She nodded, patted my cheek, and told Acosta to deal another hand. And so it went until well after two in the morning. Hopped up on about ten million calories, laughter and acceptance, I felt particularly needy when Acosta and I got back to the rescue. I had my car parked where it always was, right beside a small path that led to the beehives. That path was now snowed in and a large, plowed path took its place. I was sure it would be a charming walk in the summer when the oaks and beech were in leaf, the flowers dancing along the gravel walkway as the birds and bees sang and buzzed. I’d like to see it. We got out of his truck. I padded around to stand beside him as we said goodnight.
“Can I stay the night?” I asked, daringly so, as we’d not broached that before. When I’d been snowed in, sure, I’d been here, but ever since I returned to my motel room after we were done…well, whatever it is we were doing. Working and canoodling and growing more attached to each other kind of fit, but that was a mouthful.
So is he. Badumptiss. I’ll be here until Friday. Please tip your server.
Acosta looked torn. “No, hey, it’s fine,” I hurried to cover up my gaffe. “Sorry, that was really presumptuous of me. I just didn’t want to drive back to town and lie in that bed alone. It’s just…” My breath fogged in front of me as I stared at the billion stars in the sky. “I’m tired of being lonely. It feels as if I’ve been a solitary being since I was born. My family doesn’t care if I’m around or not. Hell, my father and brother would prefer I wasn’t. My friends haven’t even sent me one note to ask where I am or how I’ve been. I could be lying dead in the belly of a bear right now and they’d not know.”
“The bears are asleep,” he reminded me. I rolled my eyes.
“Sure, so says you. My point is—”
“Yes.” I pulled my gaze from the bumper of my car. He was staring at me, his face mellow and calm, his eyes glowing like burnished smoky quartz. “Yes, you can stay the night.”
“Oh. Oh. That’s wonderful. Thank you.” I kissed him on the neck, right under his ear. His throat was cold, the skin chilly against my lips. “You’re cold.”
“Warm me then,” he replied, his words soft as a dandelion blow.
I offered him my hand. He slid his palm over mine, hesitantly, and I led him into his dull little area. We tossed some wood into the stove before throwing our clothes to the floor. We fell into the pullout bed, stepping over a sleepy cat/duck combo as they returned from the kitchen to slake their thirst, our mouths fused. Acosta seemed desperate, his hands roaming over me with intent, his kisses hungry. We ground against each other, cocks leaking, lips locked, tongues stroking in a passionate duel that both of us were eager to win.
“I want in you,” he growled against my chin, his teeth raking along my jaw as he rolled his hips with purpose, his dick sliding against mine.
“Yes, yes,” I panted, going to my belly to show him my ass.
He was inside me in one long, slow plunge after booting up. Lube dripped from his cock as he pumped. Drops of slick glided down to my balls where I gathered it up and smeared it over my dick. With each thrust of his hips, I jerked on my stiff prick. I came first with a yowl that made the cat sleeping by the stove squeak in worry. His cockhead thumped into my prostate over and over. His grip on my hips bordered on painful. It was nirvana. I came all over my hand and the bedding, trembling and gasping as he worked that bundle of nerves like a man possessed. I felt his dick swell just as his fingertips dug even deeper into my hips. A tremor rolled through me as he filled the condom, the rush of heat and his soft snarl wringing yet another pulse of cum out of my flagging cock.
He pulled out as my legs buckled, touching my back and shoulders, his pants moist on my sweaty neck. I fell to the bed face first, out of breath, but so damn satisfied. When he rolled me over, he claimed my mouth in a searing kiss that robbed me of not only my breath, but my ability to reason. I clung to him, arms and legs wound like ivy around him, returning his kisses stroke for stroke until he dropped to his side, his body limp, his cock soft against his thigh. I moved to my side to look at him. The stove was the only light in the room, a dim illumination that threw shadows over his face. I pushed some hair from his brow.
“I have no idea what to do about us,” I whispered as I tucked that strand behind his ear. “But I’d like to see if we can make whatever this is work.”
