My eyes are drawn to movement. Someone jumps onto the back of the truck and I blink. Once. Twice. My stomach and pelvic floor collide.
Shoulders loom from a snug khaki singlet that ripples across his stomach as he moves. Camouflage trousers do nothing to disguise his tightly rounded butt as he bends over to grab the first backpack to stow. This military man is all lithe, controlled power. He climbs over the back of the truck holding someone’s gear as if it weighs nothing. Those shoulders are massive bunches of corded strength. His arms aren’t hugely bulging but deliciously defined. A sudden desire to have those arms wrapped tightly around my naked flesh burns my brain. Dear God, I’ve lost my mind.
I’m on a scientific expedition. Learning is the key to the next six weeks in the north Queensland rainforest—it’s not a sex tour. I’ve never been to the tropics before and I’m eager to find out everything I can. I’m here to contribute, not drool, although if someone catches my eye I won’t say no. But the army men are here to work and they’re not allowed to fraternise with us. It was mentioned more than a few times in last night’s briefing.
Standing in line while waiting for my gear to get packed into the truck, nothing can stop my eyes returning to the army guy. People around me are talking but it’s only background noise. My attention is otherwise occupied.
His dark, close-cropped hair shines with exertion but he doesn’t break stride. He keeps lugging another piece of gear, piling it into the truck as if it weighs nothing. Each piece packed neatly and effortlessly.
Each movement is fluid. Every muscle bending and flexing in perfect accord. He’s like a sleek black panther—all coiled muscle ready to pounce. It’s so damn sexy I can’t look away. My mouth is drying as I watch and every drop of moisture is heading south.
I’m seriously attracted but my mind is overriding my body’s reaction. Hey, dimwit, do you think he’s interested in you? Heck, he must be thirty and you’re a kid. He’ll be married. Far too experienced. He’ll never notice you. He’s a panther—stunning but unattainable. Hands off.
My self-doubting mind keeps up a constant barrage of disparaging remarks while my body gives in to lust. Moisture is slick along my thighs as I wriggle from one foot to the other, hoping to mop up the excess before my lust becomes obvious to all. I keep looking away, trying to regain my sanity but my gaze flicks back to that truck. At times my breathing is normal but then it jams in my throat, usually when a muscle flexes, or his butt is in profile or his shoulder muscles bunch. The closer I get to handing him my backpack, the more riotous my mind and body become.
My mind is telling me I’m an idiot at the same time my imagination is running riot. What would it be like naked against his body when there’s so much sweat on his skin? Would we slip against each other easily? Tangled together as one. Would his sweat taste of strong musky male?
My knees almost buckle beneath me. My mouth is dry and I can’t even wet my lips. I make myself stop imagining.
The line moves closer.
I stare into the distance, pretending to be riveted to the changing colours of the mountains as the sun rises but I can see him from the corner of my eye. I want to feel those muscles for myself. Would they be as hard as they look? Would they ripple like silk, or feel like corrugated iron? Would his skin be salty as I lick my tongue over those shoulders and dip into the hollow of his collarbones?
Stop! I’m damn near hyperventilating.
The truck is so close now I’m watching each bead of sweat run down his face and drip from the tip of his nose or the point of his chin. Could I catch those salty droplets on my tongue? Taste the essence of him? Stop imagining. Stop looking. Staring at those mountains is not a patch on the Panther Man. They may be tall, rugged and craggy but they’re so inanimate, inflexible.
I take ten deep, slow breaths as I move closer. By the time it’s my turn to load my gear I’m breathing normally but sweating terribly. My eyes are level with the heavy black leather of his boots and the tucked-in ends of his camouflage trousers. My heart’s in my throat, swelling painfully. I don’t think I can look up. He might be too beautiful up close.
I decide to hand my pack differently to everyone else, to make his job easier. I heft my pack, straps towards him so he can grab them quickly. It’s not so easy to hold, but I grab the front straps and keep it balanced on my knee. It’s going to keep my body and mind occupied so I don’t do something stupid.
I’m at the back of the truck next. I balance my pack but I didn’t think this through. I have to look up so I know when to let go. I realise I’ll see him up close. His whole face—not just his boots. Those shoulders, that stomach, that neck. Hyperventilation is happening again. Stop. He’ll probably be disappointing. But what if he’s not?
He’s here.
I gulp, too loudly, too deeply.
