Valentine laughs sweetly as they walk away. "I'm game for anything."
"She's a looker, huh?" Sarah says in a low voice meant to be heard only by me.
"That's an understatement," I say as I lean an elbow on the counter. No sense in denying it.
We both turn our heads and watch for a few moments as April flips through a rack of thermal T-shirts, pulling a dark blue one off and showing it to Valentine. She shakes her head, but April then pulls a pair of khaki cargo pants off from another rack and holds them up together. Valentine shakes her head again. April pushes them at her, insisting she try them on. Valentine's shoulders sag and she takes the clothing. April leads her to the dressing room, snagging a few more thermals along the way and a fleece vest.
"So, you give the girl a ride to East Merritt, then you bring her clothes shopping," Sarah says slyly.
I turn to look back at her with a cocked eyebrow. "Your point?"
"I think this will put you ahead of the others," she says with a shrug.
Frowning, I lean in closer. "Others?"
"Rusty, Portman, and Mike filled me in at breakfast, and apparently she has a few dates lined up this week," Sarah murmurs so her voice doesn't carry across the store.
"With who?" I ask, and try not to sound like I care too much.
Which I really don't, because she's free to date whomever.
Sarah gives into her love of gossip and lays it out for me. "Monte asked her out for tonight, Rusty for tomorrow night, and Mike invited her to go fishing on Sunday. Word is she accepted all three."
"Busy girl," I mutter.
"Yeah, but those are boys...they don't know what the hell they're doing," Sarah says with a wicked gleam in her eye. "You, though...you've saved her butt twice now since she's been here. That's more romantic than anything."
I push up off the counter and hold my hands up to Sarah. "Whoa...wait a minute. I don't have any interest in her like that."
Sarah just stares at me with one eyebrow arched high.
"I don't," I maintain. "I'm just being neighborly."
"Never known you to take a tourist clothes shopping before," she retorts with a smirk.
"Don't even go there," I growl at Sarah.
She shrugs. "Of course, with her history, no wonder she's living it large with all the gorgeous beefcakes around here."
I refuse to engage.
I refuse to engage.
I refuse to engage.
"What do you mean?" I break down and ask.
Sarah leans in closer to me, and I can't fucking help myself...I do the same. She whispers low. "She told me that she had been in a relationship with a man that had a wife and family in another state and she had no clue. I think she's trying to mend her broken heart and picked a pretty remote location to do it in."
Huh...Valentine doesn't seem to me like she's got a broken heart. She's been funny and engaging, and unless my radar is wrong, a little flirty too. Maybe she's here to go a little crazy after having been betrayed?
"So what do you think?" I hear from behind me, and I jolt at hearing Valentine's voice, which is slightly husky...totally sexy. I turn to see her wearing a pair of khaki hiking pants that fit her hips snugly and a long-sleeved thermal in bright white that molds tightly across her breasts.
Well done, April, on the sizing...particularly the top.
"It's nice," I say neutrally.
"Or do you think I should do something like one of these button ups?" she asks as she holds up said shirt in front of her.
But before I can answer, she holds up another shirt. "Or this one?"
Chuckling, I lean back against the counter and give her a lazy smile. "Sorry, Valentine. I hate shopping. You're on your own on this one."
She blinks a few times and stares at me as if what I've said is very weird. But then she shrugs and says, "Maybe I'll buy all three."
--
I give a side glance to my right, eyeballing the three massive sacks of clothes and shoes that Valentine bought at Billiott's. Their stuff isn't cheap, and while I politely walked away while her purchases were ringing up, I know it's a small fortune in threads sitting in this truck between us. This lends to my overall suspicion that Valentine French is not hurting for money. Not only did Valentine stockpile shirts, flannels, Henleys, and thick sweaters, she bought hiking pants, jeans, and even one pair of overalls that she said looked "adorable," and even though they weren't in fashion anymore, she just had to have them. She also bought two pairs of hiking shoes and a pair of rain boots, along with a fleece vest and a down-filled North Face jacket with a hood.
