The Humming of a Gymnast
(HANK)
Log Entry. 2003-06-25 Day 1,292.
The kid’s a damn machine. Not the kind that breaks. The kind that learns.
I kept him on the shaker for the next shift. A punishment for most. For him, it was a lesson. And he learned it. I watched his body adapt, his stance becoming even more rooted, his movements more economical. He didn’t fight the vibration anymore; he rode it. Like it was a current and he was just floating on it. He’s a natural.
The safety watch rotation came up today. Standard procedure for the high-risk stuff—tripping pipe, handling the heavy lifts. Normally I'd rotate it among the senior crew. Keep the experienced eyes where they matter.
I’ve assigned Evans. Will see how he does tomorrow.
Dex and the others had given up on the hazing. They saw what I saw I figured. The quiet focus. The stubborn set of his jaw. The kid wasn’t going to break. He was just going to get better. A flicker of something—not respect, not yet after only five days, but the precursor to it—passed through the crew. They left him alone. Jonesy continues to watch him carefully. Like he’s a proud father. I’m watching him with a tad different look now.
Yesterday’s shaker experience was behind us, and Evans seemed to be watching me more closely since. When I arrived on the drill floor, he was already there, as if he was waiting for me. I called Evans over before the operation started. He came quick, that efficient walk of his, stopping a respectful distance away. Waiting. His eyes were curious but steady.
"You're on safety watch," I told him, my voice flat, professional. "That means you stand there." I pointed to the designated zone, a steel platform overlooking the drill floor. "You don't move. You don't take your eyes off the operation. If you see something wrong—a cable fraying, a load shifting, a man in the wrong place—you hit the emergency stop. No hesitation. No asking permission. You hit it. Understood?"
He nodded, his jaw set. "Understood."
Dex raised an eyebrow. Didn't say nothing, but I saw it. Let him wonder. The kid's got good instincts. Fast reflexes. He proved that on the shaker. He's earned the chance to prove it again.
I stepped closer, dropping my voice so only he could hear. "It's not a punishment, Evans. It's a trust position. The safety man is the only one who can stop the whole operation. I need someone whose eyes I trust."
Something flickered in those storm-grey eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or something warmer. He just nodded again, firmer this time.
I watched him take his position. He stood exactly where I'd told him, feet planted, arms loose at his sides. His gaze swept the floor constantly, methodically. He didn't fidget. Didn't check his watch. Just watched.
The operation ran smooth. Four hours of precise, dangerous work. Four hours of knowing, every time I looked up, his eyes were on me. On everything. Protecting us all.
When it was done, I walked over to him. He was still standing there, not having moved an inch.
"Good work," I said. Just those two words. But I let them land.
He gave me a small nod, a tiny almost-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Any time."
I turned away before I could do something stupid, like reach out and touch his shoulder. Like thank him for making me feel, for the first time in years, like someone was watching my back for more than just professional reasons. I felt lighter. Happier almost, just having him at my side.
I watched him constantly afterwards. When he passed by. Or I found myself wondering where he was. What he was doing. He was always working hard. Always busy. Always smiling when he saw me.
That tug in my groin now more and more evident. Every single time he smiled back at me.
Near the end of the shift, a sensor line on the mud pump manifold clogged. It’s in a tight access panel, a job for a man with narrow shoulders. I looked over the crew. My eyes landed on Evans as naturally as I could muster. He was already looking at me, like he felt my gaze. I jerked my head. “You. Evans. With me.”
It felt nice to have him at my side. Felt right. Yesterday he followed me around like a puppy dog. Now it seemed like I was the one hunting him. First time I wasn’t looking forward to my shift ending.
I think I might have been smiling when I led him down a narrow metal staircase, the clang of our boots echoing in the confined space. The pump room was louder than the deck, a deafening, rhythmic thump-Thump-THUMP that made the grates under our feet tremble. I pointed to a low hatch, barely three feet high.
“In there. Sensor’s at the back. Red wire. Clear the line. Don’t touch anything yellow.”
He just nodded with that same focused look in his eyes. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled inside before I realized I was staring at his firm round ass. His shoulders were broad for his size. For a moment I worried he’d get stuck. But his size should still fit. I stood guard snapping myself back to my role, trying to not focus on reaching out and grabbing those muscled looking glutes. My large frame blocked most of the light from the doorway. I stood there listening to the scuffling and metallic taps from within of the little gymnast trying to regain my admiration. As if he lost it over the late morning.
