Honeymoon Phase By Amy Daws Read Free Chapter 5

Luke

The first time I met Roe was at the lumberyard. She was driving a forklift and pulling down a stack of two-by-fours and loading them onto a trailer for a customer who was basically catcalling her the whole time. He and the guy with him both chuckled and stared at her ass while telling her to “take her time” as she climbed up into the equipment.

I wanted to bash their heads in.

But it was unnecessary because Roe had it covered. She drove the forklift over to the lumber the guys were picking up, forked it onto her machine, and deposited it on top of the man’s truck cab instead of in the bed of the truck. The guy yelled and screamed for her to stop because the wood was scratching his brand-new truck. Boards dropped off the top one by one, denting his hood and cracking his windshield, even ripping off one of his side mirrors.

He screamed at her that she was a dumb bitch, and he wanted to see her boss and she just sat in her forklift and smiled gleefully before she replied, “I am the boss.”

The man and his buddy sobered right up and asked who would pay for the damages and she said, “Probably our company insurance, but we won’t pay nearly as much as your offspring who have to walk around this earth with a perverted misogynistic asshole’s DNA in their veins. Can I get you anything else today?”

I’d never been more turned on.

Which was an odd reaction, I’ll admit. I wasn’t sure it made me better or worse than the asshole with the trashed truck. She helped me next, and I watched her silently as she loaded up my order and she didn’t even spare me a glance.

When I went inside to pay her, I heard myself asking her out for drinks. I thought she’d laugh in my face and run me out of there with her forklift.

But she didn’t.

She handed me my receipt and asked me when and where.

I didn’t intend for it to be a date. I’m not a guy who “dates” per se. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping to fuck her afterward. She’s a beautiful woman and her terrifying vibe was a weird, unexpected turn-on for me.

But then she showed up to the bar and we started talking. She rambled about her sourdough yeast she named Mildred and asked me about my favorite kinds of foods. We discussed work and our parents, and it was the easiest conversation I’ve ever had with a woman. I realized within an hour that I didn’t want to stop talking to her. Ever. And if I had sex with her . . . the talking would stop.

So . . . I friend-zoned myself for the first time in my entire life.

Our friendship was good for several years. Solid. Comforting. Then my dad died, and it got weird. She pulled away and didn’t come to the funeral and that killed me. I told myself I was done with her, that not showing up was an inexcusable thing a friend would never do.

But suddenly, I found myself back at her place and we were eating dinner in her living room like nothing happened. I’d expected her to apologize, to ask me how I was doing. But it was as if she had no clue what grief felt like—or she understood it all too well—and nothing was said. I knew from the very limited things she’d told me about her childhood that it hadn’t been easy. So, I had to make a choice. Forgive her for not caring for me “how I’d wanted” or hold a grudge and lose her friendship forever. Forgiving her had been the better option.

Plus, I missed her.

Somewhere along the way I realized that I loved her too much to stay mad at her and that was a terrifying realization I was trying not to focus on too much at the time.

I make my way up the exterior staircase to Roe’s apartment. She has a one bedroom in a small quadplex that ain’t much to look at. I always wondered why she doesn’t buy something nicer because surely she makes decent money with the cost of lumber these days, but Boulder real estate is out of control. And Roe really is a no-frills kind of girl. I think she’d put a bed in that lumberyard office if she could. She doesn’t want for much.

Except a husband apparently.

I touch my pocket, feeling the folded-up pros and cons list Everly made me print out for tonight. It’s fucking embarrassing. I helped her write it up after three whiskeys and she added in some dramatic language that I will admit made me laugh. Going for the comedy angle was smart. Roe doesn’t like to do deep talk, so this really did feel like it could work.

But the closer I got to Roe’s place, the more I worried that the whole thing could come off as desperate.

How did I let my niece talk me into this? It’s like Everly is still that eleven-year-old girl playing with her dolls, but this time, it’s actual humans she’s playing with. Me in particular. And apparently the rest of my entire family.

Mastermind indeed.

Roe is going to laugh in my face if she reads this, but Everly is going to kick my ass if I don’t give it to her. Which woman am I more afraid of?

I lift my hand to knock on the door and in mere seconds it swings open and I struggle to catch my breath at the sight of my friend.

I had the same reaction yesterday in the lumberyard because it’s been a couple months since I’ve laid eyes on her. Yesterday, she was dressed in her standard work overalls, tank top, and sneakers. Today she’s soft and homey-looking. Like she’s ready to curl up on the couch and watch TV.

