Hashtagged By The Mountain Man Read online

  "Right, that’s why you’re done doing guys, right?"

  "Yeah, only men from here on out," she says with a laugh.

  "Not men. Me."

  "You think?" She purses her lips, eyes lifted to the ceiling, as if not quite believing me.

  "I know." I roll her onto her back, my cock suddenly hard again, thinking about Kensie pregnant, carrying my baby. A ring on her finger. My wife.

  "You look different," she says as I press myself against her, then inside her. Filling her up nice and gently. She gasps as my cock moves deeper inside her, and I love the way her voice hitches as she gets filled by me.

  "Do I?"

  "Yeah," she says, threading her fingers through my hair. "You look--"

  I cut her off. "Happy?"

  She closes her eyes as I begin to move against her exquisite body. "Yeah, you look happy, Kodiak."

  "I am."

  "So am I," she whispers, wrapping her arms around my neck, her legs around my body. We find our rhythm, our own music, and we make love.

  Maybe we don’t say it out loud, but when we come, there is no other word in the English language that would suffice.

  8

  Kensie

  I wake to my phone beeping. Kodiak’s phone is on his bedside table, buzzing too.

  Disoriented, I reach for it. Kodiak and I made love all night. For hours. Until we were sweaty and exhausted. Then we showered, washing one another before we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  It was the best night of my life, no question.

  But now, as I look at my phone, seeing dozens of texts from Matilda and notifications from Instagram my heart beings to pound.

  No. No. No. This cannot be happening.

  "What is it?" Kodiak asks, reaching for his phone.

  I leap over the bed, knocking his phone from his hand before he can unlock it. Before he can see what I just saw.

  I can’t move my fingers fast enough. I need to press delete. #Instafail

  "What’s up?" Kodiak asks, not registering my panic. Obviously, I can’t chuck his phone in the toilet without looking cray-cray.

  "Uh, just uh..." I bite my bottom lip, unable to answer. What do I say? Oh, just been outed as your stalker to everyone in Linesworth. No big thing.

  He yawns and then grabs his phone from where it landed on his carpeted floor and slides it on. My heart pounds, my eyes squeezed shut. I can’t watch.

  "Wait, what?" he says after a moment, his words laced with confusion. Which makes sense.

  Apparently, when I took that photo at the pub last night I accidentally tagged the location. And someone who was there must have clicked on the pub and quickly found my feed. With hundreds of photos of #MyMountainMan, thus alerting everyone in town.

  I have to get out of here.

  "Kensie, do you know what this is?" he asks, but I’m already scrambling to my feet, pulling on my jeans, and reaching for my bag. "Clive sent me this feed, it’s... Fuck, it’s all pictures of me."

  How is this happening? I finally have everything I want, and it blows up in my face.

  I’m more than a creeper. I’m a freaking fool.

  Worse than his ex. Worse than anyone.

  "Wait. Kens, did you take these?" he asks but even as he asks he knows the answer. There’s no way anyone else could have taken them. Ninety percent are shots from the coffee shop, taken from behind the counter. My counter. "What the fu--"

  I cut him off. "I’m sorry, I know..."

  “All this time, you’ve been lying to me?”

  “I’m sorry.” My face crumbles and shame washes over me. what was I thinking? Why didn’t I delete it yesterday instead of digging my grave even deeper?

  “Kensie, this is --“

  “I know. I know how fucked up it is.” Without waiting for the conversation to turn even down a darker corner, I scramble out of the room, and

  run from his apartment, unable to look back. I don’t want to see his face, not after he sees the close-up shots of him, the hashtags I used. I may think to call him #BeardGasm is funny… but through his eyes? It’s intrusive at best, #CrazyTrain at worst.

  I’m on the sidewalk, and he is calling after me, but I keep moving full steam ahead. I can’t breeze past this. There’s no way I can explain myself.

