Sex in the Sticks by Sawyer Bennett
And now my stomach drops so low it feels like I just got kicked in the balls.
"You're not who I thought you were," she says quietly.
"Valentine," I say almost pleadingly, because I am quite clear that I've been all kinds of a foolish asshole.
"Don't bother," she says softly as she turns around and walks out of the police station, the finality in her tone unmistakable.
I sink back down into my chair.
Goddamn motherfucking idiot.
Pushing the reports away, I put my mind onto a more important task: figuring out how to make this right with Valentine, because she might be finished with me but I am nowhere near finished with her.
Valentine's Couch: Blog Entry
July 10 (Part 2)
I May Have Overly Romanticized Him
I know I just posted my last blog this morning, and I never do more than one blog entry a day. But much has happened in the past twelve hours, and I have things on my mind that I guess I need to purge. This is going to be short and simple.
Ladies, it takes awhile to get to know someone. So don't let a few nice breakfasts, a kindly offered ride somewhere, or the mere fact that someone treks through the woods to save your from dying is a true measure of that person's character. Definitely don't let the number of orgasms cloud your judgment.
I've been blogging for almost seven years now. You know me, and you know I don't have a romantic heart. So I know many of you probably had raised eyebrows that I was so effusive about the chief yesterday. But please, don't worry. It was a moment of insanity. I've been brought back down to earth.
I'm heading to bed, and tomorrow I'll be looking at things through fresh eyes but also a slightly jaundiced filter due to past experiences. Because, after all, I'm the girl who's always suspicious of a truly genuine man. It's what led me out here to begin with.
Not providing the details, but it's fair to say that the door is back wide open for me to continue with my experimentation.
Reporting more later...
Chapter 13
Valentine
I meander down Main Street, flipping through texts and emails on my phone. I'm actually in a good spot and have three full bars of coverage. Grimacing, I pull up a voice mail from my mother. My finger hesitates over the Play button and I debate about whether or not I want to hear what Barbara French has to say to me. On ordinary days, I've got a spine of steel and a skin so thick none of her jabs, insults, or not-so-subtle innuendos can hurt me.
But today isn't ordinary, because I still have major bruised feelings about what happened yesterday with Logan. In less than twenty-four hours he went from friend, to savior, to lover, to asshole, and I'm trying to process it. Now he's not the first man who's dinged my ego. He's not the first man I thought I had judged correctly, and then found out I was dead wrong about.
But goddamn it...he's the first one that I'm bothered about for misjudging him.
A new flush of anger over the way Logan treated me yesterday renews my fortitude and I stab at the voice mail with my finger. My mother's voice comes through just as smoothly polished as can be--this took her years to master, as she married into my father's money--but she holds back nothing.
She never does.
Val...honestly. I cannot believe you're writing blog articles detailing your--and here she whispers it like it's a really bad thing--sex life. And to call your family snooty is just not fair to us. You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you write this trash to hurt us and frankly, you need to grow up a bit. Your father feels the same exact way. Now, I want you to call me so we can discuss this...nonsense. It has to stop. Okay, I have to go. The limo is here to pick me up for a shopping excursion with Babs. Call me.
I roll my eyes and delete the message. I love my mother. And my father for that matter. I really do.
But I don't have a lot of respect for them, as they were absent parents as I grew up. My father is a venture capitalist and a good one at that. He tends to invest outside of the United States so he traveled far more than he was ever at home. During my younger years, my mother traveled with him and I went to boarding school. That wasn't a hardship. Jeremy went too. His father is partners with my dad, and the Frenches have produced a long line of men who can sniff out the potential to make money on new ideas, technology, products, or what have you.
At any rate, I didn't know my parents all that well growing up, and once I became an adult and started doing adult things with them--you know, society parties and shit--I realized that while I loved them, I didn't like them all that much. My mother is too concerned that someone has a more expensive necklace that she does, and my father has been banging his secretary for years and doesn't seem to care that everyone knows. He keeps my mother happy by buying her more diamonds, and my mother bangs the pool boy to get back at my father.
This is not to say that all wealthy people are shallow the way my parents are. Far from it. I know many, many in my extended family and peers who are generous, kind, humble, and down-to-earth. My parents of course don't really associate with them, but whatever. It is what it is.
Now, as to my mom's current conniption, I'm not going to bother calling her back on it, nor am I going to change my ways. She's read far worse by me. I once did a blog article teaching women how to deep throat, which is something I learned from a man I'd dated for a few months and was a patient teacher. My mother was not pleased by the fact that her daughter wrote about this torrid subject, and I suspect she was not pleased to learn that I enjoyed it.
My phone rings in my hands, startling me, but I see it's Jeremy and my smile goes big. "About time you called me back," I say as soon as I answer the phone.
"Sorry, Valley," he says. "Busy having honeymoon sex and all."
"Ew," I say with true disgust. "I don't want to know about you having sex."
"You don't mind me reading your blog articles about hot cops with big dicks," he retorts.
