Drilled by K.M. Neuhold

Chapter 4

APOLLO

I spent half the night calculating if it would be at all physically possible for me to rebuild the cabins by myself. A month in the woods alone is a helluva lot more tempting than spending it with Ridge.

Even as I turn onto his street, my foot is firmly on the gas, the impulse to just keep driving almost too much to ignore. I tighten my hands on the wheel as his apartment building comes into view, the man himself sitting on a garden wall right next to the complex’s sign. There’s a duffle bag, a rolled-up sleeping bag, and his toolbox in a heap at his feet, an easy smile on his face as he tilts his face up toward the morning sun. It’s too fucking early in the morning for this shit.

At the last second, I sigh inwardly and slam my foot on the brake, the car screeching to a halt in front of him. Ridge hops off the wall and picks up his things, a swagger in his step as he strides over to the car and reaches for the back door handle. I’m not sure if it’s the ghost of friendship past that possesses me or simple muscle memory, but as soon as he makes a grab for the door handle, I ease the car forward, sending him lurching.

Ridge curses loudly. I can’t see his face from my vantage point, but I’d have to guess that he’s glaring at me. It’s immature, I know, but when we were sixteen, this shit was the height of comedy. I’d keep it up until he would be calling me all kinds of a motherfucker, laughing and pissed off at the same time.

That memory sobers me. We’re not sixteen anymore, and we’re not friends. I throw the car into park so I’m not tempted to goof around anymore, and Ridge makes a successful grab for the handle this time, tossing his stuff into the backseat next to mine and then climbing into the passenger seat.

“What are you, sixteen?” he complains as he buckles his seatbelt.

I grunt in response and then grit my teeth when he puts a foot up on the dashboard. Not only is he getting dusty boot prints all over the place, but if there was an accident, he’d snap his damn leg. I’m about to bark this childishly obvious information at the jackass when my eyes snag on his shorts riding up his thickly muscled thigh, coarse dark hair covering it.

My cock plumps and my tongue aches to be dragged from his knee all the way up to the crook where his thigh meets his body, where he’s no doubt just a bit sweaty from the morning heat already, the hair getting even thicker and his—

I give myself a quick mental shake.

I am so not fucking going there. Not with Ridge. Not after all this time. No.

I make an annoyed sound and slap his calf with the back of my hand to get him to put his damn leg down. Then I distract myself by typing the coordinates into my GPS.

Those few seconds are long enough for me to get a handle on whatever hormone-addled, sex-starved fantasies my brain was attempting to come up with.

“Listen, Pol, we’ve got a long four weeks ahead of us,” he says as soon as I get us on the highway. I make a noise of agreement, kind of hoping we can leave it at that. It is going to be a long four weeks. And I’m sure the woods will be plenty big enough for me to avoid him as much as humanly possible. “I want to explain—”

Nope. No. Hearing Ridge’s explanation for why he left my sister at the altar on their fucking wedding day is right up next to sex fantasies about him on the hell fucking no scale.

I reach over and crank my music up to an obnoxious volume in order to tune out whatever he says next. To his credit, he gives shouting over Led Zeppelin a fair shot, but luckily, I don’t catch a word of his explanation. The last thing I need is to hear whatever bullshit he’s come up with to excuse how he acted. The way he threw everything away.

Eventually, he gives up, crossing his arms like a bratty child and looking out his window for the rest of the drive.

Cole wasn’t kidding when he said this place was remote. At least there’s a paved road the whole way, even if there are potholes and weeds growing through the cracks in it. The sign that reads Camp Morningwood is hanging by one nail, a spider web covering it. Jesus, this place needs a fuck of a lot of work. And we’re the poor bastards getting paid to do it.

We pull inside and eye the half dozen cabins in various states of collapsing in on themselves. I sure hope this guy hired a grounds crew as well because taming the knee-high grass isn’t anywhere in my job description.

I park in front of the sturdiest-looking cabin. Actually, it looks damn good. The door is intact, and the roof passes a quick eyeball test.

“Home sweet home,” Ridge mutters, clearly drawing the same conclusion I am.

We get out of the car, and I’m immediately swarmed by gnats buzzing around my face and tickling my nose. I swat at them and growl.

“It looks like you might have some competition for the most annoying fucking thing in these woods.”

“That’s possibly the nicest thing you’ve said to me in fifteen years,” he deadpans. I frown, a pang reverberating in my chest at the reminder.