The humming started again. Softer this time, almost lost in the pump’s roar. But I heard it clearly. A low, steady frequency of a song I knew. For the life of me I couldn’t place it, but the tune was familiar, distinctive. He wasn’t pissed or scared this time. He was using it to work. To keep him calm.
He was in there for ten minutes. I didn’t hurry him. Rushing in a space like that gets you killed. I just waited, listening to his humming, thinking what a beautiful voice he must have if he could hum like that, trying to figure out what the song was as I listened to it. Just couldn’t place it yet.
Finally, he backed out, covered in a fresh layer of grease, a small, specialized wrench in his hand. He stood up, wiping his face with the back of his arm, leaving a black smear across his cheek. I resisted wiping it away with my grubby thumb. Just gave him a smirk, trying to ignore how fucking cute he looked.
“It’s clear,” he said, his voice raised over the pump. “The gasket on the T-joint is weeping, though. Might want to get it looked at.”
Impressive. He wasn’t just clearing a clog. He was diagnosing the problem like he could see the whole system.
I stared at him. The grease on his face made him look even more endearing, those determined grey-green eyes focused on me for approval and the way he held the wrench seemed like it belonged to him. I noticed the humming had stopped.
He met my gaze, and for the first time, he didn’t look away. He was waiting for me to say something or give him my dismissal.
But I was lost in those green-grey eyes, and the line of grease now gracing his blemish free cheek. My eyes drifted. To his full lips. And for the first time I wondered what it would be like to kiss them. Right here, right now. To suck in someone else’s breath once again. To feel his tongue dancing with mine. To close my eyes and feel my body responding with pleasure. I felt my face grinning. I think I moistened my lips with my tongue. I almost reached out.
Instead, he asked a question. His voice was quieter now, but his eyes never wavered. “Why do you pretend your journal is a machinery log?”
The world stopped for a moment as I felt a surge of fear rise through me. The pump, the rig, the whole damn ocean was suddenly gone from my ears. And I just froze. My blood went cold, then hot. That journal was under my bunk, locked in a box, private. Mine.
My face hardened into its usual mask. My voice dropped to its most dangerous, gravelly tone. “What did you say?”
He didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, with a cocky little grin on his face, holding my gaze, his own eyes squinting in an intelligent and unflinching confidence. “The book. On your desk. I saw it the other day. The cover says ‘Pump Maintenance.’ But the spine is cracked from use, and the pages are filled with words not numbers.” He paused, his eyes flicking over my face, reading the shock I was fighting to control. “You write in it every night? Besides the actual log book that you keep I mean? If so then I’m impressed.”
The silence that stretched between us was louder than any pump. He’d been watching me. Just like I’d been watching him. But he was more invasive. Did I leave it out? I do that sometimes, but that’s why I have the fake cover. I was sure I put it away. I always put it away.
I took a step forward, crowding him in the small space. My shadow engulfed him. I could see the quick pulse in his throat. He was scared now, but he held his ground.
“What were you doing in my room, roustabout?” I growled, the words low and deliberate.
He stalled for a moment before he looked up at me, the smile on his cute face slowly fading. “I had a question the other day, about cleaning the pump when I saw the Pump Maintenance manual on your desk. I was just going to look up the last scheduled cleaning, to take initiative, but then I opened it and….” He stopped and I could feel the fury being masked by my own embarrassment.
What did he read?
I simply waited for him to ask me why I was writing about him. Or my fears. Or who was Jim. I could feel my hands balling into fists at my side.
“I didn’t read it.” He swallowed hard, looking like he was suddenly afraid for his life. “I was just surprised to see so many words. I didn’t expect….” He stopped again and his eyes flicked up to mine. I nearly exploded.
“DIDN’T EXPECT WHAT?!?!” My voice was louder than I intended. I could feel the control slipping away. He flinched, taking a step backwards from me, giving me a deep, penetrating look, before I continued in a voice I didn’t recognize. “You know nothing about me Evans! Be careful where your eyes go and what your mouth says!” I felt my fists squeeze harder and my jaw clenched.
I turned in a huff and walked out of the pump room, leaving him standing there in the thunder of my retreating steps.
I stormed into the pump room, slamming an open palm onto a door, finding a moment alone to regain my composure. I grabbed a railing and squeezed it tight in my hands as my eyes closed. My heart was pounding like I’d just run a mile.
