Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The last of the buildings slipped past your window. Weathered wood, faded signs, the boardwalks already starting to empty as the afternoon wore on. The tires thudded off the tar and onto the gravel before smoothing out on the highway. The noise changed, softer, steadier. Behind you, Dawson disappeared faster than it should have- like it was never really there to begin with. Then it was just the open dirt road.
Parker kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gear shift as the truck hummed along the highway. The heater worked overtime, warm air pushing steadily through the vents, slightly fogging the edges of the windshield before slowly fading.
You sank deeper into the seat, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt over your hands. It still smelled faintly like diesel, but somehow overwhelmingly like him.
For a while, neither of you said anything. The quiet wasn’t awkward. It settled in naturally, like the kind that didn't need to be filled. You’d sat in plenty of trucks with plenty of crews before. Most of the time, silence meant something- tension, annoyance, or just people too tired to bother talking. This wasn’t that. This felt easy.
Outside, the landscape rolled past in long stretches, bright green trees, rushing creeks, and distant hills that stood distinctly against the blue sky. Every now and then, another truck would pass in the opposite direction.
“Are you always this quiet after eating?” Parker asked, his eyes still on the road.
You glanced over at him with a small smile tugging at your lips.
“Depends. Are you always this talkative?” You asked.
“Fair,” he huffed in a quiet laugh.
Another stretch of road passed before he spoke again.
“You handled yourself well back there,” he said casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.
“At lunch?” you asked.
“No,” he said. “On the claim. Finding that pay streak, that wasn’t luck.”
There was a pause.
“I’ve just seen enough ground to know when something’s off,” you said, picking at the edge of the sleeve covering your hand.
“That’s more than most,” he said.
You glanced at him again, studying his profile. The focused look, the way he barely took his eyes off the road, even when he was talking.
“You don’t hand out compliments much, do you?” You asked.
“Don’t give people reasons to expect them,” he said, smirking faintly.
“That’s a terrible management strategy,” you chuckled.
That earned a real laugh- short but genuine.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “Or maybe it makes the ones I do give mean something.”
You didn’t answer right away. The words shouldn’t have hit as hard as they did. You’d worked for guys who handed out praise like it didn’t mean anything - and others who never said a word, no matter how well you did. Parker didn’t seem like either, which somehow made it matter more.
Looking out the window beside you. Sunlight caught on the river in flashes, bright enough to make you squint as it cut between the trees. The water moved fast - too fast for how cold it looked - like it refused to slow down for anything. Kind of like the crew you’d ended up with.
Parker’s phone ringing drew you out of your thoughts, which weren’t much aside from dreading doing laundry and what the cut would look like the next day.
Rick’s name popped up on the radio’s screen, Parker pressing answer.
“Rick,” he said.
“Yeah, hey boss,” Rick drawled, way too amused. “Are you gonna make it back to camp today, pr are you two enjoying a scenic route situation?”
You turned back slightly toward the window, hiding your smile as Rick kept going. Parker dragged a hand down his face, like he was reconsidering every decision that led to hiring Rick in the first place.
“We’re about 20 minutes out,” Parker replied, annoyance in his voice.
“Just making sure you’re not distracted. You know, safety first,” Rick said, holding back a laugh.
“Do you have the ATVs ready?” Parker asked, shaking his head slightly.
“We do. Small problem though,” Rick trailed off.
“What now, Rick?” Parker groaned.
“We only have enough for four…and there’s five of us.”
Glancing over at Parker, you could see his jaw clench slightly.
“What happened to the fifth? We had five,” he said, gripping the wheel tightly.
“Engine blew, remember?” Rick said bluntly.
“Yeah,” he sighed.
“You boys can go have fun,” you said quietly. “I don’t have to go.”
It wasn’t the first time you’d stepped out of something so everyone else could have it easier. It probably wouldn’t be the last. But the look Parker gave you said he noticed.
“(Y/N) can ride with one of us. Not like we’re as reckless as we used to be,” Parker said.
“Are you sure-” Rick started to talk before being cut off.
Parker interrupted him. “Rick. Shut up and go get a cooler packed.”
“Will do, boss,” Rick said, then the call ended.
“I’m serious, boss,” you sighed. “You guys can go have fun, and I’ll hang out at camp.”
“Two things. First, you’re going with us, you can ride with me,” he said, looking over at you. “Second, quit calling me boss and call me Parker.”
You hesitated - not because you didn’t want to go, but because of how easily he’d said it. Like it wasn’t even a question. Like it was already decided.
“Okay,” you said softly.
“Okay,” he repeated.
The road started to look familiar after a while. The same bend in the tree line. The same stretch where the river ran closer to the road. Then, faint at first, you heard it - engines.
The claim.
As the truck rolled in, the quiet from the drive disappeared almost instantly. Diesel engines idled, someone shouted across the yard, and the low rumble of equipment filled the air.