“There’s only one way we can work, Decker.”
“I know.” I kissed him on the lips, tenderly, and snuggled in close. He yanked the covers up over us, leaving me to sleep on the wet spot. That was fair. It was mine, after all. And if being able to be in his arms all night was the price I paid for my hip to rest in some cooling spunk, I was more than happy to pay the cost.
ChapterThirteen
“So explainthe history of this madness to me one more time,” I said just before two men dressed as pretzels raced by me and leaped into a semi-frozen pond. The crowd—which had to be all of Miller’s Lake—hooted in glee.
Acosta held out a small cup of nacho cheese dipping sauce as we watched the two soggy pretzels splashing around in the water, singing some ancient sounding ditty about pretzels. I dunked a chunk of my delicious soft pretzel into it. There were food booths lined up around the lake, serving nothing but various kinds of pretzels. And hot coffee, tea, and cocoa. Lots of the natives were wearing knit pretzel hats on their heads.
“Back in the forties, there was a huge pretzel factory on the outskirts of town. Actually, just on this side of the county line. It was called Miller’s Pretzels. George and Matilda Miller owned it, and it was one of the biggest pretzel plants in the country. Employed over nine hundred people which was the majority of the town.” He took a bite of his pretzel, and my gaze lingered on a droplet of spicy, melted cheese on his lower lip. His tongue darted out to get it and Dick began to perk up, despite the fact that it was exactly four degrees Fahrenheit. At noon. The sun was out, but its meager warmth was doing little to combat the bitter cold. The men in the lake were still singing and cavorting, their pretzel costumes beginning to ice up on the fake bits of foam that were supposed to be salt granules. “You might know the jingle. It was on the radio and TV throughout the eighties. Salty, salty, salty good! Find Miller’s Pretzels in your neighborhood!”
“Ah, that’s what they’re singing.” I used my soft pretzel to motion at the fools in the lake.
“Yep, that’s the jingle. You’ve never heard it before?” he asked, then moved aside to let the paramedics who were standing by mosey down to the lake with those silver blankets and tired looks. They’d been here for hours now, taking thermically challenged men and women in pretzel suits to the ambulance to warm up with a blanket and a hot drink of their choice.
“No, I wasn’t even alive in the eighties. Maybe my father knows of it? They probably sold them in Pittsburgh.” As soon as I mentioned my dad, I pushed him from my thoughts. Not today. Not tomorrow either. Or the next day. Or the—
“Oh, for sure. They were big up and down the east coast. Anyway, the plant was going great guns, but World War II broke out and all the men left. That left Matilda and all the women to run the plant. They kicked ass throughout the war, welcoming some of their men back after the war ended. Things ran along really well through the fifties, sixties, and seventies, but George died in the early eighties, and Matilda followed quickly after. They had two daughters who wanted nothing to do with the company and sold it off before their parents were even cold.”
“Oh dang, that’s a shame. That’s the way of the world, though. The business world is constantly changing, people’s wants and needs shift.” I shrugged and then dunked another bite of pretzel into Acosta’s cheese cup. “Where does one find a pretzel hat?”
“Over at the grange. The local knitting club is selling them for five bucks a pop.” He waved at an old brick building barely visible from this side of the lake.
“Oh cool! I’m going to go get us a couple. After you fill me in on the rest of the pretzel history of Miller’s Lake.” I moved aside to allow four women in bright pink pretzel suits race to the lake and then dive in. The crowd cheered. I had to wonder if everyone in town had lost their marbles.
“Oh.” He chewed, swallowed, and passed his cheese over to me. “Not much to tell after the sale. New owners took over, fired a lot of people, busted up the union, and drove the place into the ground. They closed down in ’89. Just locked the doors one day, not even informing the remaining employees of the impending shutdown. Men and women showed up to work with their lunch pails to find the front gates padlocked.”
“That’s just shitty,” I remarked, smiling at a trio of kids racing by with pretzel hats. Okay, Ireallyneeded a hat. “I’m sorry for the financial burden that caused. Did anything move into the vacant building?”