“Never would have pegged you for a fag.” I heard Bob’s voice again in my head, followed by Evans’ buttery voice “I didn’t expect…”
I finished his words in my own head: a man like me. He saw me as a brute. A big, stupid ox. All brawn, no brain. But now he knew my inner thoughts. And it surprised him.
He read it, I know he must have, or he wouldn’t have asked. And I reacted without thinking, without any control. Confirming for him that I was an imposter after all. Just a stupid brute. Reactive and scary.
My eyes blinked open and I rocked back and forth as I realized what I was reeling from. He struck a nerve. His quick assessment felt like a betrayal. Again. I reacted like a monster.
The real, dangerous question wasn't about the journal and what he read. It was why I felt so out of control by that one sentence from Noah Evans than I ever had standing naked in a room full of men.
Log Note: Evans mastered the shaker. Efficiency rating: 95%. No complaints. Assigned him to safety watch and he performed without error. Calm. Focused. Will assign him again tomorrow. I’ll teach him the ropes. See how trustworthy he can be.
End Log.
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(NOAH)
The silence he left behind was more deafening than the pump.
My own heartbeat thundered in my ears in a frantic, panicked rhythm. It was familiar, like in court when they called me a liar. When they asked me about my relationship with Liam. When they suggested I wanted a father figure in Coach Peter Roberts. When they tried to tell the jury that Roberts was the victim here. When they suggested I made up the story about being abused to hide my own deviation.
Like that panicked rhythm of my heart when Coach Roberts threatened me. When he told me I needed to say I wasn’t molested at all, but had wanted every last inch of him. “Or else.” He had said.
That same racing heartbeat when I heard that he too killed himself.
Because of me.
It was the same feeling. The same thundering full body panic. The same reaction I was having now. I ruined it with Richardson. It was all my fault. And now he hated me.
“You must have really pissed him off there, Sweet Cheeks.” I heard beside me.
I jerked my head sideways, coming out of my trance to see Dex, standing directly to my right, smelling like grease and sweat, with a sneer taking over half his face. And the rhythm inside me picked up, faster, my body starting to shake.
“I’ve never heard Richardson yell like that. What the fuck did you do?” Dex shifted, putting a hand on the railing behind me.
I looked up at the harsh face of the big brute looking down at me, watching his eyes trail down my body, his grin turning into a lecherous one as his eyes found their way back up to my own. My heartbeat was frantic, and my body was telling me to run.
“Maybe you should avoid Richardson for a bit. And come with me…you slippery little snake….” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down and I gave a weak attempt and tried to escape.
But his strong arm gripped me, his fingers digging into my bicep and his stale breath was at my face.
“I said we’d finish this, and it’s about fuckin’ time we did….” He moved in closer to me and I heard him inhale as if he was smelling me as an inspection, “I’m done being patient. My bunk this time. Right now.”
I stopped short in my tracks, shaking more. The feeling of being humiliated at my own stupid inquisitive nature about Hank’s journal almost forgotten as my body responded to this more immediate threat.
“Or what?” My jaw was clenched tight, so my voice came out in a grunt. I waited for the response I was expecting to hear.
Dex’s grip didn’t loosen. He was strong, bigger than me, stockier than me by far, despite my build. “Or what? You think you got a choice right now pipsqueak? Or you want me to invite Sully? Is that it? You want us both? That it? I was going to take it easy on you this time, but maybe you need us both to teach you a fuckin’ lesson. So, stop playing around you little cock tease and let’s go!”
I glared at him, trying to calm my shivering body, but neither of us moved. He just licked his lips, holding my gaze.
“Or maybe I drag you right to Richardson and tell him what you are, offering to suck our dicks like the little fag we knew you were. How do you think he’d respond to that, huh? Now that he’s already pissed at you for something. This will just seal the deal, won’t it?” His voice was gruff in my ear as he twisted my arm upwards.
I could feel the well of emotions rushing through me. Dex must have sensed me weakening, giving in, because his voice changed, quieter, soothing as his eyes scanned the area we were in.
“Or we just keep this all between us and you just relax and we have a little fun. So you decide how this is going to go. Got it?” His grip lightened and I let him turn me around, guide me down off the deck to the narrow corridor. He didn’t remove his hand, just steered me forward, moving me in front of him when the corridor got narrower, or other guys passed us. He never spoke again, just directed me towards a busier section, into the lower deck, towards our bunk rooms.