Rick’s truck was already parked near the ATVs, and he was leaning against one of them like he’d been waiting all day.
Parker killed the engine and stepped out, walking around and opening your door. You slid out of the passenger seat, pulling the hem of the sweatshirt down slightly.
You both rounded the bed of the truck, Mitch and Chris now standing next to Rick with the other ATVs.
“Told you,” Rick said, gesturing towards one of the shipping containers. “She’s done.”
You both looked to where Rick pointed, seeing an ATV beside the large container with its front panel open and tools scattered around it.
“Alright, let me go grab my helmet, and we can go,” Parker said, heading towards his camper.
It took a couple of minutes before he finally came back out holding not one, but two helmets.
“Here,” Parker said, walking up next to you and holding one out.
You hesitated for half a second before taking it.
“You don’t have to-”
“You’re coming,” he cut in, not harsh, just certain.
You sighed softly, then took the helmet from his hand. Fingers slightly brushing his, sending tingles up your arm.
Slipping off your hat, you pulled the helmet on and slightly fumbled with the strap.
“Hold on,” Parker said, stepping closer.
His hands were quick and steady as he adjusted it, tightening it just enough before stepping back.
“Hey!” Chris called. “If you two are done bonding, we’re leaving!”
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head as the engines around you started coming to life one by one. Parker swung a leg over his ATV, settling into the seat like it was second nature. He reached forward, adjusting something near the handlebars before glancing back at you.
“You good?” He asked.
You nodded automatically, then realized you hadn’t actually moved yet. For a second, you just stood there.
It wasn’t that you hadn’t ridden on the back of an ATV before, because you had. Plenty of times. It should have been a big deal. But this felt different.
The space suddenly felt smaller and more noticeable.
You stepped closer anyway, boots crunching against the gravel as you came up beside the ATV. The engine rumbled beneath you, steady and loud, and you hesitated just long enough to be aware of it. Of him.
“Just hop on,” Parker said, like he could read exactly what was slowing you down.
“Yeah,” you muttered softly, more to yourself than him.
You grabbed onto the back of the seat and swung your leg over, settling in behind him. It took a second to figure out where to put your hands, as there were no handles. Hovering awkwardly for a moment before you finally rested them lightly at his sides, not quite committing.
The engine vibrated through the seat, through your boots, through everything. Parker shifted slightly in front of you, glancing back just enough to check.
“You’re gonna have to hold on better than that,” he said.
You huffed a quiet breath, half embarrassed, half amused.
“I am holding on.”
“Barely,” he replied.
There was a pause. Then, reluctantly, you slid your hands a little more firmly around him, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket instead. It felt solid. Warm, even through the layers. Parker didn’t say anything this time, just gave a small nod and turned back toward the trail.
“Alright,” he called out to the guys over the noise. “Let’s go.”
Rick whooped somewhere off to your left, Mitch revved his engine in response, and Chris just shook his head like he'd seen this coming.
Before you could overthink it any more than you already were, Parker hit the throttle. The ATV lurched forward, and instinct took over you. You tightened your grip without thinking, leaning into him as the cold air rushed past.
Any awkwardness disappeared just as fast as it had come. Replaced by speed. Noise. Movement. And the sudden, undeniable realization that you weren’t sitting this one out.
A freshly painted sign hung above the door of the diner: The Sluice Box.
The bell above the diner door rang sharply as Rick pushed it open.
Warm air and the smell of frying bacon rushed out to meet you, chasing away the bite of the Yukon wind that had followed you down the boardwalk. After a morning spent fighting the cold, the diner felt almost unreal - heat, noise, and the steady hum of conversation wrapped around you the second you stepped inside.
The place was packed.
Miners filled nearly every booth and table, muddy boots planted on the checkered floor, heavy jackets slung over chair backs. Coffee mugs clinked against chipped plates while waitresses moved quickly between tables, balancing stacks of pancakes and plates piled high with eggs and hash browns. Somewhere near the counter, someone was loudly arguing about fuel prices. Another was arguing about parts being delayed.
Rick stepped inside fully and took a dramatic deep breath.
“Oh yeah. This is exactly what I needed.”
Chris glanced around the crowded room.
“Food?”
Rick shook his head.
“Pie.”
Mitch snorted behind him.
“You haven’t even had lunch yet.”
Rick looked back at Chris and Mitch, offended.
“That IS lunch.”
You laughed quietly, stepping inside behind them as Parker held the door for you.
For a second, the cold wind caught the door, and he held it steady, waiting until you were past him before letting it swing shut.
The warmth was already starting to thaw the cold out of your hands.
A waitress spotted the five of you standing near the entrance and pointed toward the back.
“A booth just opened up!” she called.
Rick didn’t hesitate.
“Move, people,” he said, already marching toward it like he was claiming land during the gold rush.
Parker sighed under his breath.
“Every time.”
You giggled, following Chris and Mitch to the table with Parker behind you.