I wince at the painful reminder that that particular hot cop with a big dick is certainly no more, and remind him pointedly, "I don't force you to read them."
"Yeah, but they're so much fun," he says with a laugh. "I bet Aunt Barbara has got to be shitting diamonds today."
"She's already left me a voice mail," I say dryly. "But seriously...it wasn't as bad as the deep throat one, right?"
"Right," he agrees, because he's always my champion. But then his voice turns somber. "But seriously, how are you doing out there? You've had some big adventures so far."
"It's not what I was expecting," I tell him honestly as I reach my intended destination on Main Street and lean up against the exterior wall while I continue to talk to Jeremy. "First, you're such a shit for not telling me how backward it is here. Or for preparing me for what to bring. But I'm over that now."
"But the men are totally different, right?" he pushes.
"Well, yeah," I say glumly. "They're a bit more coarse, but because women are lacking here, they certainly are more eager to please. The problem is, they really don't know what that means to a woman."
"Contrary to what you wrote about the chief," he jabs at me.
"Let it go, Jeremy," I scold him. "That ship has totally sailed."
"Bummer," he says glumly. "I was hoping you'd fall hard for a wilderness hottie."
"Well, give it up," I tell him pointedly, and then look at my watch. I have another ten minutes before Shasten's Fly Fishing Tours opens up.
I hear Aubrey's voice in the background calling for Jeremy. She's probably doing it on purpose, knowing he's talking to me.
"Gotta go, Val," Jeremy says into the phone. "Any idea when you're coming back home?"
"Soon," I tell him. I have a few things I want to take care of, starting with Jorgen Shasten, but then I'm out of here. "I'll text you details."
We both give quick love yous before signing off, and I tuck my phone into my shoulder bag. I look down at my outfit, not feeling at all weird about my choice. While I've worn my fair share of outdoor clothes ar
Glancing at my watch again, I note Jorgen's shop doesn't open for another five minutes. I lean forward, twist my neck, and peek inside the front window. It's still dark, so I lean back against the building with a sigh and wait some more by pulling out my phone and surfing through Facebook and Twitter, responding to a few tweets from my Valentine's Couch post.
The rumble of the truck doesn't necessarily get my attention, because most people drive trucks around here, but I hear Logan voice calling out to me, "Hey, Valentine...got a minute?"
My head snaps up and I see Logan's pulled his truck parallel to the sidewalk where I'm standing. He's got the passenger window rolled down, his left arm draped casually over the wheel, and he looks far too good in my opinion. So I drop my gaze back down to my phone and call back, "Nope."
My body stiffens when I hear the creak of his truck door opening, the slam of it closing, and his boots hitting the sidewalk in front of me. I don't look up, blindly scrolling through my tweets.
"We need to talk," he says.
"No, we don't," I reply, still keeping my face tilted down.
Big mistake.
Big, big mistake, because his large hand comes up and cups me under the chin, forcing me to look up at him. His expression is troubled and contrite. "I'm really, really sorry and I need to talk to you about it. I made arrangements for one of Ketchikan's officers to cover for me today, and I wanted to take you out and show you something."
My breath seems clogged in my lungs. My body--with my brain egging it on--wants to just sink into his big body and let him take me wherever he wants to go. My heart is a cold bitch, though, and I pull my face away from his hand.
"I'm sorry," I say coolly as I tilt up my chin stubbornly. "But I've got plans today."
Logan's gaze travels down my body. There's nothing heated or sensual about it. He's giving me a critical once-over and I can see it written all over his face. He's dying to know what my plans are.
Before he can ask or I can taunt him, a man whom I assume is Jorgen Shasten walks up to the door I'm standing beside and unlocks it. He tips his head to Logan, then to me. "Morning."
"Morning," both Logan and I say back.
Jorgen opens the storefront door, walks in, and closes it behind him. I see him flip the open sign in the window, and then I turn my attention back to Logan. "Look...I'm sorry you made plans for someone to cover for you today. But honestly, Logan, I accept your apology and there's nothing else to talk about."
I see a tinge of relief in his eyes that I accepts his apology, and he even gives me a small smile. "Sure I can't talk you out of your plans today?"
"Sorry," I say as I push off the wall and turn toward the front door to Jorgen's shop. "But I have a hot date right now and I don't want to be late."
Logan's eyes narrow and a muscle in the corner of his jaw jumps. He takes a breath, seems to unclench his teeth, and tips his head at me. "All right...guess I'll see you around."
"Sure thing," I say pleasantly, and then I give him my back, walking into the fly shop and shutting the door behind me.
I see Jorgen standing behind a large glass counter that has multiple hinged glass panes. He has one open and is placing something inside. As I walk closer, I see they're various flies that he's created. April had told me it's a true art form to create these lures, some of them having so much detail using bits of string and feathers that it's hard to tell them apart from a real bug.
Jorgen looks up as he places the last fly in and closes the pane. "It's Miss French, right? What can I do for you?"