"I think you stripped Sarah of all her stock," I comment as I note Valentine has a very satisfied smile on her face.
"I have to admit," she says in a contemplative voice. "It's kind of fun shopping by myself."
"You don't do that often?" I ask.
"No. I always go with someone, usually my cousin Jeremy."
"He gay?" I ask.
Valentine laughs but assures me, "No, he's as straight as you are. He just likes to shop, is all. Most men I know like to shop."
"Must be a New York thing," I mutter.
"I'm pretty sure you're right about that," she says emphatically. "Although I'm going to kill Jeremy about not adequately informing me about what I'd need for this trip."
"I take it he's been here before?"
Valentine nods. "Fishing trip a few years ago and just raved about East Merritt. I let him make all of my travel and lodging arrangements, and the more I'm thinking about it, I think he knew damn well what he was doing. He's so going to get a piece of my mind as soon as he gets back from his honeymoon."
I chuckle over the vengeful wrath in her voice. "I'm betting those are the first outdoor clothes you've ever purchased, right?"
"Does my fur coat count?" she asks impishly.
I just shake my head and laugh, and even though I'd been telling myself I wasn't going to go there, I fucking go there. "Sarah said you got a date tonight with Monte Plume."
"I do," she says cheerfully.
"And Rusty the following night," I add.
She nods. "He seems very nice, so of course I said yes."
"Good thing you bought some new clothes," I mutter. "Going to need them on your fishing date with Mike."
"Well, when in Alaska, you do Alaskan things," she quips.
"Serial dating isn't an Alaskan thing," I say lightly, to which she gives a hearty laugh.
"You know I was talking about fishing, Logan," she teases me. "But honestly...so many men in this town, I'm not quite sure why serial dating isn't an Alaskan thing."
"You've come to the right place for sure. You know...to get over that whole thing."
"That whole thing?" She sounds genuinely confused.
"Yeah...Sarah said you'd been hurt by a guy. Found out he had a wife and family. I just assumed you're here to sort of celebrate your freedom. You know...remind yourself what a great catch you are and all that."
Valentine doesn't respond, so I turn to give her a brief glance. Her head is tilted and her eyes are slightly narrowed at me. "Wait a minute...do you think badly of me that I've accepted three dates?"
"Not at all," I say adamantly. "I'm all about what's good for the goose is good for the gander. If men can date multiple women, so too can women do the same with men."
I sneak another quick glance at her and I can tell she's testing the weight of my words. Her troubled expression tells me she thinks I'm judging her.
"Listen," I reassure her in a soft tone. "You fall off that horse, you get right back up again. So go on as many dates as you'd like. Nothing holding you back now."
Valentine snickers softly and I turn to look at her again. Her eyes are playful when she says, "I told a fib to Sarah."
"A fib?"
"Yeah," she admits with a guilty tone in her voice. "She was just really nosy as to why I was here in Alaska all by myself. I was tired and hungry and pissed off at Jeremy, and she kept insisting there was some deep a
nd mysterious story that led me to East Merritt. She wouldn't let it go and that sort of just popped out of my mouth. I didn't want her to judge me."
"So there wasn't a relationship gone bad by betrayal?" I ask, to make sure I'm following.
"No." Her grin is sheepish and contrite.
"Then why would she judge you?"
"Because I am here to date," she says brightly, and I almost swerve my truck off the road.
My head snaps right to look at her. "You came all this way to date?"
She shrugs. "Jeremy said the ratio of men to women was crazy skewed in my favor."
"So it's sort of like a smorgasbord?" I ask her dryly.
She laughs, completely unabashed. "That's an excellent way of putting it."
Well, I'll be damned.
Valentine French is here to sow her wild oats, and I'm not sure if that bothers me or not. I wasn't lying to her when I told her I'm all about equal rights for women. There should be no judgment about a woman who wants to have fun like that, because fuck knows, men do it all the time.
And yet the thought of her going out with Monte, Rusty, and Mike all in the same week doesn't quite sit right either. I know it's a double standard, but apparently there is some Neanderthal in me after all.