The booth was in a corner with a curved seat. The seating arrangement went Chris, Mitch, Rick, you, then Parker.
Once everyone got settled, the waitress walked over.
“What can I get you all to drink?” She asked, taking out her order pad.
“I’ll take a coffee,” Chris said, “black.”
“Water,” Mitch said.
“Mountain Dew, please,” Rick said, already browsing the menu.
“Do you guys have sweet tea?” You asked, taking the menu from the center of the table.
“We do,” the waitress said with a smile.
“I’ll have that,” you said, opening the menu.
“Same,” Parker said, leaning back in the booth.
“I’ll be right back with that,” she beamed, walking off.
You started reading the menu, looking through the specials, and somehow found yourself on the kids’ menu, which was called Nugget Meals.
“So, gold finding queen,” Chris started, “how did you get into mining?”
“My dad used to run heavy equipment for an excavation company,” you shrugged, “First time I drove an excavator, I was fourteen.”
“Fourteen?” Rick asked, peeking over the menu, “I was still crashing dirt bikes at fourteen.”
“That explains a lot,” Mitch chuckled.
“I worked under him for a few years until I was sixteen, then I went and worked for a company building logging roads until I was nineteen.” You said, leaning onto the table with your arms crossed. “After that, I started working in gold mines all around Alaska and this side of Canada.”
“No wonder you outperform everyone. You have over fourteen years of experience,” Chris said with a smile.
“And she actually does a walk-around the machine to save the mechanic a major headache,” Mitch added.
The waitress walked over, setting down all of the drinks.
“Are you ready to order?” She asked, pad already in hand.
Rick leaned forward immediately.
“What kinds of pie do you have today?”
She flipped to the back page of her pad.
“Apple, blueberry, raspberry rhubarb, and French silk.”
Rick looked like he had been handed life-changing information.
“Bacon cheeseburger, fries, chocolate milkshake - and a slice of the raspberry rhubarb,” he said without hesitation.
“Chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes. And please keep the coffee coming.”
“Bacon, eggs over-easy, hash browns, wheat toast. You guys have hot sauce?” Mitch ordered, barely glancing at the menu.
“Yes, sir.” The waitress nodded.
You finally looked up from the menu.
“Club sandwich and fries - and apple pie, please.”
“Burger and fries,” Parker said while sliding his menu onto the stack.
“Perfect,” the waitress said. “That’ll be out in about fifteen minutes.”
A few moments of silence passed before Rick looked at you, at the oversized sweatshirt you were wearing, then slowly at Parker.
“Wait a minute,” he said slowly.
Everyone looked up.
Rick pointed at you.
“Is that Parker’s sweatshirt?”
Mitch leaned back in the booth and looked between the two of you.
“Oh,” Mitch laughed, “it is.”
Chris took a sip of his coffee.
“Pretty sure I saw him wearing that yesterday.”
“It’s cold out,” you said softly, pulling the sleeves down to cover your hands.
“Pretty sure Parker never lends his clothes out,” Rick said, looking at you with squinted eyes.
“It’s a sweatshirt, Rick,” Parker said flatly.
“That thing looks about two sizes too big for you,” Mitch laughed, taking a slow sip from his water.
“Pretty sure that thing has never left Parker’s truck,” Chris added.
“It’s warm,” you said, shrugging casually.
“Suspicious,” Rick said while he pointed between the two of you with his eyebrows raised.
Parker looked at the crew with a look that clearly said don’t push it. Rick held his hands up.
“Alright, alright,” he said, with a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I’m done.”
Chris cleared his throat.
“So, how long before Parker puts the gold-finding queen in charge?”
“Not happening,” Parker said, not even looking up from his hands, which he was very interested in.
“She did find that pay streak yesterday,” Rick laughed.
“Best ground we’ve hit all week,” Mitch added.
“I’ve been here three days,” you sighed.
“Three very productive days,” Mitch corrected.
Parker glanced over at you.
“You have done good work.”
The compliment was so casual it almost sounded accidental. Rick slowly looked between the two of you again.
“Oh, this is getting interesting.”
“Rick,” Parker said.
“I’m quiet,” Rick replied immediately.
The waitress came back and set down the plates piled with food. Rick stared at it as it had personally saved his life. Silence had fallen over the crew as they began to devour their lunch. You ate your food at a normal pace, observing the team as they scarfed every bite down like they hadn’t eaten a big breakfast.
Once everyone had finished, Parker picked up the tab. After a few moans and groans, the guys slid out of the booth and headed towards the door. You slid out after Parker and followed the guys to the door, Parker behind you.
The guys waved you off, heading to Rick’s truck, as you and Parker got back in his truck. You both sank into your seats.
“I haven’t eaten this much in probably weeks,” Parker joked.
“That isn’t funny,” you chuckled, looking over at him.
“Kind of is,” he laughed, turning the key in the ignition.
