After our discussion the other night, I feel like a lot of the air has been cleared between Jack and me. We have gotten a lot done around the cabin and have talked deeply about the past few years. The best part has been how nice it feels laughing with him again. I guess I shouldn't be that surprised that part of me was almost sad to see him go this morning.
My warden popped his head into my room around five to tell me he was heading out. This was the first I heard of his trip, and he told me so casually. By no means am I his keeper, but I would have figured he would have been more thoughtful about telling me.
It turns out that a friend of his over in Tennessee needs some help putting the finishing touches on a remodeling job, and Jack promised he would help back before I became his prisoner.
He said he would only be gone a few days tops and warned me to behave myself. I knew he was only kinda kidding. I told him no promises, but then reassured him that I had no major plans of leaving the house. My biggest plan was to stain the back deck, now that it is complete, and cut some of the wood needed for the rest of the banister on the front porch.
Something weird started happening during the long hours of being alone in the cabin. No matter how deeply I threw myself into the projects around the house, I couldn't stop thinking about Jack.
At first, it was just our talk. The closeness we shared during the hug. The sheer emotion that both of us showed one another. But then my thoughts started changing. I started thinking about the times that I have seen him sweat-soaked and glistening during our housework. This always led to the recollection of him pulling his wet shirt off his hairy torso at the end of the workday, handing over his soup-covered clothes, and undressing the morning he threw me in the tub. Without fail, every cognitive path leads me to the night he was snoozing in the bathtub and the jerk session I had directly after.
Each time, my mind would wander to the vision of Jack naked and sleeping soaking in the water upstairs. And every time I would start to feel my cock harden at the vision of his masculine chest, hairy belly, and thick member resting undisturbed between his strong thighs. Before I would let anything else play out in my head, I would shake the naughty notions and try busying myself with something new. Seldom would this work, though. I would have to drop everything and take a few minutes to find release.
"What the hell, Tyson," I'd think to myself every time I would finish blowing my load. "You are one gross individual."
But the more that it happened, the more I realized that I wasn't that weird. I mean how could I be? Jack is sexy as hell, and we are both adults. There is really zero connection between the old versions of us. It's like we just met at the beginning of the summer. Furthermore, I know nothing sexual would ever happen between him and me. Jack isn't even gay.
Right?
The next afternoon, I was daydreaming at the sink when I saw Claire come down from the wooded path. She waved to me when she saw me in the window, and I waved back while cussing her under my breath.
"Hey, Tyson," she greets, walking right in through the screen door.
"Hey, Claire," I say, reminding myself to be civil.
At this moment, I realize that my dislike for her has worsened now that I know she is getting physical with Jack and I will not be. I already didn't trust the bitch, now I am really gonna have to try not to be an asshole right to her face.
"Where is Jack?" she asks, pouring herself some sweet tea from the fridge.
"Tennessee. Helping a friend."
"Oh, so Kirk finally called him, eh? That guy told Jack he'd call him when they needed him, but that was almost three months ago."
Annoyed that Claire knows more about the situation than I do, I make my way out of the kitchen, to the front porch. Though I hadn't originally planned to do any more work today, I suddenly feel like these pieces of wood need cut.
After about ten minutes of the table saw going, Claire gets the message and makes her way back to the woods.
About an hour later, I've had it. I officially call it quits for the day and go up and run the bath. My thoughts have not settled since Claire's visit, and I just can't get over the feeling that she is up to no good. Instead of taking a long relaxing bath, I am in and out and on my way up the hill in no time.
Knowing I am racing sunset, I almost jog up the path Claire always takes. I am not sure how far her house is or what I am actually looking for, but I can't shake this eerie feeling. After what has to be close to a half mile, much longer than I have ever traveled on the path, a little wooden shed, tucked behind a dogwood tree, comes into view as I take a curve in the path. I am pretty sure I am still within the bounds of Jack's property. He said the survey line was right after a small stream, but I haven't crossed any running water.
In no way would I ever consider myself a detective, but something in me set off alarms about this place. It was a faded blue, wood plank shack with one window. From here the inside looks dark, and I wonder to myself if it has electricity.
When I make it to the door, I find it locked. I guess this isn't that strange. If it is storing something, then Jack wouldn't want any random hobo or wanderer to have access to it. I walk around to the window and pull out my phone. I turn on the flashlight and shine it through the window.