"You're awful quiet," she murmurs.
"Huh?" I ask as I turn to glance at her briefly before looking back to the road.
"You're judging me, aren't you?"
I put an easy smile on my face and turn back to give her a longer look. "No, I'm not judging you at all."
"Because I don't put out on the first date, you know?"
And this time my truck does swerve slightly and I bring it back under control. "I never thought that, Valentine."
"Okay," she says, then adds, "I just wanted that to be clear. I like to have fun, but I'm not easy."
"Got it," I say with a nod. "Valentine French is here to have fun, but not in an easy way."
"Exactly," she says, and I look back at her one more time to see her beaming at me.
Valentine's Couch: Blog Entry
July 7
Playing the Alaskan Field
So I did it.
I picked up the gauntlet my cousin Jeremy threw down and I came to Alaska. Of course I brought Sassy with me, and I've been told that she's in danger of being eaten by bears. But that's been the only ominous thing here so far.
I haven't decided how long I'm going to stay, but you can rest assured, Valentine's Couch will keep you completely updated on my escapades as I figure out who's better, the metrosexual or the lumberjack.
So far, I can assure you that the men are plentiful here, and while I was eating dinner my first night in a delightful local establishment that makes a mean caribou stew--not kidding about that--I was asked out by three different men.
And you know me, faithful readers...I accepted!!!
The first one I'm going out with is an honest-to-God lumberjack, so this will set the bar high for future comparisons.
First impression of Alaskan men:
They are big. They have muscles. They wear a lot of flannel and denim. Beards are the norm. They seem a little desperate (but that could be the fact that there aren't many women here). While this would ordinarily be a turnoff, I have to give them a pass on this one since I'm a rare commodity here. They are friendly. Very friendly. They drive trucks and I like that. It's cold. I had to buy new clothes.
I'll report back after each date, and I'll be scoring the men on the same standard I normally use.
This should be fun.
More to come...
Comments
Love your blog. Can't wait to hear every sexy detail.--D. Avery To hell with dates. If they're big and muscled, take them straight to bed.--K. Hulseman They say everything's big in Alaska. I want to know if that means "everything." Can't wait to read all about it.--J. Gomez Can I say I'm jealous of you right now? I'm so jealous. Tremendously jealous. Have you thought about going out with all three...at once? I'd be green with jealousy.--B. Cranford Yes...what B. Cranford said. Menage a lumberjack!!!--L. Kuhne Don't break too many hearts, Valentine!--A. Cottilard [More Comments] Page 1 of 15
Chapter 7
Valentine
I bask in the warmth of The Wounded Caribou as soon as I step inside. While I have plenty of new rugged clothes to wear, I've not completely abandoned my fashion sense. I chose a pair of dark jeans, a white thermal crewneck, and a dove-gray fuzzy fleece vest. I'd learned that while the mornings are cold, layers are what's required, as it will heat up a bit during the day. Sarah warned me they were calling for rain later this morning, so I put on my new rain boots, and while I don't feel like a complete local as far as my attire, I don't feel like a New York socialite dropped into the middle of the wilderness either.
The air smells like bacon and waffles and I take a deep breath. I scan the interior and it's mostly empty. I've learned very quickly that East Merritt is busy very early in the morning, dead during the day while the men are at work, and then hopping again at night.
My body gives a slight jolt of pleasurable recognition as I see Logan sitting in one of the window booths. His back is to me but I recognize the broad shoulders and dark hair curling over the edge of his gray jacket.
Without hesitation, I walk his way and slide into the seat opposite him. "I'm glad to see you have another jacket to wear. I've still got yours back at Sarah's."
His head tilts up and a slow smile comes to his face. "Well, good morning, Miss French. And I'm not worried about the jacket. I'll swing by and get it sometime."
"I thought it was Valentine," I return with an exaggerated pout over his formality. "It seems we're regressing."
