I can’t get Jacob’s voice out of my head. He’d sounded so passionate, so commanding over the phone, telling me all the things he’d want to do if he had his hands on me. It had somehow been one of the sexiest things I’d ever done, even though we hadn’t even been in the same room when it had happened. I keep replaying it in my head: the things had he said, the way his voice had sounded when he said them, the low growl of confidence in his voice that was so different from his usual awkward charm.

Ever since Jacob and I cleared up our initial misunderstanding, all of our conversations have been flirtatious and fun and just the right amount of romantic. He seems to be having fun too, enjoying this just as much as I am… which is why I can’t figure out why he doesn’t want it to move any farther. I’ve suggested we meet up, but he always changes the subject. I’d certainly think that after the other night he’d be eager to see me, but he won’t plan for it.

I can’t figure out why. All sorts of ideas have danced around in my head about it – everything from he’s lying and really is secretly married to he has some sort of physical deformity and he doesn’t want me to see under his clothes. Maybe he’s a conman, on the run from the law. Maybe he’s worried I’m an undercover cop, ready to bust him. Maybe he’s got an embarrassing secret, like that behind his rugged mountain-man exterior, he’s actually a virgin.

Maybe that’s it, I tell myself to get my mind off the other thoughts. Maybe he’s too shy to tell me this is the most he’s ever done with a woman, that he’s spent so much time alone in his cabin up on the mountain, chopping firewood and making whiskey, because he’s afraid he won’t have the right romantic touch when the right girl comes along. Maybe I’m corrupting him. I actually don’t mind the sound of that – of bringing a reclusive man out of the shadows and teaching him about love. It sounds so exciting, like something out of one of those romance novels my mom used to read, that I stick with it as my theory, even though I don’t actually think it’s true.

I don’t actually think any of them are very likely, but it must be something. I worry, when I’m not imagining scenarios where Jacob is an outlaw, that it’s not him at all. That’s it’s me. That he’s somehow embarrassed by me, or just not that attracted to me beyond considering me something to pass the time up in his cabin. He doesn’t act like that’s the case, but I suppose I can’t rule it out.

 

I frown, spraying down the glass counters at work while I to figure out both Jacob and where this relationship is going. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out, surprised to see I’ve missed a call from Jacob. I hit play on the voicemail and –

And I immediately flush red, glad there are no customers in the store.

“I keep thinking about those sounds you made when you came for me. I can’t wait to hear them again. Maybe this time you could make them under my tongue. I could lick you until you came over and over until you were shaking for me.”

I put Jenny, one of our high school part-timers, in charge for a minute, telling her I need to step out back to make a personal call and listen to Jacob’s voicemail again, hardly believing he’d left me such a filthy message while knowing I was at work. I call him back, whispering even though I’m alone out behind the shop.

“Jacob,” I say, a little breathless.

“So, you got my message, then?” Jacob asks, sounding absurdly pleased with himself. “I thought it might make your afternoon more exciting.”

“I’m at work!” I say, but I’m pleased and more than a little turned on by it all. By the message and by Jacob taking time out of his day for me, wanting to say those things to me.

“That was the idea,” he says. “Are you on a break?”

“Just for a minute,” I tell him, pouting a little about it. “I stepped out back.”

“So, could you still be overheard?” Jacob asks as he’s prompting. “You’re still on the clock?”

“Yes, why?” I ask.

“Really,” he muses, and I flush at how low and dark his tone is. “So, if I were to tell you all about how I can’t get you off my mind today, how I keep thinking about running my hands up your thighs and spreading your legs, you’d have to just listen?” Jacob asks.

I gasp a little and try to swallow it down. “I guess I would,” I say, feeling heat pool through me.

“Good. What if I kept going?” Jacob asks, still so dark.

“With your hands, or telling me about it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low and my words ambiguous.

“Telling you,” Jacob says, laughing. “For now, anyway.”

 

“I’ve only got a few more minutes,” I say. It’s driving me absolutely crazy, not being able to tell Jacob how much I’d like that, how good that sounds. But someone could walk back here at any minute, so I have to pretend this is just a normal call.

“I’ll work fast then,” Jacob says.

“Please do,” I say, biting my lip.

By the time I go back inside a few minutes later, I’m feeling wrecked and desperate, and I briefly consider calling off my shift early with the excuse of a personal emergency so I can run right home and do something about it and touch myself, or call him back and pick up where we left off. But I can’t do that to Martin and the shop, and besides, the more this goes on, the more I need to see Jacob in person if it’s going to continue. To know if we’re as good together in real life as we are over the phone.

I’m distracted the rest of the day at my shift. I have so much trouble thinking about anything but Jacob’s words, even when Martin pulls me aside to talk to me about important things. He asks for my help designing the new shop fliers because of my advertising background, and I’m glad to accept. He also tells me he’s thinking about stepping back a little in the coming months and promoting me to management.

It’s a lot of good news for one day, but somehow Jacob still feels like the best part.