We ended up at his quarters, where he stopped and opened the door with his free hand, checking the corridors, waiting for a clear moment, before he gently pushed me into the narrow bunk room and closed the door behind him.
I was too stunned to move, shaking too much to do anything but freeze and go along with him.
“Hey hey hey.” His voice was back to the soothing one, the quiet shyer guy from the shower, trying to calm me by moving his hands up my arms and to my shoulders, where his fingers began to work themselves into my neck muscles as he stood directly in front of me. “Stop shaking. I know you want this. I know you like it.” He gave me a warm smile. “I’ll take it easy on you I promise. I’m not gonna like rape you or anything. I just want a blow job. Like last time. This mouth is fuckin’ talented. Sully can fuck you cause he’s into that. But it’s just us here. So be a good boy and put those sweet lips to work, just like you did in the shower. Okay?”
His words hit me, good boy, triggering something else inside me that made me look up into his face. He was smiling and I felt myself shrinking, disappearing, fading away.
“Shhhhh. It’s okay. Just relax.” He was quieter now, his strong hands working themselves into my flesh through my coveralls.
Then he was pushing my shoulders down.
I looked at him, leaning against the door, grinning down at me as he undid his coveralls, pushing them down to his waist, revealing his beefy body in a gray tee. Then he lowered the waist of his coveralls, and pushed them down with his underwear and his heft cock flopped out before my eyes.
And my eyes noticed where he was standing. He was blocking my exit this time. I was trapped in his room.
“Don’t fight it.” I heard Coach Roberts’ words floating in my head as I watched Dex grab his cock and start to stroke it a bit, making it harder as he grinned down at me.
I sat on my heels, staring ahead, watching the head of his dick move closer to me as I heard Dex talking.
“Open up pretty boy. You know you want it.”
I closed my eyes and leaned forward, taking in the scent of him as I swallowed him down. My mouth widened as he filled it with his meat. I wrapped my lips around it, breathing through my nose, taking him all the way to the back of my throat. I gagged once, but I kept my hands on my knees, and worked my mouth around him. I didn’t want to touch him. I didn’t want to do anything. But I started to work it like I knew how. As a good boy.
His hand touched my head but I didn’t open my eyes. I felt his fingers gently holding onto me, sliding in to my hair, using my head as he slowly face fucked me.
I don’t know where I went, but it wasn’t here. I wasn’t in the room. I wasn’t sucking Dex’s cock. I was somewhere else.
I didn’t hear the sounds he was making. I didn’t hear the slurping of my own doing. I only realized he was close when he closed his fingers around my hair and I was gagging on it as he thrust deeper into me.
I choked a bit when he came, my hands out suddenly, grabbing hold of his legs as I tried to push back but his hands held me in place as his body spasmed. Warm salty liquid cascaded down my throat as I tried to swallow it all, making more sounds as he bucked into me wildly.
I heard his groans and grunts above me more clearly now, as if I was back in the room, my hands trying to push his big legs backwards, until I felt his cock softening in my mouth and he allowed me to pull off.
I could see the softening head, covered in my spit and remnants of his cum before my eyes. Something in me snapped and I rose to my feet and pushed him back against the door, catching him off guard with his dick hanging out of his pants. I shoved him sideways with a roar and heard the sound of a grunt coming out as he hit the wall beside him. I moved out of his grasp quickly, my agility no match for his brute slow strength. I reached for the now accessible door and was back out in the corridor before he could catch me.
No one was there to block my dash this time. I didn’t run into any big man, naked or otherwise.
I didn’t hear Dex’s voice calling out for me until I rounded the corner.
“See you in the showers, Sweet Cheeks!” I heard Dex’s voice holler out before I heard the sound of his door closing loudly.
I hurried down the corridor, finding my way out of Dex’s area and back to my own corridor and my own room and flopped down on the bed. What did you just do? The words echoed in my head, a scream of pure stupidity. My shift wasn’t even technically over, and here I was pacing like a caged animal in my cabin, hiding from everyone, feeling more ashamed than ever.
I broke down right there in the middle of my room and cried. A complete mess. My mind flashing to the feeling again of being used, then shifting to Richardson, and how angry he was about me finding the journal.
I reached for a bottle of water I had beside my bed and drank it down, washing away Dex, and my shame.