Nothing. I can see nothing. Not because my flashlight isn't giving off enough light, but because the shed is lightless. Actually, the window seems to be covered from the inside with some kind of black paper or material. Moving my phone around the whole window, I find a little strip of missing material along the left side of the window. When I shine my light in, it is pretty hard to make out anything that is inside, for before my eyes can adjust, someone's face appears on the other side of the glass.
I jump back, almost falling over. Luckily I didn't scream or look too much like an ass.
In a split second, Claire was coming out of the door.
"Hi, Tyson," she almost shouts as she turns and locks the door again behind her. "You found me. This is my art studio. Jack started letting me use it a few months ago as a place I could escape to and get some of my painting done."
Jack never mentioned this to me. And who locks themselves in their own art studio in the middle of the woods? Strange.
"Oh," is all I manage, for the rest of my brain is creating thousands of off-the-wall possibilities for what is really on the other side of those wooden walls.
"I was just closing up shop for the day," she says, standing awkwardly between me and the shack. "Maybe you could come by some other day and check things out?"
I could tell that she was waiting for me to leave, so I went along with it.
"Yeah, sure," I lie. "Have a nice night, Claire."
As I turn from Jack's weird girlfriend, I hear her reply with a "Thanks. See you around," but I was already too deep into the land of Tyson Crawford, Private Detective to acknowledge her.
"Something is up for sure, Claire. You may be fooling Jack, but you are not fooling me," I think to myself as I make my way back to the cabin.
"Duh!" I say aloud, realizing I have a source for my inquiries. Grabbing my phone, I choose Officer Scott from my contacts and wait for her to pick up.
"Hey, Tyson. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Scott pleasantly answers.
"Claire Miller. What do you know about her?" I get right to the point, but then I feel bad. "Also, hello Officer Scott. Sorry to bother you during your off hours."
She laughs.
"It's okay, but sadly I can't help you. I don't know much about Claire."
"Scohhhtt," I extend her name, letting her know I don't believe her. "Come on. Off the record. Jack told me you are dating Claire's ex."
Another laugh. This one is reluctant.
"Fine. I'll tell you what I know, but it is coming from your friend J'Nae, not an officer of the APD."
"Roger that." I smile because she said she was my friend. I don't have a ton of those right now.
"The rumors say that Claire is acquaintances with some shady people in town. From personal experience, she financially takes good care of her son, Nicky, but only sees him a couple of times a month. That is if she decides to show up. Thankfully, her ex-husband, Charlie has full custody."
I file this information away and change the topic.
"Oooh, Charlie. Tell me more. Is he a hottie? Are you in love?" My tone is that of an elementary school kid.
"Okay, I am Officer Scott again. No more questions," she chuckles. "I will see you next week for your appointment, Tyson."
Before she hangs up, I say, "Scott. Thank you. Sincerely."
"You're welcome. Stay. Out. Of. Trouble." Then the line goes silent.
***
Not soon after the sun rose, I went out and started fastening the banister beams across the wooden rails of the front porch. Since I cut so many pieces last night before my run-in with Crazy Lady Who Is Doing Something Weird In the Woods, I was able to get right to it. Thoughts of Jack were not clouding my concentration today. Instead, I moved like a machine, putting up vertical railroad ties. Place, level, hold, nail gun top, nail gun bottom, feel accomplishment, repeat.
The fuel that kept my motor going was deciphering a logical explanation for Claire's art shack. I probably had a list of six realistic things that she could actually be doing up there and only half of them were legal.
It was right around lunch when an idea came to me. The connection of talking to Scott last night and overhearing her conversation with her chief at our last visit provided a dark possibility.
What if Claire is making meth?
For the rest of the day, I was stuck on Breaking Bad. The signs all pointed to 'Tina.' The shack would be a great place for a lab: secluded and sheltered. No one would look for her up in the woods, as long as she didn't blow herself up.
Finishing up my last few rungs, I don't notice that the sun is setting until I hear Greyson coming up the drive.
"Wow. Looks like you got some good work in," Jack compliments, making his way from the truck, in the fading daylight. "Who would have thought you'd be this good at woodworking at the beginning of the summer?"
He ruffles my sweaty hair and walks toward the front door.
"Well, I had a good teacher," I reply.
This makes him stop in his path. He turns back to me. Under his hat, I can see his eyes lock onto mine. Jack grabs my shoulder with a sincere squeeze.
With a smile, he says, "Thanks, Ty. That may be the first nice thing you have said to me since you got here."
With a laugh, he pulls me in for a hug, and I can immediately tell why he was making a beeline for the house. His musk from a day's work was still on him. He must not have taken a shower before leaving to come home. I take his manly aroma in and I get a bit high.