I look up.
He’s stunning. Rounded face, smooth tanned skin, strong jaw, dark eyes.
He grabs the straps and I let go. Then he does the damndest thing. He looks right at me. He breaks his rhythm, stops and looks straight into my eyes.
My heart jams. Every drop of blood freezes and then my stomach plummets and starts break dancing. My mouth drops open. I must look like a goggle-eyed goldfish.
“Thanks.” That’s all he says as he turns away, yet warm fuzzy feelings fill me. He strides to the gear stack and adds my pack. I walk away in a daze.
He spoke to me. He stopped moving and spoke to me.
One word.
That’s all he said and my body overreacts, hovering near cloud nine hundred and ninety nine. My traitorous mind starts beating up on my body’s reaction. Get real. He probably said thanks to everyone. He’ll never have noticed you.
But I’m sure he didn’t stop those fluid movements for anyone else. I’m sure something happened. Something momentous. I replay the brief seconds, remembering the deepest chocolate depths of his eyes, the crinkling at the corners of his lips when he spoke, the dark hint of stubble against his strong jaw, the closely cropped hair dripping sweat down his face, the deep melody of his solitary word.
I have to do something to mark this moment. For once my mind doesn’t berate. It comes up with an idea.
There’s a drink machine in the caravan park, so I duck off quickly and grab two bottles of water. I’m thirsty and I imagine he is too. It’s practical, not romantic, but water is all I can think to offer him. I head for the bus via the truck and leave the second water bottle at the edge of the back tray. Surely he’ll notice. I want to hang around to make sure he gets it but my mind makes me leave. I’ve stretched the boundaries too far already. I’ve been told to load gear and get on the bus, so I do what I’ve been told with just that tiny detour for water. I get on the bus not knowing if Panther Man received my token of lust.
Base camp is a surprise—there’s no rainforest. Only a dry farm paddock surrounded by a thick stand of thin gum trees. There’s a lovely creek, but before I can do more than wade in and admire the crystal clear water, I have to meet my group—the six people I’ll be attached to for the next six weeks.
The whole expedition gathers in the dusty clearing at the centre of the camp. Names are called out and places assigned for the fifteen groups to meet. I eye off the straggly tree we’re to meet under.
I’m hoping to meet a guy, preferably in my group, become friends, have sex at least once and walk away from this trip a normal person. It sounds easy and I am hopeful, yet my life always goes in the impossible direction, so it’s unlikely to happen.
The talk finishes and people mill every which way to get to their meeting point. I aim for the straggly tree and wait for the rest of my group. A tall, gangly young guy arrives next, grinning happily. It’s Harry. I stood next to him on the caravan park equipment line. He’s not yet eighteen and must be one of the youngest people on the trip. I’m pleased to see him under the tree as part of my group. He had us all laughing yesterday. He’s the class clown, goofy and idealistic. Since he’s only just finished school he’s a little brother, not a potential sex partner.
A bunch of people wander up, keeping their distance, standing away from where Harry and I are chatting. There are two girls, a shorter girl with shoulder length blonde hair, and a taller girl with short curly brown hair. My hair’s sort of washed out—too dark for blonde but not dark enough for brown. I’d like to have rich dark brown hair, or even blonde hair, anything with proper colour. The three other people are a blond guy who’s probably a couple of years older than the rest of us, a nuggetty, dark-haired guy with a scowl, and a tall brown haired guy with a very serious expression.
I look around the group, my heart contracting with each glance. The guys are sporting jocks, sizing each other up, puffing their chests out, rolling shoulders. Prickling concern dances down my spine. It’s going to be a competition. The shorter girl’s like me—eyeing off the muscles with trepidation. The taller girl doesn’t seem at all worried by the guys’ preening antics. Both girls look athletic and I’m skinny. I wonder how we’ll get along.
The blond guy starts the introductions. “I’m Ed, your group leader, not that I know much because I’ve never done this before. But we’ll muddle along together. We’re a botany group, tasked with doing botanical transects through the rainforest. I’ll tell you more about that after we introduce ourselves.”
Ed indicates the person to his right should go next, the blonde haired girl. “I’m Belinda. I’ve never done anything like this before either.” She giggles and aims one of those overly flirty smiles at Ed. “But I’m really looking forward to it, now.” She’s wasted no time. Ed is off limits unless I want to fight Belinda for him. That’s never my style, which could explain why I’m still waiting to lose my cherry.