I hoped this pull she had on me would be less intense after some time apart, but it isn’t. It’s alive and well and possibly worse than ever with this offer in my pocket.

“What up, loser?” Roe cajoles with a big smile that hits me right in the gut. She’s got a towel flipped over her shoulder and is stirring what smells like a batch of brownies. “Get your ass in here, I’m dying of thirst.”

She turns on her heel, leaving her door open and I can’t even stop myself from letting my eyes drift down her backside. She’s got an ass that looks like she does squats for a living . . . which I suppose she does. Her top half is smaller and more petite, but the weight of her bottom . . . it fucking haunts me.

“Nice to see you too, Roe,” I murmur, trying to regain control of my thoughts.

I follow her through the small hallway and hang a right into her kitchen. It’s surprisingly large for such a small space. I would have laid out this property with a galley-style kitchen to give more square footage to the bedroom and bathroom, but I think this was the selling point for Roe. The girl loves to cook.

“It’s been ages since you’ve come by,” she calls over her shoulder as she tips her bowl into a glass baking dish, using a spatula to scrape out the chocolate batter.

“I know.” I rub at the heaviness I feel in my chest. “If you recall, our last conversation here was me telling you that going on Grindr to find a husband was not a good idea.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Roe bites her lip and shoots me a coy smile. “I upgraded to asking Chuck, Bullhead, and the guys at the yard if that makes you feel any better.”

“Oh yes, I feel great about that,” I huff, dropping down onto a stool at her small kitchen island while she opens her oven and puts the brownies inside. “I want to talk to you about your husband hunt, actually.”

“Luke,” she groans my name, and it sounds unintentionally sexual. She sets her bowl inside the sink and turns on her heel to look me in the eyes. “Can we have a beer before you start giving me the third degree again? I’ve missed you.”

She has no idea how much those three little words mean to me. I’ve missed her too. A lot. My eyes do a quick sweep of her body, refamiliarizing myself with all her curves. Roe is a stocky little thing with muscles that put many grown men to shame. Round shoulders, noticeable triceps, and quads that I have caught myself ogling more times than I should. And her ass. My God. Working in the lumberyard most of her life has developed her body in ways that should be a crime against humanity. Though I think some of these muscles are thanks to the recreational women’s rugby she played for several years in her early twenties. Either way, she’s a beast. The limited times I’ve had my hands on her have taught me that she could kick my ass in a wrestling match. And it’d be the best ass-kicking of my entire life.

But it wasn’t her looks that I fell for first. It was who she is at her core. She chooses essence over appearance. Tonight, she’s dressed in pale green spandex shorts and a matching high-neck tank top. The little sliver of her olive skin at the waistband peeks out showing that she’s fit, but she still eats. The perfect blend of soft and hard. Like a wild river carving its own path through a manicured garden. She’s got a faint sign of makeup that’s probably from the day before, knowing her, and a smile that could cheer me up after the worst of days.

Her long black hair is folded up into a clip and her hazel eyes make me forget what I was even mad at her for.

“I missed you too,” I say, sounding a bit breathless and fighting the urge to walk over and wrap her in a giant bear hug.

“I hope you also missed some spice because I may have overdone it on this batch of jambalaya.”

Shaking myself out of my stupor, I look down to crack open a bottle of beer and hold it up to her. With a smirk, she pads over in her bare feet and hoists herself up onto the counter beside me. She waits for me to crack mine before clinking our bottles together and taking a sip.

“What’s new on Fletcher Mountain? What’s happening? Tell me all the things.”

My brows lift, trying to decide where to start. “Well, Dakota moved into Calder’s cabin.”

“That didn’t take long,” Roe laughs and shakes her head while taking another long sip. “I could see it in Mexico.”

I offer a tight smile wishing my Mexico trip turned out a bit more like Calder’s. “It’s a whole different mood on the peak now. Very . . . domestic.”

“Yuck.”

“Yeah, yuck,” I huff and drink nearly half the contents of my beer before wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Dakota’s cool though. And Stevie is getting so big. Going to be one soon, which is wild to me.”

“Has Everly gone back to Dublin yet?”

“Not yet. Two more weeks.”

She nods thoughtfully. “You’re going to miss her.”

“I know,” I reply heavily. “I’m trying not to think about it too much.”

“At least you have Stevie nearby. And Evil Ethan still visits the mountain, I’m sure.”