"It's just Val," I say with a smile as I reach my hand across the case to him. He shakes it with an affable smile. "And I came to book a fishing trip with you."
Jorgen blinks in surprise and says guardedly, "I thought you were supposed to go on one with Mike yesterday."
He clearly hadn't heard that I'd canceled that, and apparently the gossip mill wasn't reporting anything new about Logan and me. But it doesn't matter. I'm not interested in Jorgen.
"Actually," I say as I lean my elbows on the case. "I've become friends with April Billiott--you know her, right?"
Jorgen's cheeks turn a bit red as he nods. "Yeah, sure I know her."
"Well, she loves fly-fishing, and I've been wanting to try it. I canceled with Mike yesterday as I wasn't feeling the best after my ordeal in the woods."
That lie seems to scrape my throat as it comes up, but Jorgen nods at me in sympathy.
"At any rate, April said you were the best in the business, and she hasn't been in a long time, so I suggested that maybe we could both book an excursion with you. I know I'm going to positively suck at it, so it will be a lot more fun for me to have April with me."
Jorgen doesn't seem to suspect anything's amiss with my story and he nods. "Well, sure, I'd be glad to. How soon do you want to go?"
"Have anything tomorrow?" I ask. It has to be soon, because seriously, after I try to work some matchmaking magic on April and Jorgen, I'm probably going to head back to New York.
"I'm booked late afternoon, but we could go out around ten in the morning. How's that sound?" he says as he looks at a spiral-bound calendar beside his register.
"Perfect," I say with true delight. This is turning out to be way easier than I thought.
"All right," he says. "Both of you meet me here about ten tomorrow and we'll head out."
"Great," I say as I head out of his shop, because now I'm on to phase two of my plan. "See you tomorrow."
When I step out of Jorgen's shop, I'm relieved to see Logan's truck is gone. I pull my phone out, taking advantage of the cell coverage, and I dial April's phone.
She answers on the second ring. "What's up?"
"Your mom's giving me a lift over to the store," I tell her as I start heading back to see Sarah, who is waiting for me. I sprung this plan on her this morning and she was all for it. "Then she's going to watch the store while you and I head into Ketchikan."
"What?" April asks with as dumbfounded a tone as I'd expect right now.
"We're going to get your hair done; highlights and a trim. Also hit some better stores for more makeup, and maybe some clothes."
"Valentine French," April says in slight exasperation, but with a hint of curiosity. "What the hell are you up to?"
"Just be ready to go," I tell her smugly. "I'll be there in about half an hour."
Chapter 14
Logan
Sarah opens the door to her house and grins conspiratorially as she welcomes me in.
"She up yet?" I ask as I shrug out of my jacket and hang it on the coatrack just inside Sarah's door.
"Nope," she says. "But you're here kinda early for her."
I snicker because it's already 8 A.M., and if Valentine's still in bed, sound asleep, she sure as shit is not going to take kindly to me waking her up.
Oh well.
"You got her dog taken care of, right?" I ask Sarah as I head for the staircase that leads up to Valentine's room.
"Already let the little pissant out this morning when I fed the boys," she says, but I can hear the fondness in her voice. "But he's going to bark at you when you go in her room."
"I'm sure her bark will be worse," I mutter as I start up the stairs.
I was not a happy camper when I saw Valentine yesterday on Main Street, looking once again like she stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. Her clearly expensive tailored and tasteful clothing was a bitter reminder she doesn't fit in here at all.
Not really.
&nb
For all of about five minutes.
But then I remembered that April was sweet on Jorgen, and I knew that Valentine was friends with April, which meant that without a doubt that Valentine did not have her sultry little eyes set on our resident fly master. It only took a quick call to Sarah, who confirmed for me Valentine's nefarious plan to schedule a fishing excursion with April included to hopefully get them to really see each other. Sarah told me all of this with true fondness in her voice for Valentine and her efforts to make her daughter happy. Sarah also divulged to me that Valentine's "big plans" for the day was taking April for a girlie trip into Ketchikan for hair and nails and new clothes. Why they were doing this if they were going fishing the next day was beyond me, but I fully admit I know next to nothing about women. I definitely proved that with Valentine the day before yesterday when I failed to give her the benefit of the doubt.
So yesterday I gave Valentine her space to do what she needed to do with April. I rescheduled the part-time officer in Ketchikan who helps me out on occasion for today.
And right now I square my shoulders and march up the stairs to Valentine's room, because we are going to talk today and we are going to hopefully do it while I'm overwhelming her with a very well laid out plan.
The minute I open her door, Sassy pops her head up where she's lying beside Valentine and issues a little growl in her throat. I halt and wait for her to let loose with a string of yaps, but she just watches me with her head tilted. Perhaps she remembers me from that one time I saved her from a nonexistent bear, or maybe she even has some sort of weird doggy sense that I saved her mother, but she lets me approach Valentine's bed without issuing another sound. In fact, I see her little tail wagging the closer I get.