Logan chuckles and picks up a piece of bacon from his plate. He points it at me and says, "It's what all the guys around here are calling you. They think it's high class to call you that since you're clearly a lady of some distinction."
I roll my eyes and snort. "Now that's just sad."
"I agree," he says with a wink, and then adds with flourish, "Valentine."
And wow...I'm so used to people calling me Valley or Val that Valentine sounds unusually exotic coming from Logan. I'm definitely not going to correct him or insist he use my nickname.
The waitress comes over--same one that served us yesterday--and she gives me a tight smile. She's about my age, maybe a bit younger, and quite pretty in an almost Barbie doll kind of way. Golden hair, baby blue eyes, voluptuous figure. Her name tag says Darla.
"You need a menu?" she asks me, her voice bordering on icy. She's holding a tray in one hand that has a coffeepot and a cup balanced in the center.
I turn to look at Logan. "You mind if I eat with you?"
He shrugs. "Suit yourself."
Hmmm...well, that's not exactly a rousing invitation, but I'll take it. I like Logan and he's easy to talk to, and he's so damn easy on the eyes.
I turn back to Darla. "I'll just have a low-fat blueberry muffin and coffee."
"Only muffins we got have fat in them," she says flatly.
Logan snickers.
"Oh, well...then how about two poached eggs--"
"We don't poach eggs here," she cuts me off.
I huff out an exasperated breath and just give into some unhealthy food choices. "Just give me a stack of pancakes and coffee."
She nods stiffly and moves the cup from her tray to the table in front of me. She pours the coffee almost all the way to the top, and then turns around without another word. I shrug, assuming she'll put my order in.
I turn to Logan, who's got his head bent toward his plate, working on his food, but he's got a shit-eating grin on his face.
"What's so funny?" I ask before taking a sip of my coffee so I can make room for the milk and sugar. I grimace at the taste.
"Lots of things," he answers.
"Start with the funniest," I say dryly, doctoring my coffee so it's palatable.
He looks up at me, those blue eyes shimmering with laughter, and oh my God...he
has dimples. How did I not notice that before? And...oh my fucking God...he shaved, and now I can see his dimples, and wow...that face is just...wow. Logan has that proverbial strong jaw and cut cheekbones, and without his facial hair competing, his eyelashes seem even darker and fuller around his eyes.
"I find it hilarious you ordered a low-fat muffin," he says, and I blink for a moment because I'd gotten lost ogling him.
But then I'm back on track. "Why is that hilarious?"
"Because this is Alaska. No one eats low-fat anything."
"Okay, lesson learned," I say with a nod as I lean my elbows on the table. "What's the next funny thing?"
"It's funny the way you've turned this town upside down within just two days," he says.
"What?" I gasp, completely stunned not only by his words but by the fact he's both serious and amused about it.
"Oh come on, Valentine," he teases me. "You've got guys following you around like puppy dogs--"
"I do not," I exclaim indignantly.
"You got three dates in one night," he points out.
Okay...that could be a valid point. "But--"
"And Darla giving you the cold shoulder," he continues, nodding to the left where I see Darla laughing with a few customers as she refreshes their coffee. "You're totally encroaching on prized territory."
"Prized territory?" I'm totally lost. I pick up my coffee and take a sip while I wait for him to explain this to me.
"Do the math, Valentine. I suspect you're a smart cookie," he says.
"I graduated from Columbia," I say absently. "And if my math is right, there's plenty of men for what few women there are here."
"True," Logan says with a nod. "But the men that are sniffing around you...they're the cream of the crop. The ones that know they got a shot with a woman like you. They're the most highly desired men, and so while there may be an abnormally large amount of men here, the women don't necessarily want all of them. They just want a few."
"I don't think I'm following you," I say hesitantly.
Or maybe I don't want to follow his line of reasoning.
"You're gorgeous, Valentine," Logan says matter-of-factly. Like he was discussing the weather. "You're attracting the hot guys. Those are not in infinite numbers here. So you are moving in on prized territory. There are going to be some females--like Darla--that won't like you just because of that."