“What about you?” She redirects the conversation so I’m in the hot seat. “Any women you want to settle down and have twenty kids with?”
Twenty? That’s a stretch.
I roll my eyes because that’s a ridiculous notion. First, that I’d want to settle down. And second, that any girl in our town would want to live away from civilization in our secluded cabin. Not that I’d want any of them anyway. The girls in our town tend to be—how can I put this nicely—lacking in complexity. They’re simple creatures with simple desires and simple minds. There’s nothing intriguing about them and nothing remarkably interesting to discuss.
I shake my head no in case she didn’t get the meaning of the eye roll.
“So you’ve just hid on the mountain jerking off alone all this time?” Wow, she really is getting bold. Good thing the wine is gone.
“Who said he’s been alone,” Dylan remarks. “I mean, where do you think he got the clothes that weren’t our mom’s?”
Mara scrunches her nose and shuts her eyes at the reminder, as if she can make that fact untrue with sheer will power.
“Well, good to know you’re not a monk.”
Dylan laughs at her expense. “Now who’s being a prude.”
But I don’t laugh. I’m not happy she’s wearing past fling’s clothes either. I prefer not to have the same girl here more than once, but sometimes a girl will make her way back late at night and, because I’m a gentleman, I don’t turn them away.
I don’t want anyone getting the idea it’s more than it is. It’s just sex. No relationships. No feelings. No commitment. I like my sanctuary free of other people (aside from my brother) and I like my isolation. But because I’m a straight man, I crave the occasional warm body.
That’s why I don’t like having Mara here. She’s a reminder that during the four months I’m locked up here, I can’t indulge from time to time. I’m not going to lie, there have been a couple nights it’s tempting to think I could go to her and get rid of the need to fuck someone. She’s beautiful. She’s gota great body, from what I can tell, if she didn’t spar with me the whole time, it would be a tempting thought. But I know it would be a disaster and she’d probably tell me I’m doing it wrong.
But the more civil we get, the more I wonder if maybe she’d be open to a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Then I remember prom night and that goes out the window.
Not long after, Dylan heads to bed to sleep off his little buzz while Mara cuts another slice of pie to “soak up the alcohol.” I let her stick to that story.
After a minute of watching her eat pie in silence, which is actually awkward for me, and not much makes me feel awkward, I walk to the living room to grab the cribbage board and cards. I set them in the middle of the cleared dining table and start shuffling. Mara watches me while she slowly chews a bite at slug speed, eyes on a pendulum back and forth between the cards and me. I set the deck in front of her to cut. She looks at it for a moment, considering my request, then takes half the deck and sets it beside the bottom half without taking her eyes off me.
And the game begins.
“River” by Leon Bridges plays softly from the speaker as we near the end of the game. I’m in the lead with six points to go, but only four points separate us. For this being only her second game, she’s picked up the tricks and patterns quite well. Cribbage is a game of skill, not just luck. You can’t predict what cards you’ll be dealt, but it’s about how you use those cards.
I’ll be honest, I thought this game would be a cakewalk but she’s kept me on my toes, even passed me at one point. But a lucky twenty point hand put me ahead of her again on a hand I dealt. This round I’ll have to focus on pegging, so I set up my hand for just that.
“Close game,” she comments. “I guess it will all be decided before we even reach counting our hands.” Clever girl. She’s a fast learner.
I dealt so she has to start the round.
She lays down a seven and announces her card.
I lay down a four. I’m supposed to announce my card like a gentleman, it is a respectful game, after all. But there’s no way I’m breaking my silence for that. It’s going to take a lot for me to ever consider speaking.
Mara sets a six of hearts on her pile.
I lay down a five nonchalantly and take my three points for the run without even a smile. I catch Mara’s nose twitch out of the corner of my eye, the only tell that she’s frustrated. The gears are turning in her head to figure out how to use her last two cards to win this.
She plays an eight, adding up to twenty-eight. I can see she thinks she’s gotten me, but I lay down an ace and take the two points for reaching thirty-one.
The realization she’s lost makes her facial features tighten, but at least she’s not a sore loser. She lays down her last card, a three, and I lay down mine, another eight. I get the Go and take my final point for the win.
“Good game,” she says politely, though I can tell losing bothers her. Or maybe it’s just losing to me. “Thought I’d pass you, for a minute. Oh well.”
I offer a half smile and dip my head to thank her for the game as I start to shuffle the cards for the next time we play and Mara stores the pegs in the little compartment beneath the board.
Using her hand flat against the tabletop, Mara presses herself up into a standing position then stretches her arms out. The top of her dress flattens tighter to her chest with the motion. With the gathered material I can’t tell if she’s wearing a bra or not.