The engine roared to life. It took a minute, but warm air started flowing out of the vents. You buckled your seatbelt and shoved your hands into the sweatshirt pocket.
“Thanks again for letting me wear your sweatshirt,” you said quietly.
“No worries,” he said calmly, “The weather here can change in the blink of an eye, so there’s always something back there.”
“I appreciate it,” you sighed, “I’ll wash it today and get it back to you by tonight.”
“Keep it,” he said, starting to back out of the parking space. “It looks better on you anyway.”
You looked down at the sleeves hanging past your hands and smiled faintly.
Dawson rolled past outside the window as Parker steered the truck back towards the road leading out of town. You pulled the sleeves of the sweatshirt over your hands again.
Somehow, the Yukon didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.
The brutal Yukon wind hit you the second you stepped out of Prospector’s Brew.
Dawson was bustling with life, something it didn’t have in the off-season. ATVs buzzed past like oversized mosquitoes. Somewhere down the boardwalk, someone was arguing loudly about gold prices.
Parker pushed the cafe door shut behind him and glanced down the street.
“Let’s head to The Miner’s Exchange to get some supplies,” he said, looking over at you.
“Sounds good to me,” you replied, holding onto your coffee tight like the wind would blow it away.
The two of you walked down the boardwalk, boots thumping on the wooden planks. Storefronts lined the boardwalk, miners walked past, and trucks rumbled down the street. You were close enough that your arms almost brushed each other.
You were halfway through reading a faded sign for a place called Lucky Strike Outfitters when Parker suddenly stopped beside you.
“Oh boy,” he muttered under his breath.
You frowned slightly.
“What?”
Before he could answer, a loud voice cut across the street.
“Parker!”
You turned to see a tall man in a worn baseball hat, a black long-sleeved shirt with a few buttons undone at the top, a long white beard, and long blondish-white hair sticking out from the hat.
Parker sighed quietly.
“Morning, Tony.”
Tony Beets looked exactly like someone had spent forty years yelling at excavators. His eyes immediately shifted to you.
“Who’s this?” He asked bluntly.
Parker rubbed the back of his neck slightly.
“New operator on the claim.”
Tony raised an eyebrow.
“The one who found that pay streak yesterday?”
You blinked.
“News travels fast.”
Tony snorted, “In Dawson? Fucking faster than gold prices.”
Another voice chimed in from behind him.
“Tony, don’t scare the poor girl.”
Minnie Beets, Tony’s wife, stepped up beside him with her arms crossed but smiling.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand. “Anyone willing to work with this guy deserves a medal.”
She nodded toward Parker.
Parker sighed.
“I’m standing right here.”
Minnie ignored him.
“You surviving Hell’s Kitchen so far?”
“Barely,” you laughed.
Tony studied you for another moment, then pointed a finger at Parker.
“Don’t fucking scare off all the good operators this season.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Parker said, smirking slightly.
Tony nodded once.
“Good. Hard enough finding people who fucking know what they’re doing.”
Minnie nudged Tony with her elbow.
“We’re holding up traffic. Let them continue their errands,” she said, looking over at him.
Tony shrugged and started walking again, calling back to the two of you.
“See you on the gold totals board later, Parker!”
Parker shook his head slightly as they walked off. You looked over at him.
“That happens often?”
“More than I’d like,” Parker exhaled.
He glanced over at you for a second, then shook his head slightly.
“Tony doesn’t usually compliment people like that.”
“That was a compliment?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.
“For Tony? Yeah, that’s basically a standing ovation,” Parker chuckled.
As you and Parker started to walk again, you took a sip of your coffee.
“So, does everyone in Dawson just know everything that happens on your claim?”
You glanced down the street where Tony and Minnie had disappeared.
“Mining town,” he said. “News travels fast when gold’s involved.”
You nodded.
“That guy swears a lot.”
“You get used to it,” Parker chuckled.
After walking for a few more minutes, Parker nudged your arm with his elbow and pointed across the street to a weathered wooden building. A faded sign above the door read The Miner’s Exchange.
The bell above the door jingled as Parker pushed it open. Inside, the place smelled like rubber and oil. Shelves were piled high with everything from hydraulic fittings to mining pans, and enough bolts to rebuild half the Yukon.
The man behind the counter turned around with his clipboard in hand.
“Morning, Parker,” he said before glancing at you and lifting an eyebrow slightly. “Didn’t know you brought your girlfriend to town today.”
You nearly choked on your coffee, but you noticed that Parker didn’t correct him right away. Your stomach did a strange little flip before you quickly took another sip of coffee.
“She works on the claim,” he said calmly, grabbing a couple of heavy-duty gloves off the shelf.
The guy shrugged.
“Well, whoever she is, she picked a hell of a season to show up.”
“Try these on,” Parker said while handing a pair of gloves to you.
“I don’t need gloves,” you said, taking the pair from him.