  There is no explanation -- except that his body makes my panties melt and my heart skip a beat, and my Instagram account is the only thing I want to look at late at night, when I’m alone in my bed, one hand scrolling through his photos and the other hand... Well, let’s just say he does things to me that would make me blush if I wasn’t already so effing mortified.

  My phone rings. "Matilda?" I moan.

  "Where are you?"

  "I was at his house. We… Oh shit, it was bad."

  "I got cinnamon rolls and coffee. I’m outside your door."

  "See you in five."

  I practically sprint home. We only live a few minutes apart and thank god for that because tears are running down my cheeks, I didn’t even grab my shoes before I dashed out of his apartment, and my shirt is on inside out. If I thought I was a mess before, this is an all-time low.

  "You look awful," Matilda says when I reach my house. "What happened to your hair?"

  I slide my key in the lock, moaning in response. "I know. We took a shower together last night. And I fell asleep with it wet."

  "Yikes, no wonder you spend so much time blowing it out."

  "Are we seriously discussing my blow-drying techniques?" I ask, grabbing the bag of pastries from the Three Sisters’ Bakery and inhaling one of the cinnamon rolls.

  "I don’t know," Matilda groans. "This is like, straight up tragic."

  "I know." I shake my head. "You should have seen the look of confusion on his face when he looked at his phone."

  "Wait, you were right there?"

  "Yes," I say falling onto my couch. "In his bed. Just think about that for a second. Me. In Kodiak’s bed. Naked."

  Matilda purses her lips. "And then you fucked it all up."

  "That isn’t helping."

  "Sorry." She grimaces and hands me a coffee. "But sweetie, what did you think was going to happen?"

  "I don’t know." I take a sip and whimper in self-pity. "It was so funny when it started."

  She scrunches up her face. "Was it, though?"

  "Look, just because you never do anything questionable doesn’t mean you can judge me."

  "Oh, I do questionable, Kens. Just not on the freaking internet."

  "I know, it was idiotic. And immature and..." I let my head fall into my hands. "So not worth it. Last night Kodiak and I didn’t just bang. We were, like, connected on a soul level."

  "A soul level?" Matilda snorts. "Then I’m guessing you didn’t mention the fact you want to marry him and have his babies?"

  "I did actually. I mean, basically." I tell her everything, starting from the beginning. I recount the entire date, the frenzied pre-date sex, meeting my parents and his friends, the dancing, the heart-to-heart in bed... everything. And by the time I’m done, we both have tears in our eyes. "See? That’s why this is bad. It wasn’t a hookup, Matilda."

  "It was the real deal," she finishes for me.

  I nod, wiping the tears from my eyes. "And I went and ruined everything with a stupid picture."

  "Well, to be fair, it was like, with three hundred forty-seven stupid pictures posted on social media."

  "Matilda!"

  She puts up her hands in mock defense. "I know, sorry."

  We split the final cinnamon roll and I ask her what I’m supposed to do now.

  "I think you put on your big girl panties and apologize."

  9

  Kodiak

  I can’t believe it.

  I mean, I know women get intense but this is pretty crazy.

  There are a lot of photos of me.

  Like, hundreds.

  And after my ex… Shit, I never expected to be burned like this by Kensie too.

  I get on my new
est mountain bike and head out for a long ride. I go up a killer hill that leads to a deep mountain trail, wanting to make it hard on myself. And I don’t want to get back cell reception anytime soon. I want to clear my fucking head.

  Last night was such a high. Everything about it was perfect. Kensie is my literal dream girl. Unpretentious and sweet and funny and ... well, apparently also a stalker.

  Kensie doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to be obsessed, but I got that message from Clive this morning, showing me the Instagram feed Hazel had found. Everyone had been posting photos last night from the pub because of the benefit, and a photo of me came up.

  And that led her to the account that Kensie had dedicated to, well, to me.

  I grip my handlebars tighter, wishing that things had gone down differently. Like, completely differently. I wanted to wake up to Kensie’s smiling face, not to her face written in fear, with her scrambling to dress and run from my place.

