A feeling hit me. A reoccurring memory. Walking through the forest, the weight of my rifle in my hands, the sound of branches cracking under my boots, the cool air biting at my neck, the smell of gun oil and evergreen up my nose. I used to imagine I was hunting for survival, taking care of my girl. Such an arousing feeling.

Funny how when you’re a kid, you’re aching for responsibility. And when you find yourself saddled with a family, a job, a mortgage, and too many responsibilities, you fantasize about leaving it all.

“That’s sweet,” Heather said quietly. She meant it. Not an ounce of jealousy in her.

“Hey, while we’re here we should get a dog,” I said. “There’s a Lab breeder in the next town.”

“No dogs. Dogs are forever. That’s too much pressure.”

“Heather. You’re married. With children. You’re already tied down.”

“People leave their spouses all the time. People let the grandmas raise the kids. But abandoning a dog? Unforgivable.” There was truth to what she’d said, but she was just fucking with me. One of the effects of your older siblings constantly messing with you during your childhood, when you arrive at a place where you feel safe, you like to dish some of that shit out here and there. Heather loved to tease. “Besides,” she said, “I already have a dog.” She patted my head.

I grabbed her wrist and dragged it behind her back, gentle but forcefully, the way she liked, as I leaned over her. “I am not a dog.”

“You are exactly like a dog.” She fought me a little, her breathing heavier.

I slipped my other hand up her shirt, circled her nipple with my thumb, and leaned in for a kiss. Her lips opened, full and warm, and she kissed me slowly while pressing her hips up to meet me.

“I let you skip out on unpacking. Are you going to tell me what I earned?” I said, releasing her wrist and climbing her.

Her lips smiled as she kissed me and slid her hand down my pants. Her hand was cold, but it was her, and my body responded.

“You should lock the door,” she said.

“It’s locked. It doesn’t matter though. Em is out cold, and Sawyer’s locked himself in for the night, probably blocked his door with a chair.”

“How are you so comfortable with his seclusion?” Her hand was still wrapped around my skin, but she was slipping from the moment.

“He’s sixteen and wants nothing to do with his parents. Totally normal. He’s fine. Stop talking.”

“But he’s not normal. And I am not his natural parent. And he isn’t fine.”

“Stop thinking so hard, Heather. Every word you say wilts my boner.”