“Oh yeah he does.” This makes me smile as I fumble with the label on my beer bottle. She has a nickname for my nephew just based on the number of conversations we’ve had about my family. I like that she knew them before we went to Mexico. And when we were there together, just as I expected, she fit in with everyone so easily. How does she not see how good we could be? I shake my head and focus back on our conversation. “Stevie giggles for everyone except Ethan. She is not a fan of that little terror.”

“Oh my God, that’s funny.”

“I know. I think he’s just too wild and unpredictable for her. Of course, he’s mortally offended and tries way too hard. It’s only making it worse for the poor lil guy.”

“Does she laugh for you?”

“Easily,” I reply with a smile. “I was babysitting for Wyatt and Trista last week and I had her full-on belly laughing with Rufus. I know how to get him riled up and she loves the sounds he makes. I have a video if you want to see.”

“Um, yes!”

I pull out my phone and Roe leans in close as I play the video of Stevie and my rooster. The scent of her wafts over me so I close my eyes and inhale more deeply. Eucalyptus and green tea. I know that’s what it is because her lotion is always out on the counter in her bathroom. She made me use it on my hands once when she saw how dry and chapped they were from working outside in the cold. I hated eventually washing my hands after that application because I liked having her scent on me.

God, I’m so fucked.

“What’s new with your domestic situation?” I ask, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth. Roe gives me a dubious look and I hold my hands up defensively. “I’m just wondering if I need to be shopping for a wedding gift for you.”

“I wish.” She buzzes her lips as she hops back down off the counter to go check her pot on the stove. “The husband hunt continues. But I had a great idea last night when I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“Man of the Mountain,” she exclaims, wagging her brows at me.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about lumberjacks, Luke!” She scurries back over to me and perches on the open stool, legs spread wide in that laid-back rough and tumble swagger she has about her. “Think about it. They’re simple creatures who work long hours and make shit money, so getting free rent for a year just to marry me on paper would be a no-brainer for them. I’ve been around enough to know they barely even come home. They’re usually out in logger towns for two to three weeks a month.”

“So, then what? You’re just going to live with one of them for one week a month? Here?” I look around like a second bedroom is going to materialize any second.

“Yeah.” She shrugs and glances into her living room. “I know it’s only one bedroom, but I can take the couch. It’s not like my insomnia lets me sleep much anyways. It still counts as living together but we’d barely have to live together. Isn’t this great?”

She shoves me playfully, almost knocking me off my stool. The girl seriously doesn’t know her own strength. I shake my head, still processing everything she just said. “So, for one week a month, you’re going to let a stranger come stay here with you?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re making it sound worse than it is.”

“I really don’t think I am,” I reply, shocked that this idea feels even worse than her online dating for a husband.

“Maybe he won’t be a stranger.” She gets a coy look in her eyes and walks back into the kitchen.

I shoot daggers into her back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I’ve maybe hooked up with a couple lumberjacks that I’ve met at this competition in the past, so I might as well marry one I can possibly reap some fringe benefits from. After so many weeks out in the forest, it turns out they are very grateful in the bedroom.”

My hand tightens around my beer bottle so hard I think it could break in my hand. I knew Roe did casual sex. Hell, so do I, so I’m not judging. We’re young, unattached people. Sex is normal. I’m not trying to be a dick about this.

But we haven’t really spoken about our conquests to each other. We’ve sort of tiptoed around it in all the years we’ve been friends. We exist in this safe space where our intimate lives cease to cross over each other. Hearing about her fucking lumberjacks does not feel like a safe place for me. I feel very unsafe!

“Is there one in particular you want to reconnect with?” I ask, knowing I will probably hate the answer to this question.

“Not necessarily. I mean, I know a lot of them from all the years we’ve sponsored it. But we don’t exactly exchange numbers.” She winks at me, and I feel a sudden urge to punch a wall. Or a tree. Or a logger.

I swallow the knot in my throat and pitch my voice to be casual, as heat crawls up my neck. “You find one to fuck every year?”

“No,” she laughs and wrinkles her nose. “My game isn’t that good. But the loggers are kind of perfect. They’re only in town for the competition so it’s an easy no-strings sort of thing.”

“Last year?”

“Last year what?”

“Did you hook up with someone last year?” The year that I finally started admitting my feelings for you because I realized my brothers and I were no longer on the same anti-woman page.

She frowns and pinches her face as she thinks. “I don’t think so.”

“The year before that?”

Her face twists with amusement. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“Seems like something you should remember, isn’t it?” My tone is clipped, and my mouth is dry, so I guzzle the rest of my beer and waste no time cracking open another.

“When was the last time you slept with someone?” she asks, eyeing me with a challenging glint.