The serious brown-haired guy is Damien, the nuggetty guy with the scowl is Sam and Harry I’ve already met. The tall curly brown-haired girl is Annie. And then it’s my turn.
“I’m Mac. Willow MacIntosh really but no one calls me anything but Mac. I hope you will too.” I hate my name. It sounds prissy and girly. Plus when you’re tall, curve-free and bony, Willow is a dumb name. I can’t believe my parents landed me with such a weird moniker. I’ve been known to completely ignore anyone who calls me anything but Mac. From the nods I receive from the group, I guess everyone will call me that.
We wander off under Ed’s guidance to make a group ‘home’ in the paddock and get to know each other.
Ed explains our tasks. “We need to work out a list of supplies for the first trip into the rainforest. It’s a three day trip leaving the day after tomorrow. We need to list our requirements, obtain supplies and pack gear ready to leave. We also have to plan and log our journey. During the trip we must complete five one-hundred metre transects, collecting and pressing samples of each plant along each transect, for the botany component.”
It doesn’t sound too difficult. Except for Harry, we’ve all done transects and plant collections. We’ve all done a lot of walking and camping so we understand the basic requirements. We don’t disagree on much and once the list is made, we go to obtain supplies. The obtaining is mighty easy as there’s a big tent that houses the supplies and you line up and present your list. Some things you get then and there, the rest are delivered later on. Easier than shopping. Fiona’s the assistant quartermaster as part of the expedition leadership group and runs the ‘shop’. She’s exceptionally friendly and helpful to us. I suspect she knows Ed as she’s way more helpful to us than other groups. This leaves us with time to hang out at the creek and time for me to surreptitiously check out the guys and see if any will suit my nefarious purpose.
I haven’t meant to remain a virgin. University should be full of sex and fun, but for me it’s been full of study. The years slipped by and now I’m about to finish uni and enter the adult world as an untested girl. This trip could solve my problem. Six weeks of girls and guys camping together. Surely I could get lucky.
I follow everyone down to the creek crossing. The spot is overhung by gums and shrubs. They look like mallee trees with multi stems shooting from the base, but I’m not really familiar with tropical trees, even if they have put me in a botany group. The creek has a sandy bottom and the clear water gurgles mid-calf deep. Not deep enough to swim but perfect for sitting in. Trees are spread across the water to create screening so you can sit in an area and pretend there’s no one else there. It’s not completely covered but sheltered and dappled with shadows.
The paddock is hot and dry. The creek crossing is the coolest place to be. Even along the edges, the ground is covered by a mat of dead leaves making the ground cool to stand on. With the tropical heat we’re all wearing swimmers and a shirt and not bothering with shorts, making it easy to sit in the creek shaded from the heat of the day.
Everyone talks noisily but I fade into the background where I prefer to be. I’m happiest in my own company, outside the conversation circle and only in the periphery of people’s thoughts. The tree screening allows me to almost disappear.
Being on the outside looking in gives me time to think and my thoughts lead me to the guys in my group. I’m not a cradle snatcher so Harry’s too young. Damien’s too serious for a fling and I’m not after a relationship. Sam seems too straight. Ed’s out. None of them set my blood racing anyway. I always dreamed my first time would be one of those moments when my body took control and nothing could stop it happening. It seems as if losing my virginity is going to be harder than I hoped.
There’s a rustle in the bushes. Someone steps into the creek near me. I resist the temptation to turn around as this will only invite them to sit near me. They don’t take the hint. They stand beside me and make a deep, but soft, throat clearing sound. A male. I have to look now. Dark haired, muscular legs capture my interest. I follow the long legs up to a pair of blue jogging shorts and a khaki singlet. My throat constricts, my heart booms louder than a jet on afterburners and sweat breaks out of every pore. I don’t have to look beyond the singlet to know who this is. I risk a quick glance to his face. Sweat pours from me and my face heats.
Panther Man.
“Mind if I sit with you?” The honeyed depth of his voice pours heat through me, as if I’m not hot enough looking at him. I want to throw handfuls of water over my face, or sink into the rushing creek or…
Like a person devoid of social skills I dumbly nod and wave my hand at the clear water beside me. Every single thought escapes my head as he sits beside me. No doubt I wear a dumb expression while my hungry stare darts across his body as if I’ve never seen a man before. His legs match his arms. Muscled, toned, good enough to bite. I turn away, blushing furiously. I have the hots for a man too old and totally out of reach, not to mention the rules about no fraternisation with the army guys. Great.
