Gatsby stopped talking and dropped my hand. I wait for him to continue.

“What?” I finally ask. “What did he do?”

Gatsby turns toward me. The only thing I see in his eyes is pain.

“He reached into his backpack and got out a gun. A nine millimeter. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The gun was already loaded, and he pointed it at the sleeping grizzly.”

“Oh my god,” I whisper and put my hands over my mouth. I don’t want to hear what happened next. I can’t stand the idea of someone shooting a sleeping bear.

“I didn’t know how much time we had. But there was no way he was killing that bear while I stood and watched. So I knocked the gun out of his hand. It fell to the ground, and we started to fight over it. He grabbed my hair, and I punched him in the stomach. Somehow, he got on top of me, and then I managed to push him off.

“I have no idea what we were doing really. We were tussling and fighting and grabbing for the gun, paying no attention to the fact that it was a gun or that there was a sleeping grizzly less than fifty yards away.

“And then the gun went off. Startled, I jumped back and saw that Harry was hit. He was crying and moaning and holding his right shoulder. Blood was gushing out all over his arm. I froze. I didn’t know what to do.

“It was then that I remembered the bear. He wasn’t that far away from us, and Harry was bleeding so much, I could smell his blood!

“But when I turned around toward the bear, all I saw was his huge behind disappearing into the forest at the edge of the meadow. The gunshot must’ve scared him, and he got the hell out of there. I remember letting out a huge sigh of relief.”

“It could’ve been much worse,” I say. “You were lucky, really lucky. That bear could’ve just as easily rushed both of you.”

Gatsby nods and again looks away. A howl of a wolf pierces the silence.

“The rest of the day was pretty much a blur,” Gatsby continues. “I don’t really remember much of it. But somehow, we hiked the ten miles back to the car. It took much longer than a couple of hours it took us on the way out. Harry could barely move, and I had to almost carry him the whole way. It was pitch black by the time we got to the car and then another hour before we got to the hospital. Our parents arrived when he was almost out of surgery.

“All I remember now about the rest of that day was just how mad I was at him. Oh god, Annabelle, I was just so so mad at him. Why did he bring that stupid gun with him? Why did he want to shoot a sleeping bear? But throughout all that, I wasn’t sorry. I just know that what I did was right. He had no right to take that bear’s life. Harry was wrong and, a part of me was glad that he was in pain.”

I look at Gatsby, and I see just how personal and intimate the story that he had just shared with me is. His eyes are glazed over with a bit of moisture, and he can’t make eye contact with me. I am grateful to him for sharing it with me.

“My days as a ski bum were pretty much done then.” Gatsby gathers his thoughts and smiles.

“Why?” I ask.

“My father had to make a lot of arrangements with his brother, Harry’s father, and the authorities to keep it all on the down low. Secret. To keep the newspapers and the gossip columns out of our business. But not just that, to keep me out of jail.

“Our attorney was flown out from LA, and there were a lot of tense talks with the local prosecutor. Finally, they agreed to defer to Harry and his family. Then we had to wait for Harry to feel a little better so that he could make legal decisions.

“At first, he didn’t want anything to do with it. He wanted me to serve time in jail. He hated me for doing that to him. He was an avid tennis player, and getting shot in the arm was going to put his career on hold, according to him. His father reminded him that he didn’t really have much of a tennis career, but he was still mad as hell. He wanted me to pay for what I did.”

Gatsby smiles and shrugs, as if he finds this whole situation whimsical and humorous.

“I hope you didn’t have the same attitude then that you do now,” I say. He shakes his head. “Of course not. I mean, I did, but I couldn’t show it. They would’ve never let me slide otherwise.”

“So what happened?”

“Harry finally agreed not to press charges. But only in exchange for my father’s beloved fifty-foot yacht in Marina Del Ray. You should’ve seen my father’s face when he asked him for it. I thought father was going to shoot him in the other shoulder just for requesting it.

“But that was all he wanted. And so, very reluctantly, father signed over the Mona Lisa to him for his pain and suffering.”

Everything suddenly becomes very clear to me. Why he is such a reluctant CEO. Why he seems to be running away from his family. Why his brothers have to chase him just to deal with the IPO situation.

“So that’s why you’re the CEO?”

“Yes, partly. I didn’t start out being CEO, of course. But working here is my punishment for what I did. And I also have to pay off the yacht.”

“How much does it cost?” I ask. He takes a beat and smiles.

“Close to a million dollars.”

I lean toward him and plant a kiss on his lips. We are still outside. Lost in the story, we have wandered far away from the lodge. We are all alone, and darkness wraps us in a warm blanket giving us the illusion of privacy.

Gatsby pulls me close to him. He is in control, and I love how this makes me feel. I like him pushing and pulling my body in whatever direction he sees fit. I especially like the thump that my body makes colliding with his.

I feel a shiver of excitement as Gatsby lifts me up in the air. Without giving it a thought, I wrap my legs around his torso and hold on tight. His arms are holding my ass, and I smile when he gives it a few flirtatious squeezes.

Then things get more serious. Gatsby carries me somewhere even darker. All stars disappear from the sky, and all I see are branches. The back of my head hits something hard. It’s a trunk of a seventy-foot pine tree. Luckily, this one has a bare trunk at the bottom and no spiky branches impale me.

Now, Gatsby pushes his body into mine against the tree trunk, and I revel in exhilaration.

He turns me on. Excitement is sparking through me.

Our bodies are intertwined. Gatsby pushes his lips onto mine, parting them forcefully with his tongue.

I moan and bury my fingers in his hair. I want to be close to him. Even closer than we are now. I want the layers of clothes that separate us to disappear.

I want him. All of him. On me and in me.

My wish is his command.

Suddenly, our kissing becomes even more frantic. He drops my legs, and I land on the ground. Shaken from the impact, I am unstable on my feet, and he is forced to hold me up.

He unzips his pants and takes them off over his shoes. I am in my work clothes from earlier that day again. It’s the only thing I have.

He pulls my skirt up toward my waist and then takes a step back in wonderment.

“No panties?”

It’s dark, and he can’t see me blush. I look away. “I’m sorry, we got out of the room so quickly that I couldn’t find them.”

I mumble on, but he is already kissing me. I feel his hands slide down in between my legs. His large cock pushes against my stomach as he pushes me against the tree. I’m in the air, and he is holding me up. I pray that he doesn’t drop me suddenly because this time I will not have the strength to remain on my feet.

He eases himself slowly into me and then begins to move up and down. I don’t know whether he is pushing himself in and out of me or if he’s moving my body up and down the tree trunk. Either way, I am lost in ecstasy.

We orgasm almost at the same time, but he continues to hold me up after he climaxes. Eventually, he pulls out of me, and we drop down to the forest floor.

Intertwining ourselves in each other’s arms, we fall asleep and wake up only when the bright rays of the unforgiving morning sun shine into our eyes.