I think in the end it will be worth it.”

“You should drink more often,” Char joked. “You get all sentimental.”

“It’s not the drink,” Jake murmured, his lips so close to hers she could almost taste him. “Good night, Char.”

“ ’Night.” Her voice was foreign and airy to her as Jake released her face and slid back down onto his makeshift bed. “Sweet dreams.”

He turned on his side and gave her another one of his megawatt smiles. “If you hear your name, you’ll know why.”

And melt.