“Thanks for the water.” His voice is not as deep or loud as I expected—no panther growl. It’s one of those delicious voices I could listen to for hours. The kind that heats my blood, soothes my soul and makes sure I know I’m alive.
I must still be in shock because I don’t react at all, forcing him to say, “You did leave the water bottle, didn’t you?” This time his voice is hesitant and his uncertainty relaxes me. I can speak to someone who’s tentative far more easily than someone sure of themself. Maybe he’s not so far from reach. Hell. Imagine having sex with the Panther Man. My mouth dries at the thought. My eyes inadvertently drop to the front of his shorts imagining his cock thick, hard and ready for me. I shudder and halt those thoughts.
“Yes.” I shrug, feigning a casualness I don’t feel. “Stupid I know, but I was thirsty. I thought you might be too.” I stare intently at the water running past my toes. He must think I’m an idiot.
“Not stupid at all. I needed it. Thanks.”
Wow! Maybe he doesn’t think I’m strange. I might have a hope. I glance at him from the corner of my eye. Hot as hell. I have no hope.
We sit in riveting silence. I’m not sure what happened to my intelligence but it’s definitely gone. I can’t think of a single topic of conversation. Every part of me is concentrating on the man sitting beside me and the thousand questions running through my mind that I’m too embarrassed to ask. Why on earth is he here? How did he know I left the water? Did he come to the creek to find me? Why did he thank me? Could he have sex with me, right here, right now?
“So, how’s the trip going? How’s your group?” His voice is coarse sand running over stones—rough and abrasive, but at the same time bone-meltingly soft with strange inflections, like he’s whispering just to me.
There is not a drop of moisture in my mouth. My friend Mardi would kill me for acting like this. I shrug as I search for words.
“It’s fine.” Such eloquence. Honestly, I’m a moron.
“Where are you off to for the next few days?”
Oh great, a man with patience. I smile at my own mental humour. I have to make an effort to string words together or I’ll kick myself forever. He’s making an effort with me, it’s the least I can manage.
“Somehow I’ve ended up in the super fit, gung-ho group. We’re going on some huge big loop to test how far we can walk in this terrain. I’ll be lucky if I make it.” Why on earth have I blurted out the truth to him—super fit, muscle man? I truly am a moron.
“That’s not the attitude to have before you even start.” The words themselves are scolding but his tone’s amused. I look up unsure how to take his comment. His smile softens the chastisement, although his eyes have a look of concern, like he’s worried about me. He probably isn’t used to wimps and he’s trying to toughen me up. At least he didn’t yell like I imagine army people do.
“Sorry. I’m wondering why I’m here. I’m not sure how I got picked.” Oh great, more honesty. Can’t I censor my mouth?
“Are you a defeatist?”
I drop my hand then lift it, watching the water catch the sunlight as it trickles through my fingers. I keep doing it, finding it somewhat soothing while I bare my soul to a stranger. A total stranger I want to jump. A stranger who’s probably never heard anyone with so many doubts.
“Not usually. I’ve always thought I was pretty tough. But here, in my group, I don’t belong. Everyone’s super fit with piles of muscles. It’s a scientific trip. I thought they’d be nerdier.”
He chuckles. I look up at him from the corner of my eye and then turn my head to look at him more closely. There are a few beats of silence before he says, “Do you think I fit in here?” His lips are set in a wry grin, which pulls them into a tight line. They don’t look kissable like this.
I tip my head away as I examine him. He’s watching me but his look is gentle. He doesn’t catch hold of my gaze but allows it to wander. It isn’t what I expect. He isn’t what I expect. I’m feeling more and more comfortable each moment, yet I shouldn’t be. He’s off limits. “You look like you fit in to me.”
“What makes me fit in and you not?”
“You’re athletic.” Understatement of the year considering the muscles in those limbs. “You’re relaxed. You come down here and talk to people. You seem to get along with the other army guys.” I shrug. “You fit in.” In the beats of silence that follow, I realise I’ve made a hell of a lot of observations in a short period.
“And you?”
“I’m more scrawny than muscled.” The way his gaze strolls over my body and down my legs makes me almost curl into a ball and hide. Another part wants to stretch out and bask in that gaze, pretending I have a body he admires.