“The ones you brought lasted three days, (Y/N),” he chuckled.
You sighed, sliding one of them onto your hand. It fit perfectly.
“How did you know my size?” You asked, looking up at him.
“Operator hands,” he said, shrugging.
While looking through what Carhartt sweatshirts they had, Parker looked through the work pants next to you. Another miner squeezed past in the narrow aisle, bumping Parker slightly.
Without thinking, Parker placed himself between you and the passing traffic.
Once you were done browsing, Parker took the gloves and whatever parts he had picked up along the way to the front counter, where the clerk started scanning everything. Before you had a chance to pay for your gloves, Parker had already swiped his card.
“That’s not fair,” you huffed quietly.
“A pair of gloves won’t break the bank for me,” he chuckled, taking the bag of gloves and parts off the counter.
“Still,” you mumbled, heading towards the door.
Even though his hands were occupied with his coffee and the bag of supplies, he still managed to open the door for you. As you walked outside, you heard familiar voices.
“I still can’t believe she chose to ride with Parker instead of us,” Rick said with disbelief in his voice.
“Rick, have you seen your truck?” Chris laughed, “It looks like a bachelor bomb went off.”
“It isn’t that bad!” Rick argued.
“Are you sure?” Mitch asked, “I'm pretty sure my feet were next to a bunch of gas station food wrappers.”
Parker stopped walking once he saw the three amigos in front of him. Rick was the first to notice the two of you.
“Well, look who it is,” he said, pointing dramatically. “Boss man finally decided to join civilization.”
Chris glanced over, his eyes immediately landing on the bag of supplies in Parker’s hand.
“Let me guess,” he said, “you came for coffee and somehow spent a hundred bucks on parts.”
“That sounds about right,” Mitch said with a slight smirk.
Rick’s attention shifted to you.
“And you,” he added, squinting slightly, “betraying us like that.”
You blinked.
“Betraying you?”
“Yeah,” he said, crossing his arms. “Riding into town with Parker instead of us.”
Chris laughed.
“Rick, your truck smells like three seasons of gas station burritos.”
“It does not!” Rick protested.
“I found a Slim Jim under the passenger seat that looked older than the wash plant,” Mitch joked.
“You three done?” Parker asked while rubbing the bridge of his nose slightly.
“Just making sure you didn’t kidnap our best operator,” Rick said, grinning.
“Kidnapped?” You laughed.
Chris chuckled, “Rick is bitter that you didn’t ride into town with us.”
“Yeah,” Mitch said, “you picked the clean truck.”
“My truck really isn’t that bad,” Rick scoffed.
“Did I not just mention an ancient Slim Jim?” Mitch asked.
“That was strategic storage,” Rick retorted.
“I’m pretty sure I heard something growling from the back seat,” Chris teased, “and it wasn’t Mitch.”
Rick ignored them and looked back at you.
“Seriously though, how’s Hell’s Kitchen treating you so far?”
You shrugged slightly, taking a sip of your coffee that was almost gone.
“I’ve survived three days.”
“That’s longer than some,” Chris said, nodding approvingly.
Parker shifted the bag of supplies in his hand.
“Alright, comedy hour’s over,” he said, “you guys get what you needed?”
“Yep,” Mitch said, “Parts and snacks.”
Rick pointed down the street.
“We were just headed to the trucks to drop off the bags and then go to lunch at the diner.”
Parker nodded, then looked over at you.
“Did you want to grab lunch?”
“I’ll never turn down food,” you laughed.
“Team morale meeting, let’s go!” Rick said excitedly, starting to head down the boardwalk.
Chris and Mitch followed Rick down the boardwalk, already arguing about whether the diner still had pie left from the morning.
You and Parker trailed a few steps behind them, the noise of Dawson filling the air around you - engines rumbling, boots on wood planks, someone laughing somewhere down the street.
Rick suddenly turned around and started walking backwards.
“Try not to take too long back there,” he called. “We’re hungry!”
Parker rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. You glanced over at him.
“Do they always act like this?”
“Pretty much,” he said with a small shrug.
You smiled slightly, looking ahead at the three men who were arguing about milkshakes.
For a crew that spent most of their days buried in mud and machinery, they seemed strangely normal out here.
For the first time since arriving at the claim, you realized you weren’t just working here anymore.
Finding a parking spot in Dawson on a Sunday morning was harder than avoiding a moose on the back roads. Parker crept the truck slowly down the crowded street, scanning for an open space between the rows of trucks and ATVs.
“You’d think half the Yukon decided to come to town today,” he muttered.
You leaned forward slightly in your seat.
“Looks like it.”
Finally, he spotted a gap and swung the truck into it. Parker killed the engine and glanced over at you.
“Alright,” he said, “let’s go find that coffee.”
The two of you slid out of the truck, the Yukon wind cutting through you like a knife. You pulled your arms to your chest and turned back into the truck.
