Needing Him-Audiobook

Chapter One

Grace:

Every year he shows up. He comes for five
days and then disappears. Same week, every year, for the past three years.
Arrives on a Sunday night and leaves Friday morning.

He hardly says a word to me. He picks up the
keys to his cabin with a couple grunts, then locks himself in for the duration.
I don’t know if he sleeps, eats or what. All I know is I’m not to disturb him
in any fashion. He made that perfectly clear in a surly manner the first year.

I’m just glad I have an occupant. He never
quibbles about the price of the cabin, never asks me for anything. Never
complains.

The best part is, he comes during the off
season when it’s so slow I think I'll become destitute. Be homeless and starve.

But I watch him. He intrigues me and I want
to know his story. Why this small town in Maine? Why this time of year?

Why?

And, last but not least, why is my tired
little lakeside resort his choice? Yes, the area is beautiful, but it’s remote.
Though, it’s not like he goes out hiking, or mountain biking, or even boating
on the large lake.

Maybe that’s what he needs. Quiet. Peace.

Me? I get too much peace and quiet. This town
bores me to death. Anyone with any ambition escapes as soon as they can.

Though, I can’t get myself to run away. I
can’t even walk away.

This was my father’s resort. When he died, he
left it to his only daughter. Hell, his only child. He took pride in this
place, he built it with his own hands. So, of course, I take pride in it, too.

Even though it bores the fuck out of me.

And the dating scene?

Non-existent. If I’m lucky, I get laid when
tourists come to moose watch in the summer. If I’m lucky, I get laid when the
snowmobilers blow into town and take over the frozen lake and the nearby
trails. If I’m lucky, I get laid when mountain bikers come and ride through the
woods when the leaves are changing colors.

But let’s just say, I haven’t been very lucky
lately. Not in a long time. I swear I’ve converted back to a virgin, if that’s
even possible.

Fortunately, I’m not uptight and can take
care of my own needs. Though, that gets lonely and boring, too. Batteries and
my vibrators have become my best friends.

Honestly, I really just need to get the fuck
out of this town.

I sigh and look at my reservation book. Yes,
book, because even the Internet sucks up here. And cell towers? Yeah, right.
You may get a signal if you stand on your head and face North while singing Yankee Doodle Dandy.

Every cabin is still equipped with landline
phones and the only television comes from a satellite dish, which only works
when it isn’t cloudy, raining, snowing, or the birds aren’t chirping.

My heart races as I see his name written in
my unreadable scribble. But I know it’s him. I’ve reserved his regular cabin.

Not that any of the other cabins are booked
since it’s the shoulder season. No one in their right mind is here. The leaves
are now brown and falling, the lake too cold to swim in, but too warm for
winter activities.

He made his reservation for this year before
he left last year.

I hope he shows. Even at the deep discounted
rate I’ve given him for coming at this time of year, every penny counts.

That's not the only reason I hope he comes.
No, this year I’m determined to talk to him, make him see me, and not look
completely through me like I don’t exist. Make him realize I’m not just some
anonymous person who hands him a key and makes him sign a receipt.

No, this year it’s going to be different.

I haven’t gotten laid in a long time.

So tag, he’s it.

****

Nick:

Once
again, I’m making this fucking long-assed trip to the middle of Nowhere, Maine.
And I have no idea why.

No,
I know. I just don’t want to completely admit it to myself. Or think about it
too hard.

I
don’t need this place anymore.

I’m
almost back to normal.

Whatever
that means.

For
the past three years, I’ve come up here to forget. To bury my grief. But this
year, I’m sure I don’t need this trip, this run-down resort, this little cabin
on the lake, to survive this week.

Not
this year.

So,
that’s not the reason I’m taking this six-hour drive to a place that has shitty
TV service, no cell coverage or Wi-Fi, right?

Not
that I can’t use a break from my hectic schedule at work. I can. But I could do
that somewhere better. Like Aruba, not Bumfuck, Maine, where it isn’t warm, and
the water is too cold to swim.

But
there’s one thing I’ve left behind each year when I head back to reality.

Her.

And
she’s the reason I’m making this long trek again. Only a mere six hours from
the city, from my everyday life.

Though
wouldn’t that just suck if she hooked up with one of the locals in the past
year? Got married, is barefoot and pregnant, gained fifty pounds, and now wears
a mu-mu and slippers around the place?

Damn.

If
so, I would turn around and drive another six hours home, repack my bag, and
jump on a flight to somewhere else.

Maybe
not Aruba, maybe South Beach. Where the women are bangin’ and I may get a
little banging myself.

It’s
been too long.

Way
too long.

And
I’m so ready.

But
I can’t get her out of my head.

And
I don’t know why.

Funny
thing is, I don’t even know her name. I never asked.

My
bad.