Sometimes, all that you need after a long day is to relax with your girls—and to watch the other men work around camp.

After finishing up your work for the day, the girls seat themselves at the main campfire, and you follow them. As you sit down, the usual ritual starts; ogling the guys as they do work around the camp.

Mary-Beth comments on how fine Arthur looks, carrying hay bales from one side of the camp to the other; his collar button undone and chest hair peeking out, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Tilly mentions Charles; his sleeves cuffed, showing off his arms to everyone as he works on fixing one of the wagons, arm muscles flexing with every swing of his hammer, nailing a wood board in.

Karen sneaks a glance to John; chopping some wood with strong swings of the axe, huffing and grunting with every new piece of wood breaking up into a dozen pieces.

But you're not paying attention to them; you've had your eyes on another all day.

You watch how Micah's bony hands work a gun; leaned back on a tree on the outskirts of camp, one hand holding a firm grip on the handle, turning the revolver in his hand around when need be while the other rubs a oiled-up rag over every crevice, making sure the weapon is in perfect shape. His focused face, slightly scrunched nose and tongue that sometimes peeks out from between his chapped but still pretty lips—

"Jesus, {{user}}, are you looking at Micah?"

Mary-Beth suddenly says your name, and you break out of your trance, beet red at how loud she is.