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Omg. Again. Sorry. I’ll stop. I think I hit my head. Or maybe I’m still drunk from last night. No morecorny come-ons.
The laugh that escapes me is real this time. This guy seems low key ridiculous. But it is fun. It has been a long time since I’ve had that. Too long. My teeth worry my lip as I carefully type out my reply.
Sounds like you had a night last night. What about you? What’s the story behind your Glitterballz?
It certainly was a night. Well, morning too. I am only just pouring myself into bed.
A photo drops into the chat, and my throat goes completely dry. Shirtless, pale pink nipples, a white sheet, contrasting his vibrant skin, draped carelessly over his carved abs. One arm thrown half over his face, bicep covering one eye, the other peeking through long lush pale lashes. A lazy smile curls on his plush lips.
His face is all sharp angles and soft lines and he is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, that pearl-like skin almost glowing in the hazy early morning light. Another message comes through.
I went a little too hard for a costume party one year and dunked my balls in glitter.
Another bark of laughter escapes me, cutting through the otherwise silent woods. This guy is weird, but he is sure as shit fascinating. Heat curls low in my stomach. Desperate for more of him.
What in the name of the Gods were you going as that needed you to dip your junk in glitter?
I went as a nightclub and they were my disco balls.
I groan, my imagination quickly filling in the tiny gaps in the images pummelling my brain. I scrub a hand over my face and scratch at my closely cropped beard. Another chirp rips through the silence. I really should at least put the thing on vibrate.
I have scared you off, haven’t I?
In my defence, I was 18, and it was a terrible decision. Glitter everywhere for weeks.
Enough about me before I embarrass myself completely. What are you doing up at this insane hour?
Insane? It’s seven in the morning. I’ve been up for hours. Between the morning chores on the homestead and coming out for this—unsuccessful—morning hunt, I had been up well before dawn. Still, I stand and brush most of the leaf litter off myself before snapping a quick selfie, trying to squeeze in as much of the Woods behind me as I can.
It isn’t the best photo; I always look too gruff, my wide smile peeking out from the beard I struggle to maintain, and my dull brown hair, in desperate need of a cut, curling out around my beanie pulled low onto my thick eyebrows.My shifter blood is weakened enough that I am mostly human, but I’m slightly bigger and stronger than most, and my senses work a little better. I also rarely get sick and I get hungrier and hornier around the full moon. I’m also slightly hairier than the average man, but that could have just been the luck of my human genetics, too.
Not wanting to overthink it and chicken out, I drop the photo into the chat thread and pack up my hunting kit. This morning is a bust and I have more chores waiting for me back home.
The hike back to my property isn’t far, but it isn’t exactly a beaten track. No one but me, and the creatures and residents of the Whisper Woods, ever wander this far out of the neutral shared zone of Whisper Woods. Even then, the more unusual inhabitants, the beings that don’t play well with humans, don’t come this far.
Eventually, after a decent trek, and leaving a few offerings for the beings whose territories I cross, I check my phone again, ignoring the little skip in my chest when I see there is another reply fromGlitterballz.
Be still my lumberjack loving heart. Aren’t you just a wet dream wrapped in red plaid? What are you doing out in the Woods today?
I roll my eyes, definitely one hundred percent not blushing. Nope.
I was out hunting. But I didn’t put my phone on silent and somebody’s msg spooked the deer.
I would say I am very sorry but I think I am on team Deer here.
Is that something you do often? Go hunting in the woods?
What else does a handsome hunk of a mountain man do with his days?
I really need to be getting back. I have the chickens to see to, and I need to get the last of the harvest in before the frost begins to set in, plus I have to get organised for a supply run, and a million other little things. Running a mostly self-sufficient homestead on my own isn’t easy; there is always something eating away at my time. But instead of trekking home, I settle myself on a crop of rocks, the chilly stone freezing my damp ass through my jeans, beside the creek that runs through the woods.
You’re ridiculous.
You know that right?
Don't tell anyone, but I’m kind of Team Deer too.
I only hunt when I need to.