“Did you not bring a sweatshirt or something?” He asked, grabbing his wallet from the center console.
“I didn’t think it would be colder here than at the claim, okay?” You grumbled.
He went to the backseat and dug through the pile of clothes he clearly needed to clean out of his truck. Finding his old black sweatshirt that said ‘Ugly Kid,’ he shut the door and tossed it to you.
“I can’t wear your sweatshirt,” you said bluntly.
Parker shrugged.
“Either that or you freeze.”
You groaned as the cold wind hit you again.
“Whatever,” you mumbled to yourself as you slid the sweatshirt over your head.
It smelled like diesel, dirt, faint sweat, and something woodsy. You pulled the sleeves down to your hands, then put your phone in the front pocket.
“You ready?” He asked, looking over at you and freezing.
You adjusted the hood, then looked back at him and nodded.
“I think there’s a cafe up ahead, Prospector’s Brew, or something like that,” you said as you started to walk down the boarded sidewalk.
After you got a few feet away, you glanced back at Parker, who was still standing next to the truck and looking at you.
You laughed.
“Did you get stuck to the ground?”
“N-No,” he stuttered, shaking his head slightly and following you.
“Then what?” You teased.
He stayed silent. Parker always had some sort of comeback. You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Cat got your tongue?” You asked.
“Just not used to seeing someone else wear my clothes, that’s all,” he said quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets, “You want coffee or not?”
You simply nodded and continued to walk beside him. Not in front or behind - beside him.
As you walked, you could feel his eyes glancing toward you. For whatever reason, this made your heart flip in your chest.
Arriving at Prospector’s Brew, Parker held the door open for you, then followed to the front counter.
“Mr. Schnabel, long time no see,” the guy behind the counter greeted, “the usual?”
“That’d be great,” Parker replied, then looked at you. “Get whatever you’d like.”
You looked up at the handwritten chalkboard menu. Drink names were all centered on mining.
The Klondike Kick. The Paydirt Latte. The Yukon Mocha. The Prospector. The Gold Rush.
“Hmmm,” you hummed softly, “I’ll take an iced Yukon Mocha, please.”
“Is that all for you two?” The guy asked, grabbing two cups.
“That’s it, Drake,” Parker said, handing him enough cash to cover the coffee and leave a generous tip.
“We’ll call you when it’s ready,” the guy, now known as Drake, smiled.
Parker walked over to a booth in the corner of the cafe, sitting down on the side facing the rest of the cafe. You followed, sitting opposite him.
“You come here often?” You asked, setting your phone beside you in the booth.
“Usually when I come to town for parts, I stop for something,” he said. “Normally, it’s the prospector. It’s an extra-strong coffee with an extra shot.”
“I see. When it’s hot coffee, I like it with just cream and sugar, but if it’s iced, I usually do some kind of mocha.”
“Noted.”
“Parker!” Drake called from the counter, sliding both drinks forward.
Without a word, Parker got up and walked over. He thanked Drake and grabbed the cups. On his way back over to the booth, he grabbed a straw. It was small, but you noticed.
Parker set your drink and straw down in front of you, then took his seat across from you. As he leaned back in the booth, his eyes dropped briefly to your forearm.
“Does it still hurt?” He asked, taking a sip from his steaming cup.
“No, only if I really bump it on something do I remember it’s there,” you laughed slightly, glancing down at your arm.
You took a sip of your drink, a small smile coming to your face.
“Is it good?” He asked, hands wrapped around his cup.
“It’s pretty good,” you said with a smile.
He chuckled.
“Still not better than my secret stash though.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you laughed.
A moment passed as you both enjoyed your drinks and the change of scenery.
“So, what do you do when not analyzing dirt?” He asked, looking up at you.
You thought about it, a small smile on your face.
“Usually, find a quiet place.”
“That’s it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
You shrugged.
“After working around machines and loud miners all day, quiet is pretty nice.”
“Makes sense.”
“What about you?” You asked softly, biting on the straw in your drink.
He took a drink of his coffee.
“Walk the claim mostly.”
“That sounds suspiciously like working, Parker.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, “just without the machines.”
You took a brief moment to take in Parker’s face. Only in his early thirties, his face still bore soft wrinkles from stress.
“Have you ever not worked?”
“No.” He said flatly.
He replied a little too quickly. Too quickly for your liking.
“Why?” You asked, leaning onto your forearms on the table.
He took a deep breath and was visibly hesitant. You stayed there, looking at the man you called your boss, waiting for his answer.
“I guess…” He trailed off. “When my Grandpa passed away, it was the only way I knew how to cope. One of those, if I stopped working, I’d have to face the fact that he isn’t here anymore.”
Your heart broke with his words. For a man who, on the outside, seemed rough and invincible, on the inside was just a tender soul who matured faster than most kids do. Watching Parker, he stared down at his half-empty cup with glossy eyes.
