Page 3 of Uncharted

“Yeah,” he said with a snort. “You’re like…I don’t know, average?”

“Wow!”

“Like, you’re not over tall, or over big, you’re not rough or mean, you’re just…friendly, so you wouldn’t get it.”

“Thanks?”

“I’m a big dude and I look mean as hell,” he said with a shrug. “And yeah, guys, especially smaller guys, feel they need to be careful; it’s kinda different with women.”

I blinked. “That…makes sense, actually. Wonder why I didn’t think of that? Shit, no wonder Mika made fun of me.”

Jake chuckled, and I sighed when his thick fingers rubbed through my hair, tousling it. “You ain’t never had to worry about a woman bein’ scared of you, so it makes sense. Makes sense for him too.”

“Because we look alike,” I said, with a swat at his hand that I knew wouldn’t matter for shit. Jake came from a good-sized family who were as close as they were affectionate. Touch to him was as natural as breathing, and it was just one of those things that was different for me but still…it was Jake, what could I do? “I get it.”

“Nah,” he said, his hand lingering on my head and drifting down the side of my face before he pulled it away. “He’s gay, so he gets it…but he don’t.”

I glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Because you’re right, ya look like each other, so ya don’t, uh…strike fear into hearts.”

I laughed. “You say that as if I should be upset by it.”

“Some guys are,” he said in a tone that said, ‘guys’ should be replaced by ‘morons.’ “But ya both don’t look scary; both act like safe people. He’s just extra safe because he’s gay. Also makes sense he’d give you shit because he’s…super aware.”

“And I’m not aware at all,” I said dryly.

He grinned. “Neither am I.”

“Liar,” I said, playing the game on my own terms and smirking when he sighed. “Well?”

“You’re aware,” he said with more emphasis than I expected. And then he broke and grinned. “Except when you’re not.”

“You have room to talk,” I said, ducking my head to continue sketching.

“You’ve been thinking about your brother since Aidan showed up, while watching them,” he said, emphasizing the last word, nodding at the beavers.

I flushed. “Fuck off.”

He laughed and leaned closer, his body against my shoulders and hips. “You know it’s okay, right?”

“What’s okay?” I asked in exasperation.

He tweaked my nose with a gentle clamp of his finger and thumb, which he knew I hated. “To be worried about your brother. To be thinking about him. And hell, if ya start thinkin’ about your family because some beavers make ya feel sad and lonesome, that’s okay too.”

I smacked his hand away and threw a pine cone at him, making him laugh. “You make it sound so stupid.”

“Eh, feelin’s can be pretty stupid,” he said, picking up the pine cone and examining it. “I remember my mom watchin’ TV once, some nature documentary. She always had that kind of stuff on when she was busy, said just because her career was wife and mother didn’t mean she couldn’t learn things. Always thought it was kinda boring, but she’d tell me that one day I might understand, but it was okay if I didn’t.”

“All this because of beavers?” I asked curiously and eyed his hand. “Or a pine cone?”

“Pine cone,” he told me, and when I raised a brow, he shrugged. “It’s been a while, but it happened.”

“You understanding?”

“Yeah.”

“What or how did you understand?”