I lick my lips and shrug, not really wanting to answer this question but knowing I have to because I got so damn nosey with her. “It’s been a while. Usually my brothers and I would go out in Denver together and it was easier when we wing-manned each other, but since they’ve all wife’d up, things are different.”

“Dry spell,” Roe peals and strolls over to prop her elbows on the counter across from me. She rests her chin on her knuckles and gazes deeply into my eyes before she presses her finger between my brows. “Maybe that’s why you seem so grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy,” I huff and lean away from her to drink more beer. Beer is my only friend right now. Beer will save me from this sweet hell I find myself in.

“Then stop scowling.” She turns around to start dishing up our food. “I think this lumberjack plan is genius. And if I find someone I can hook up with during this whole stupid yearlong cohabitation, that’s a double bonus. Casual sex with my husband sounds just crazy enough to work. Bring on the loggers!”

She draws out the last sentence in a growly singsongy voice, so I down the rest of my second beer and reach for number three. I’m going to have to crash on Roe’s couch or call my brothers for a ride home tonight at this rate.

We sit side by side at the counter eating and my mind races so much I barely taste the food. I know I’m eating it though, because the spice is causing my forehead to dampen with sweat. No wonder Roe only ever sees me as a friend. She’s used to hulked-out lumberjacks in the bedroom. They probably wouldn’t even react to spicy food. I am weak compared to them. A mere mortal.

She begins sharing her animated tales of proposing to Bullhead and Chuck the past few weeks, but I barely hear her. I begin cataloging every woman I’ve ever slept with and wondering how I was able to win them over so easily. The nice guy thing has always just kind of worked for me, but Roe seems completely oblivious to my charms.

Was it having my brothers as wingmen that helped? Do I not have game? Surely I’ve hooked up with women without them being in the room.

Right?

Fuck.

Is that what I’ve been missing with Roe? I need a wingman?

I polish off the last of my beer and stare at my plate, realizing I’ve stress-eaten two bowls of jambalaya and at least four slices of Roe’s homemade sourdough. Normally I wax lyrical about how her bread is so life-changing, but my taste buds still don’t seem to be firing at all cylinders.

I’m a mess.

“I bagged up a loaf for you to take home,” Roe says, cutting into my mental freak-out.

I turn my head and find her smiling softly at me, and I swear that smile makes me feel like I’m the only man in the world. Why does she do that? Why does she look at me like that? It fucks with my head, and it makes me want to shove that bread off the counter, spread her legs wide and devour every square inch of her instead. At least until she forgets any lumberjacks who ever touched her.

I’m positive Addison Monroe tastes better than bread.

I bet her lumberjacks aren’t “grateful” for her bread like I am. They probably don’t even eat it. They probably eat bark and nuts and live game they kill after they’ve fucked it because they’re so desperate for sex out there in the woods, they’d fuck anything.

They could fuck and kill Roe too.

They have access to a plethora of sharp objects and all the skill sets required to cut up a body into small enough pieces that no one could ever identify it.

Jesus I’m getting dark.

I’m buried so deep in my thoughts that I don’t even realize I’ve said my next sentence out loud until Roe asks, “What was that?”

I blink to find we’re standing side by side at the sink washing dishes. I don’t even remember walking over here, but my hands are currently wrist deep in soapy water.

Licking my lips, I repeat what I just said while staring at my hands, “Marry me.”

“Not this again.” She elbows me and the warmth of her skin on mine causes a riot of goose bumps to move up my arm.

“I’m serious this time.” I turn to stare at her, grabbing a towel to wipe my hands dry. I’ve aborted my mission of trying to get my friend to fall in love with me. Now I’m simply trying to prevent her from getting murdered or raped or assaulted.

Fuck.

I’m losing it. I’m going off the rails here and need her to say yes to this or I don’t know what I’ll do.

She frowns up at me, her long dark lashes fanning her cheeks as she blinks rapidly. I chuck the towel to the counter and reach into my pocket to pull out the list that Everly doctored up for me. It’s crumpled and I feel like a seventh grader passing a note to a cute girl in class just like I did with the stupid letter I gave her, but fuck it, it’s now or never.

My best friend’s life is at stake.

A nonappreciative-for-Roe’s-bread lumberjack, with all the necessary skills to dismember a body, could be the one she chooses . . . and he could then kill her, hide the bits of her body anywhere, and then—

“Luke, what’s going—”

“I’ve thought this through,” I murmur and as she begins to unfold the paper, I feel sweat collecting on the back of my neck. “I’ll be outside. Let me know when you’re ready to discuss.”