Reaching across the table with one hand, you placed yours on his and rubbed your thumb over his knuckles. His breath hitched at this, and your heart was doing somersaults.
“You’re allowed to miss him, Parker,” you said softly, “and you’re allowed to not think about work for a day.”
This brought a small smile to his face. He looked up at you, making direct eye contact.
“Says the lady who analyzed the dirt on the side of the road,” he teased.
You scoffed softly and pulled your hand back, leaning into the booth.
“Hey, that was important research.”
Parker chuckled, the tension in his shoulders finally easing a little.
Outside the cafe window, Dawson moved along like it always did - trucks rumbling past, miners wandering between stores, the Yukon wind tugging at loose signs.
For a while, neither of you spoke. But this time, the quiet felt a lot less heavy.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The gravel road stretched out like a thin ribbon through the dark Yukon trees. Dust rolled behind Parker’s truck in a lazy cloud, the claim slowly disappearing in the rearview mirror.
For a while, neither of you said anything. The low hum of the engine and the soft rattle of loose gravel against the truck’s frame filled the silence. Parker’s hand on the console started tapping a small rhythm that somehow matched the tires hitting rough patches in the road.
Shifting slightly in your seat, you watched the trees blur past outside the window.
It felt strange not thinking about the mine.
Not thinking about the cut.
Not thinking about the dirt.
Your brain tried anyway. Every now and then, you caught yourself studying the roadside banks where the road had been carved through the hills. Layers of lighter and darker soil stacked on top of each other like a history book written in dirt.
You squinted slightly at one of them as the truck rolled past.
“Huh,” you muttered.
Parker glanced over briefly.
“What?”
“That cut back there,” you said as you pointed with your thumb toward the patch of road you passed.
“The road?” He asked.
“No, the dirt on the side of it,” you said, leaning back in the seat again. “There’s a darker layer about halfway down. Probably an old pay streak or something.”
Parker was quiet for a second, then let out a short laugh.
“You lasted fifteen minutes,” he said.
You frowned slightly.
“What?”
“Before you started analyzing dirt again.”
You crossed your arms and looked out the windshield.
“I said probably.”
“Uh-huh,” Parker said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
It was quiet for another few minutes before Parker spoke again.
“Where did you learn how to read it?”
“The dirt?” You asked, keeping your gaze out the window.
“No, books,” he laughed. “Yes, dirt.”
“It was a mix of a few different things,” you sighed softly. “First was from an old timer in Colorado. He said the dirt would tell you where the gold was if you stopped long enough to look.”
“Sounds like my grandpa,” Parker chuckled.
“Being young and naive, I thought he was full of it and came up north here to Alaska. First mine I worked at up here had a geologist who liked to talk,” you continued, “most people ignored him, but I didn’t.”
“True,” you said, “but at least this one knew what he was talking about.”
“That’s rare,” he said, “most of them just point at the ground and say expensive words.”
“So do miners,” you laughed.
“Yeah,” he admitted, “but we’re usually right.”
“And from there it was mostly self-taught and experience. Watching miners go through light colored dirt to get nothing,” you shrugged. “You watch people do it wrong long enough, you start to notice a couple of things.”
“That explains it,” Parker said while nodding slightly.
“Explains what?” You looked at him with your eyebrows scrunched together.
“That you weren’t guessing yesterday.”
“You didn’t know that.”
“Yeah,” he said simply, “I did.”
Parker was quiet for a moment, taking in what you said.
“I learned everything from my grandpa, John,” he said softly, “he’d wake me up before sunrise. Hand me a shovel and point at a pile of dirt that looked exactly like the other hundred piles.”
You smirked.
“And you loved it?”
“At the time? Not really.”
You raised an eyebrow.
He sighed, “But I couldn’t imagine doing anything else now. I’ve been in the dirt since I was six. I was never not in dirt. My mom can even attest to that.”
“You’re still in the dirt,” you commented.
“Yeah, well, some people get stuck behind desks.” Parker chuckled.
“That sounds terrible,” you mumbled.
“It is,” he said, “that’s why I avoid the office as much as possible.”
“Ever think you’ll quit mining?” You asked softly.
“I’ll probably never get out of it. My life pretty much revolves around dirt,” he said. “It will always be a part of my life and a part of me.”
“As long as it’s what makes you happy,” you said, looking over at him.
He looked back at you.
“It does.”
For a moment, the truck was quiet again. Parker turned the wheel slightly as the road curved along a low ridge. Through the trees, you caught a brief glimpse of a wide valley stretching out in the distance.
“You ever get tired of this view?” You asked, staring out the passenger window.
Parker glanced out towards the hills, then at you.
“Not really,” he said, “it’s the best part.”
There was another moment of silence in the truck cab, but this time it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.
“So…” Parker said, “Are you done analyzing roadside geology now?”
You looked back at the hillside, then back at Parker with a soft laugh.
“Probably not.”