  I wanted her to stay.

  But then I kept looking at the pictures after she left, and I have to admit, I got pretty mad and confused. I trusted her, yet the whole time, she was invading my privacy and making me into a sex symbol I never asked to be.

  I ride for hours until I’m shaky and exhausted, my legs aching and my mind still a goddamn mess.

  How had I read her so wrong?

  I thought she was my future, turns out she just liked the way I look.

  I thought she was the real fucking deal. Instead, I find out she’s been acting like a fraud.

  10

  Kensie

  Mom and Windsor stop by after Matilda has left, with homemade mac and cheese and salad for my lunch.

  "You’re too nice to me," I say.

  "You need comfort food, Kensington," Mom says.

  "No, Mom, I need to move to a new town."

  "Don’t be dramatic." Mom opens the containers she brought from home and plates out the food.

  Windsor gives me a squeeze. We aren’t two peas in a pod, but we are a close family.

  I pour us glasses of sparkling water and try not to think about the fact everyone in my hometown now thinks I’m a lunatic.

  "If there was ever a time to be dramatic, this is it," I say, setting the mason jars of water on the coffee table and taking the plate of food she offers me. Tucking our legs under us, Mom, Windsor, and I sit cross-legged on the couches and armchairs facing one another.

  Mom may not be my best friend--that is Matilda’s role, through and through--but she is an amazing mom. She’s the reason I want to be a mother myself.

  "Kens, sure, everyone is talking about this," Mom says. "But it’s kind of sweet when you think about it."

  I lift my eyebrows and snort. "Did you look at the feed, Mom?"

  She lifts her shoulders. "Well, your sister and I did--"

  "You looked at the photos with Mom?" I ask Windsor incredulously.

  Windsor bites back a smile. "Mom didn’t even have the app."

  I set down my food, losing my appetite. "This is so awkward."

  "It’s not. I mean, I honestly didn’t know you were so funny," Windsor says. "I personally like the one of Kodiak on his mountain bike, that you captioned ‘She likes my other ride better.’"

  My cheeks burn.

  Mom laughs. "I liked the BILF ones. Pretty clever."

  "Mom!" I exclaim as I press my fingertips to my temples.

  "Sweetie, don’t get all bent out of shape. You can start with an apology and then... you know, hope he doesn’t think you’re a lunatic."

  "I don’t know if this is helping."

  Windsor laughs. "Then eat the mac and cheese. Mom’s food makes everything better."

  I pick up my fork and shovel in the cheesy goodness -- she’s right. "I don’t think I can face him," I admit.

  "Then write him a letter," Windsor suggests. "Just, do it soon. The longer you wait the worse it will be."

  "When did you get so smart?"

  She smirks. "I was always the smart sister, you know that."

  "Don’t say that, Winny. Kensie is smart too, she just..."

  "Please Mom, I can’t do this."

  "I was just going to say, Kens, that you just didn’t think of the consequences before you acted."

  I sigh -- I know she is right. Blinking back tears, I say, "I think he was the one. And I messed it all up."

  Windsor and Mom move to the couch and start rubbing my back and squeezing my hands. "Sweetie," Mom says. "The way he looked at you last night was special. Don’t believe the worst until you have reason to."

  11

  Kodiak

  When I get home from the bike ride, there is a letter slipped under my front door. I can tell by the curly lettering that it’s from Kensie and, without meaning to, I pull it to my nose and inhale.

  It smells like daisies and coffee beans and vanilla and her. Just her.

  I pull it open, preparing myself for whatever she has to say.

  Dear Kodiak,

  The day we met, I knew you were different. Yes, your beard had me at hello (which, I mean, after this morning’s cluster, you know just how much I like it). But it was more than that. It was the way you made my heart pound in my chest every time the bells on the cafe door jangled, announcing your arrival.