I tossed the empty bottle aside and looked up at my ceiling. I was too weak for this rig. I was still a scared boy. I always asked too many questions. Found myself in stupid situations. Poking a bear with a stick I always seemed to carry.
Be careful where your eyes go and what your mouth says!
Hank the Tank’s words echoed in my head as I tried to rid the image of Dex pulling me into his room. Yet Richardson seemed to be my focus. Not Dex and being forced to suck him off. I was more worried about Hank, and what he now thought of me.
The threat in Richardson’s voice wasn’t a joke. I’d crossed a line and trespassed into an area he kept private. And for what? To prove I was observant? To show him he wasn’t alone? That I too kept a journal and wrote all my thoughts down to get them out of my fucking head so I didn’t kill myself?
My laser focus went back to Hank, and what I did. I thought I was being cute, telling him about his journal I found. After spending the day by his side yesterday, and his obvious trust in me in assigning me new tasks, I wanted to tell him I knew, because I was feeling the same way about him. But it came out wrong. He reacted unexpectedly.
I was suddenly more scared of Richardson than I was of Dex, or Sully, or anyone.
I broke his trust in me. Now I needed to fix it. I wasn’t going to run away this time. I wasn’t going to be used anymore. I’d had enough.
I stumbled back out of my own room and raced back towards the drill floor. It was a reckless, dangerous impulse, but I knew I had to do it before I had to face another twelve-hour shift under the gaze of a man who probably wanted to throw me over the railing now. The new shift was already starting, the old crew still finishing up, starting to power down equipment. I saw Richardson head towards the small, isolated tool locker at the far end of the deck, the one used for specialized, rarely needed gear. It was a closet, barely big enough for two people.
My pulse kicked into a gallop. This was it. Stand up for yourself Evans, I said to myself. Tell him you’re not a threat. Tell him his secret is safe. It’s now or never.
I waited thirty seconds, then followed, my boots echoing softly on the steel grating. The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and slipped inside.
He was there, his back to me, reaching for a socket wrench on a high shelf. The confined space was instantly filled with his presence, the scent of oil and hard work. He went still, but didn't turn around.
“I’m sorry.”
The words rushed out of me, too loud in the small, metal box.
He slowly lowered his arm and turned. In the dim light of the single bulb, his dark stubble from the day’s shift shadowed his face even more, making his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak – just waited. His silence frightened me more that I realized.
“The journal,” I pressed on, my voice steadier now. “It was none of my business. I was… out of line. I just… notice things. It’s a habit. A bad one. And I keep finding myself in stupid situations, apparently.”
I took a shaky breath, holding his gaze, trying to project every ounce of sincerity I possessed.
“I won’t… I would never say anything to anyone. It’s yours. Whatever it is, whatever you write, it’s safe.”
For a long moment, he just looked at me. His eyes seemed to soften and I thought he actually might tell me something. They were searching, flicking back and forth from my eyes, his lips pursed, his jaw tight. He suddenly looked handsome instead of scary, or maybe it was because I did read what he wrote about me, and Jim. And I was looking at him in a different light, one that I completely understood and drawn to.
Even though, I braced for the growl and harsh dismissal, for the cold fury he was brewing up behind that suit of armour he wore. A suit I knew all too well.
But it didn’t come.
He took a single step forward. There was barely a foot of space between us now. I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted to escape. But this rhythm was different. I wasn’t scared.
Fuck he is huge. I suddenly thought. He was so much bigger up close. He was all muscle, radiating heat in the mere inches between us. And for a moment I felt that racing heartbeat warn me. I was alone with him. And he could do anything to me right now.
His gaze dropped from my eyes, down to my cheek, then back up. His own voice, when it came, was a low, quiet rumble, that lacked the usual rough edge. “I know you wouldn’t, Evans.”
He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. His eyes narrowed at me not in anger, but in a kind of recognition, like he knew for some reason I was trustworthy. He knew I read it, or read something, and he wasn’t going to punish me for it. My warning subsided, but my heart kept pounding.
He held my gaze for a second longer, then reached around me, his arm brushing my shoulder, and pushed the door open. Light and sound flooded back in.
“Shift’s over,” he said, his tone back to its normal, gruff clip. But the look in his eyes, just before he turned away, was anything but normal.