He makes no comment so I keep talking. “I’ve done a bit of camping and bushwalking but nothing this rough or isolated. I think I’m too inexperienced to be here.”
He makes no sound. My words hang in the air uncomfortably. I can’t believe I’ve blurted all this to a man I want to impress. Mardi will murder me. What’s happening to me?
Finally, he says, “So why are you here?”
One of those half-snort, half-chuckle things I give when I feel completely stupid and embarrassed pops out before I can stop it. I speak quickly to cover up my embarrassment. “I didn’t feel like this when I applied, or when I left home. It’s a recent thing.”
“Are you going to chuck it in?”
I stare at him, my eyes are wide open. For a moment I stall. Then my mouth opens. “No way.”
“So why bitch about it? You’re here, enjoy the experience.” The words sound harsh but his delivery is not. It’s encouraging, not rebuking and I find myself answering honestly, again.
“I don’t want to let anyone down. I don’t want to be the weakest person in the group. I don’t want to fail.”
“Then don’t.”
My look, I hope, holds every bit of confusion and frustration I feel. I don’t understand what he’s saying. Why am I baring my soul to him? Why does he care? I don’t even know why he’s talking to me. In my dreams he’d be a fantastic sex prospect and now I’ve told him what an idiot I am. Bonking needs confidence and I’ve just told him I have none. Totally fucking brilliant.
“If you’re going to stick at it, then toughen up your attitude. Back yourself. Give yourself courage. Take a hold of life, don’t let it pass you by.” He smiles a slow sexy smile that gives his lips a sensual motion and his eyes a dazzling gleam. I can’t help but answer that smile with one of my own which peals across my face involuntarily.
“Thanks. That sounds like the best advice I’ve heard.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Mac.”
“Jason.” He takes my hand in his. My palm’s alive. Tingling. Burning and freezing at the same time.
He grins even more sexily. “I’m afraid advice like that costs more than just a handshake.”
I blink. What did he just say? Did I dream that? I open my mouth to ask, but he gently tugs my hand. I fall into him. One hand lays flat against his chest, where he guided it. The other flies from the water to splat against the heated skin of his shoulder, dripping water over his singlet. I’m not sure where to look, what to do. His mouth hovers over mine no more than an inch away. My eyes lock on his completely kissable lips. The urge to sink into them is huge but I’m not that brave. His lips part and I drift closer. Maybe I am that brave.
“How good did you say the advice was?” His words send a wisp of breath dancing across my lower lip before it disappears into the air. There’s laughter in his voice, even a smile on his lips. Mine aren’t responding. I’m frozen.
His lips are so close. Is he going to kiss me?
My voice is lost, again. I search for words, any words, while my fingers dip into the tight muscle of his well-rounded shoulder. Is he teasing me? His eyes keep flicking quickly away from me and back again, as if he’s watching everyone else. I hope he’s teasing. I know how to respond to teasing but I want him to kiss me.
Finally, something pops into my head. The words unblock my frozen body.
“It was good advice.” I grin as I look up into his eyes. His eyes have that dancing gleam of amusement. Little crinkles hover at the outer edges. I can tease right back. Have a bit of fun while wishing for a kiss. “Maybe even priceless.” My voice is husky when it comes out. It sounds like I want sex. Can he hear that?
His eyes darken, drawing me closer and giving me the confidence to grin. Just as I’ve decided he’s only teasing, his lips meet mine. Warmth runs from them, igniting something within me even though his lips barely touch mine. I lean further into him. His lips capture mine, so lightly. The tip of his tongue slides against the seam of my lips and I shudder. He pulls away. Not far, but enough so I no longer feel drowned in him. Eyes still dark, lips still parted, he looks like a man deserving more.
What was his advice? Don’t let life pass you by. I drag up every ounce of risk-taking I have in me. I lean forwards and touch my lips hesitantly to his. It’s heady.
I’ve never initiated a kiss with an older man, let alone a professional soldier. It allows me the time to think, not just react. His taste is his scent magnified by a thousand. I can’t get enough. So male, so strong, so him.
My lips dart, teasing with a soft kiss and a harder, more confident kiss. Imitating him, my tongue slides against the seam of his mouth. Dear heaven, I almost die. His taste is on my lips, my tongue. I’m filled by the scent of male, eucalypt and wood smoke. There’s a contained strength to him I feel from his lips, like he’s holding himself tightly, letting me explore.