"Oh, you thought I was talking about you?" I joke.
"You little jerk," he growls in pretend anger. "Now you must pay! It's the pit of doom!"
Without warning, Jack grabs the back of my head and shoves my face directly into his right armpit. I actually coined the term when I was five or six, and he is using my own move against me. Though I love every minute of it, I know I have to pretend like I don't.
"You are so gross," I shout, shoving him off of me, but we are both laughing hysterically.
He puts his arm around me and leads me toward the door.
"I'm glad you are here," he tells me with a little twinkle in his eye.
"I don't have a choice," I reply, motioning pretend handcuffs.
"You know what I mean," Jack says ushering me through the door. "It's nice coming home to someone."
I smile. My heart feels warm somehow.
"Alright," he interjects, changing the subject. "What do you want for dinner? I will get it going once I take a quick bath."
"No need," I say with a gin. "There is a roast in the slow cooker and boiled potatoes that just need mashing."
He stops and looks at me as though I am a stranger.
"Who are you? What did you do with the real Tyson?"
I smile and tell him to mash the potatoes, and I am going to take a super fast shower. He interrupts me by telling me how much I need one. "Look who's talking," I respond. Then I tell him I will run him a bath.
Skipping up the steps, I tear my clothes off and jump into the shower before the water even gets warm. I try to move as quickly as possible to save Jack the hot water. Moments later, I flip the switch and the water flows through the bottom faucet into the basin. I dry off and wrap the towel around my waist. From under the sink, I pull out the epsom salt and sprinkling a few shakes into the running water. I am whistling "Bye Bye Miss American Pie" the whole time.
"Thanks, buddy. You read my mind," I hear Jack say behind me.
I freeze, unable to move, speak, or think. Standing there before me, Jack lumbers in only the thinnest pair of white briefs I have ever seen. It brings a flash of him and his unit in the tub to my mind.
"You okay," he inquires with a raised eyebrow.
It is at this moment I realize his metamorphosis. His long shaggy hair is gone and in its place is a short crew cut. It is very short on the sides and just about an inch and a half on top– enough to be pushed over for a classy part. The big mountain man's face bush has been trimmed down to a clean angular beard that shows off his strong jaw. Even his chest hair has been cropped a bit. The once wild jungle of his pecs and belly has changed from out-of-control yeti to barbered muscle bear.
"Your hair," is all I can manage.
Almost as if I am under a spell, I saunter over to him. I run my palm and fingers through his new short mane, first on top of his head. Over and over, I make circles. On the crown and then sides of his head. Lacidazily, his eyes close and he tilts toward me. I move the back of my hands to his face. I trace them all over his beard and make a path along his jaw where I lightly squeeze his chin at the end. Without thought, my hand continues from his face to his chest. I rake the fuzz on each pec. His eyes are open and on me now. As I am about to descend his torso, Jack grabs my wrists.
"Someone told me I was looking like a homeless man," he says with a chuckle.
My eyes meet his and remain for a second. Then I shake the spell off. I let out a snort realizing he was talking about me.
"Well, you don't look like one anymore. That's for sure," I tell him.
Sliding my hand from his grasp, I reassure him, "You clean up well, Mr. Tier."
I slide past him and head for the door, but just before I exit, I remember Claire.
"Oh, hey, I wanted to talk to you about something," I let out, turning back to face him.
Jack has his back to me. He is now completely naked and lifting one foot out of his briefs that rest on the floor. I can't take my eyes off his succulent ass. In comparison, the lightly hair-dusted cheeks are pastier than the rest of his tanned body from staying cooped up in pants all day, but they make up for it in their definition. I have to fight everything in my being not to go over to him and squeeze those mounds. Or worse, spread them.
"Okay," he says turning to mount the tub.
His back leg steps up and over the ceramic, giving me a front seat to the full monty. His soft prick and two stones hang freely down as his other leg comes up and over the side wall. Before squatting down into the warm water, I take a mental picture of Jack's beefy body.
"Um, we can talk about it after dinner," I tell him, as I feel a flinch beneath my towel.
"It's all good. We can talk about it now," he suggests, settling down into a relaxing position.
"I actually have to get the veggies cut. I will fill you in later."
"Okay," Jack says with his eyes closed. "If I am not down in fifteen minutes, come wake me up, will you?"
I tell him I will and then get the hell out of there before it becomes apparent that I have a full-fledged hard-on.