“I stand corrected,” I mutter, flinging my duffle over my shoulder and carefully navigating the loose steps into the cabin, already making mental notes of where to get started on everything.

The cabin itself is a single room, rusty bunkbeds lining the walls. There are two single beds on opposite sides of the room that look to be in decent shape. Ridge strides in behind me and claims the nearest single bed, tossing his bag down on it and then plopping his ass down on the thin mattress and bouncing up and down. The bed frame creaks and trembles, but the mattress itself seems to be one of those cheap foam pads, so it holds up just fine.

There isn’t even a bathroom in the cabin. I’m hoping the one we saw tucked between the cabins a few buildings down isn’t in too bad of shape. Checking it out will be my first priority, so we have access to a shower and toilet.

I put my duffle and sleeping bag down on the other bed. It’s early enough in the day that we have a good eight hours of sunlight to make some headway on things. Right after I take a piss and clear out the firepit, so we have something to cook over later.

With a plan in mind, I head toward the door, but Ridge hops up off his bed and blocks my way, drawing an irritated sound from my throat.

“One minute to explain,” he bargains.

“No,” I growl, fixing him with my most menacing glare to get his ass out of my way. I should’ve known that shit wouldn’t work on him the way it works on everyone else. He draws himself up taller and stares right back, defiant and determined, his jaw set and his nostrils doing the stupid flare thing they’ve always done when he gets himself worked up.

“Move,” I rumble, taking a step into his space, bringing us nose to nose, chest to chest. His breath hitches and his eyes go wide. I could swear his gaze drops to my lips for half a second, but I’m sure I’m imagining things. “Move.” This one is a low, ominous growl and finally does the trick.

Ridge steps out of my way, and I stomp past him, adding take a walk to clear my head so I won’t punch that asshole to my immediate list of priorities.

RIDGE

My heart is hammering, and my cock is hard as Apollo storms out of the cabin, letting the rickety screen door bang closed behind him. I let out a slow breath and attempt to get my body under control. I’ve had way too many fantasies that start with a long-overdue confrontation with Apollo and end…well, not with him walking out, let’s put it that way.

It’s so typical Apollo. When I started dating Anna, he refused to acknowledge it for months, getting up and walking out of the room any time I tried to bring it up. When his parents were separated for a few months while we were in high school, his mom ended up sending him to a therapist because she was convinced he needed to talk about it. He literally spent four sessions sitting in complete silence until his mom gave up and agreed he didn’t have to go anymore.

The more I think about it, the more my skin prickles with irritation and the muscles in my shoulders tighten. It must be fucking nice to go through life refusing to deal with anything that doesn’t suit you. Maybe if he would pull his head out of his ass for two seconds and let me explain, we’d actually be able to sort this shit out.

I’m not delusional enough to think he’d want to date me or anything, but finding our way back to friendship would be nice. But no, Apollo can’t be bothered with that shit. He’s so sure he fucking knows everything and won’t stoop so low as to hear my side of the fucking story.

I need to do something physical, or I’m going to end up chasing after that stubborn jackass and more than likely ending up in a fistfight with him. Dismantling beds that are beyond saving was part of our list of shit to do, so I head back out to his car and grab my toolbox to get to work.

It doesn’t take much to get each one apart, the screws holding them together mostly half ready to fall out on their own. There are a few that are too rusted to get out, so I end up with some large pieces to haul as well. Where the fuck Apollo got off to is anyone’s guess. Maybe he got eaten by a grizzly. It would serve him right.

While I haul the rusted hunks of metal to the set of large dumpsters we had delivered for the month, I get a lay of the land as well, scoping out the semicircle of cabins, the overgrown fire pit area in the center, the stone building in the middle that’s labeled showers, and, of course, the massive pile of wood that was delivered for us.

Flies and mosquitoes buzz around me, attracted to the sweat dripping down my forehead and soaking my shirt as I work. And while I dismantle and haul, my muscle memory takes over and my mind wanders to other things. Namely, how I’m going to make this time with Apollo work.

Clearly, trying to out-stubborn him isn’t going to cut it. He’ll win at that game every damn time. But that’s just the thing. When we were friends, I never tried to meet him on his level. I found ways to coax him out of his hard shell. Maybe that’s what I need to do now. If he doesn’t let me explain yet, then fine, I won’t explain. And if he wants to be all growly and scowly at me, cool, it’s not like it’s anything new. That doesn’t mean that I have to follow suit.

I’m going to remind him what our friendship was like.