“I have a journal too!” I blurted out, stopping him in his tracks. I waited, wondering if he would turn around. But he just stood there, the width of him taking up the entire walkway. I watched his shoulders slowly moving up and down as he breathed evenly. “I write about Liam. My teammate. My…” I hesitated, looking around to make sure we were still alone, “…my boyfriend. Well, former boyfriend. He died. He…committed suicide.”
Hank’s head turned almost directly to me, over his shoulder, his eyes wider. I watched his shoulders freeze, his chest taking in one inhalation and then seemed to hold. I took a deep breath too, feeling like I owed him something, some sort of vulnerable confession since I broke his trust and read a snippet of his private journal.
“There was a coach. From our team. Who…abused him. The coach abused me too. Before I knew what it was. Liam and I sort of found each other. We didn’t know what the coach was doing to either of us. Liam killed himself over it. I went to the police. The coach was charged, but he killed himself too. And it was all because of me.” I could feel the emotion swelling and I saw the mountain shift, turning to face me, his eyes narrowed, looking down on me with a different look.
“I came here to get away from it all. To forget them. To escape. And I can’t seem to! It’s like no matter where I go and what I do I’m just a scared little boy being forced to do things, and I can’t seem to help it, or stop, and then I went and did something even worse by reading YOUR journal, and you’re like the one guy I respect here the most, and I’m so sorry!” I could feel the tears before they escaped and I quickly covered my face in complete embarrassment. I was having another breakdown, right here before this giant man.
He took two steps towards me, covering the distance quickly before he stopped directly in front of me and put those big hands on my arms. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me any of this.” He said quietly, his deep baritone voice barely a rumble over the sounds of the rig, gripping my biceps as if he was trying to stop me from crying or saying anything more.
It took me a moment to regain my composure, but I did, taking a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.” I said again, and looked up at him. He was so tall, standing over me, looming over me, holding me by the arms. But for the first time, being this close to another man, as he held me dangerously close by the arms, I wasn’t scared of him. I knew from what I read that he too had things to hide. “But I feel like I owe you something. I read something personal and I broke your trust. I wanted to tell you that I get it. And I don’t want you hating me. I don’t want to be scared anymore. I don’t want to be used anymore. I don’t want to do that anymore. I just want someone to…I don’t know! Be NICE to me. I NEED someone to just be NICE to me. And when I read your journal, I thought you needed someone too. For two days now I have been torturing myself on what to say to you when I had the chance. And then I blew it because you just saw me as a little shit that read your diary. I’ve done so many stupid things. I can’t have you hating me too. So I want you to know all this about me, because I don’t want to hide. I want you to trust me. I mean I literally look up to you, not just in a boss-worker way, but in a different way. And maybe I was just hoping that you might feel the same way. But I’m probably being stupid, and after what I did, you probably do hate me anyway.”
I stopped, panting, realizing I had just gone on a stupid rant, letting everything out all at once. I stood there, my chest heaving, looking up at the big brute, his handsome face concentrating solely on me, his hands still gripping my arms.
Hank looked down at his own big hands on me, as if he suddenly realized he was holding me. He let go of me and took a step back, staring at me, before he shook his head from side to side. “No, I don’t hate you Evans. And you don’t owe me anything.” He pursed his lips together before he blinked rapidly at me. “Honestly. You don’t. But thank you for sharing…all that.” He stopped for a moment, and gave me a soft smile. “Do you always talk this much?”
I let out a surprised snort, looking up to see that small smile and the kindness in his eyes. I could hear the shallow breaths I was taking, wondering what I was going to say next, wondering what he would do. I could smell him, this wonderful blend of grease and man and HIM all right there before him. This was the first time I wasn’t afraid of a man. The first time I wasn’t questioning what he was thinking.
I wanted to reach out, to touch him, to tell him everything was okay, or even better, for him to reach out and touch me, to tell me the same.
He turned again and walked away, leaving me standing there, panting like I’d run a marathon, watching his broad back and bubbled ass in silent fascination until he turned a corner and disappeared from my view.
I felt like maybe I won him over. Like it was the beginning of a truce, that maybe he was glad to hear he wasn’t the only guy on this rig that wrote thoughts down. Maybe it was my blurting out about Liam and the coach, about escaping, that won him over. Maybe that just meant he needed to keep a better eye on me. But there was something else about that look in his eyes and that soft smile. There was a slight thrill, my heart fluttering rather than pounding, as Hank the Tank Richardson began to intrigue me even more.
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