Not being the most experienced kisser in the world, I’m not sure what to do next. I open my mouth to taste more. He pulls away sharply and my mouth is left tasting air.
I’ve been told many times I’m no poker player. Confusion has to be showing on my face. He’s only a few inches from me, but I feel ridiculous.
When I take another look, he doesn’t look horrified or scarred by the experience. Remnant moisture gives a sheen to the almost-smile I think I can see.
His eyes flick from me to the group of people beyond. Is he telling me something? I wish he’d say something. My brain isn’t functioning. Frowning, I pull away, dropping my hand from his heated shoulder to the cool of the creek. Maybe the water will cool my blood.
“Sorry about that. I temporarily forgot. No fraternisation.” His tone holds little apology.
I’m dumbfounded. He lures me into a kiss then tells me that? “So why come down here? Why talk to me at all?”
“We can talk.” His hands lay open beside him but his eyes won’t meet mine. Confusion is a perpetual state for me while I’m near him. Which are telling me the truth—his hands or his eyes? I can’t snag his gaze at all.
I raise an eyebrow. A tiny flicker of anger grows in me. “Why did you kiss me?”
He grins that devilishly sexy smile. There’s even a hint of colour to his cheeks. I hope he’s ashamed by my question.
“I couldn’t resist. I wanted to know if you could grab hold of life.” The cheeky grin dances across his mouth. There’s no way I can stay cranky when he grins like that.
I laugh aloud. I like cheeky. A few people turn and look at us. Jason leans back from me. He seems relieved when we don’t hold their attention for long. Then he leans closer.
I grin at him with the half lopsided grin I keep for when I’m being sarcastic. “So you lured me to break the rules, just to see if I could?”
“Yep.” He meets my gaze openly. “I couldn’t help myself.”
I laugh again. “I could get used to the taste of that sort of rule-breaking.” I arch my eyebrow, not quite believing I’m flirting with him. But I am and I like it.
After my initial silent stupidity, I’m enjoying his company. Even though desire sometimes curls my stomach in a knot, his easy-going banter draws me into conversation. I like being twisted and unravelled. It’s exciting.
His eyes sparkle as his teeth break past his lips. “I could be addicted.”
He squeezes my shoulder as he gets up, casting a wink before he turns away. My stomach chases my heart in a somersault. He winked at me. A wicked wink. And he flirted back. I shake my head. As if he’d be addicted, to me. But what if he is?
I can hardly contain myself. But who can I tell? I don’t know anyone here, not well enough. I’ll write it in my journal and tell Mardi when I get home. Mardi, the girl who pulls guys like she’s a magnet. I always thought if I stood close enough some might stick, but so far they haven’t. Yet without Mardi, he noticed me. The Panther Man. Jason. He noticed me.
He kissed me. I kissed him.
Me!
I bask in that thought for two seconds before Belinda splashes water to grab my attention. “Mac, come and join us.” She pats a space beside her. I can’t ignore the invitation
“What were you two talking about?” She seems more concerned than curious, if the sharp edge hanging on her words is anything to go by.
“Just the trip, where we were going, stuff like that.”
“Be careful. He looks a bit rough or something. You know what they’re like, army guys.”
I smile vaguely. Yeah, rough or something. There’s no way I’m going to tell her that rough isn’t the description I’d give him.
She definitely isn’t the girl for me to pour my heart out to. I make a mental note that we have vastly different taste in men. She’s definitely after Ed. Her eyes rarely leave his face. She hangs on every word he speaks, giggling at anything that vaguely resembles a joke. I hope it’s not going to get tedious. I don’t mind pairing up in a group, so long as the giggling stage is short.
Panicked, I replay my conversation with Jason in my mind. Did I giggle? Am I just as silly as the girls I’ve always scorned? I can’t recall giggling, just being smart mouthed, laughing and mostly being unable to speak.
Ed and Jason have nothing in common. Their looks are completely opposite. Ed blond, Jason dark. They’re both tall, muscled and lightly built, but Jason carries himself as if he’s a bigger man. Jason’s wickedly funny and a bit devious. Ed’s straight and kind of dull. Yep, Belinda and I like very different types of men. Although Belinda is likely to get Ed whereas nothing will happen with Jason. He’s against the rules and I don’t break them.