  You are the highlight of my day, every day.

  And now I went and ruined it.

  I admit the photos are creepy. But that was never my intent.

  My intent was sharing my daily dose of #MyMountainMan with other ladies who might, well, want a reason to smile. Because when I look at you, you make me believe in fairy tales. And I think everyone deserves to feel that way, even if it’s just in a snapshot.

  I should have asked. It was wrong to do what I did. And I’m mortified and embarrassed and a freaking idiot because that Instagram account was not worth losing you over.

  I don’t want to lose you.

  In fact, I want you. Only you.

  I’m scared that when you look at me now, you’ll only see me as a crazy-pants girl and not as Kensie, the girl who is crazy-pants-head-over-heels in love with you.

  I know.

  That’s a big confession for a letter. But it’s the truth.

  You are more than a hashtag. More than a mountain man.

  And I think I just effed up the best thing that has ever happened to me.

  If you’ll have me, I’m yours,

  Kensie

  Closing my eyes, I reread it half a dozen times. She loves me.

  Groaning, I run my hands through my hair, pacing the room.

  I reach for my phone, pull up the account she made, and begin scrolling through her posts more closely. I hadn’t really read them earlier because I was so fucking furious.

  She calls me all sorts of things. Labeling me as a BILF and her personal beard porn and I lift my eyebrows at the hashtag that reads #LickThisKitty.

  I’m not exactly sure how I’m gonna show my face at the shop tomorrow after knowing everyone in town has looked at these photos of me today.

  Then, cringing, I wonder how the hell Kensie is going to show her face anywhere.

  Exhaling, I drop my phone on the table.

  Then, on second thought, I reach for it again. I’m not calling Kensie--no way.

  But I do have one call to make.

  12

  Kensie

  It’s not that I expect Kodiak to call me after he got my letter, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping he might. I had pulled out a piece of paper after Winny and Mom left, knowing I needed to explain myself. And to let him know where I stood. Yes, I am a fool, but I am a fool in love. He deserves to know the truth of where I stand.

  I went to his apartment and slipped the envelope under his door, both hating that he wasn’t home and so relieved that he wasn’t here. How will I ever face him again now that I’ve laid it all out there? I had walked home, crossing my arms across my chest with tears still filling my eyes. I’d lowered my head as I passed familiar faces, not wan
ting to draw attention to the fact that I was the girl they thought I was.

  And that I am heartbroken.

  It’s naive to think he’ll show up here on my doorstep with a dozen daisies, confessing his love for me. But dreams can come true, can’t they? When Kodiak asked me out two days ago, that was fantasy fulfillment right there.

  But, he doesn’t come knocking. And instead of riding off into the sunset on his mountain bike, I stare at photos of him; my phone in hand, practically licking the screen as Kodiak’s face fills my vision.

  Sandy, the owner, texts me asking if I’m okay and assuming she knows everything, I assure her that I’m as crazy as it seems. She texts back an ‘LOL’ and tells me not to worry about it. She lives one town over and is pretty hands off as a boss. And for that, I’m glad. If she were all intense about what I am doing while on the clock, with her customers… well, I’d be out of work.

  Matilda texts me late at night, telling me that I should delete the account -- it’s like she knows that I’m still staring at it. But I’m hoping, by some slim chance, that Kodiak will look at the pictures more closely and will see that between my suggestive wording, there is something deeper to the pictures. Something real.

  Yes, I took photos of him. But I also saw him. Really saw him.

  Just like he saw me.

  I toss and turn all night, my heart in pieces and my stomach in knots. When I wake up, I’m even more exhausted. I don’t work today, so I don’t have to worry about showing my face anywhere. I reach for my stupid phone, and open Instagram, hating that I’m so addicted.

  I check my notifications. There are hundreds. Some of the photos have gone viral overnight, and I realize I’ve definitely got to delete the account. This is crossing the line, now. Kodiak never asked for any of this.