Around ten minutes had gone by when you had just started to study an exposed cut in a hillside when Parker suddenly eased his foot off the gas.
“Hold on,” he mumbled.
You looked up just as something massive stepped out of the treeline ahead of the truck.
A bull moose had wandered onto the road, as if it had nowhere else to be except blocking your path.
You blinked slowly.
“That’s a big moose,” you breathed.
Parker chuckled under his breath as he brought the truck to a slow stop a few yards away.
“Yeah, they tend to get like that.”
The moose stood there for a moment, long legs planted firmly on the gravel as it stared at the truck. Its massive antlers stretched out wide above its head, easily wider than the hood of the truck.
You leaned forward slightly in your seat, glancing at the moose and then at the top of the truck.
“That thing is taller than the truck.”
“Probably weighs close to a thousand pounds, too,” Parker said casually, putting the truck in park.
You glanced over at him.
“You sound way too calm about that.”
He shrugged, leaning back in his seat.
“You hit one of those, the truck loses.”
Eventually, the moose decided the truck wasn’t worth its attention and began its way to the other side of the road in slow, lazy steps. You watched it disappear into the trees on the other side before leaning back.
“Welcome to Yukon traffic,” Parker chuckled, shifting the truck back into gear once the moose had gone.
You laughed softly as the truck rolled forward.
“Still beats city traffic,” you said, shifting your gaze back out the window.
Parker smirked slightly, eyes on the road ahead.
“Yeah,” he said, “out here, the wildlife has the right of way.”
The truck rolled steadily down the gravel road. You spotted the first signs of town before Parker said anything. A weathered sign leaning slightly toward the road and the faint outline of rooftops tucked between the trees.
Parker slowed the truck slightly as the road widened.
“Almost there,” he said quietly.
You nodded, already recognizing the stretch of road leading toward Dawson. You had made the trip before, enough times to know what waited at the end of it - dusty streets, supply runs, and miners arguing over their gold totals.
Normally, it was just in between shifts, but today felt different.
You glanced over at Parker as he steered the truck toward town, one hand resting casually on the wheel like he’d driven this road a thousand times before.
“Alright,” he said, “what’s the first stop?”
You thought for a second.
“Coffee?”
He smirked.
“Thought you already had the good stuff this morning.”
You shrugged slightly.
“Yeah, but that was your secret stash.”
Parker chuckled as he turned the truck toward town.
“Careful,” he said, “keep talking like that, and I might stop sharing it.”
The next morning was quiet. Too quiet. It almost made you panic before you realized it was Sunday, your day off. You barely had time to process that you needed to get up before your phone buzzed.
“It’s too early for this, boss man,” you groaned.
Grabbing your phone, you opened his text.
Mess hall has breakfast… Waffles and bacon…
You stared at the screen. Why does he care if you get breakfast? As you started to type back a response, your stomach decided to interrupt with a loud moan as if screaming for food.
Cool. Be there shortly.
As you walked into the mess hall, the smell of warm maple syrup surrounded you. A smile came to your face as it brought back memories of spending the night at your grandparents' house.
After making your way through the line and grabbing a small carton of orange juice, you turned toward the tables. Chris, Mitch, Rick, and Tyson were all excitedly waving you over.
“Oh boy,” you mumbled, “here we go…”
You walked over and took the open seat on the end next to Chris.
“There’s our Gold Finding Queen!” Rick said, lowering his coffee cup.
This almost made you choke on your orange juice.
“I’m sorry, what?” You asked, wiping your mouth.
“Well, you literally found a streak that gave us another hundred ounces of gold,” Tyson said, shoving a bite that was clearly too big into his mouth.
“So, we decided to nickname you the Gold Finding Queen.” Mitch chimed in.
You just looked at them.
“I see.”
While you were eating and listening to the guys talk about your “amazing discovery,” you didn’t notice that Parker sat at the end of the table next to you. You only noticed when he set a cup of coffee in front of you.
“Figured you might need it to stay awake with these guys,” he said softly, opening his syrup cup.
You took the warm cup in your hands, looking down at the tan liquid.
“Did you put cream in here?”
“You put two in, right? And one sugar?”
You smiled slightly as you looked up at him. Seeing him not just as your boss, but as just Parker.
“Yeah, I do.”
Taking a small sip, you smiled a little bigger.
“Why does this taste better than when I do it?” You teased.
Parker smiled.
“Probably because I know where the good coffee stash is.”
“Oh, that isn’t fair.”
“We still haven’t figured it out,” Chris chimed in, “and I’ve been here forever.”
“She got the secret stash coffee?!” Rick asked loudly. “What the hell!”
You rolled your eyes and continued to enjoy your waffles, bacon, and your secret stash coffee.
Deciding to redirect the conversation away from you, you cleared your throat.
“What are the plans for the day? Maintenance on equipment?”
The guys laughed.
“That’s on Mondays,” Mitch said, “On Sundays, we normally hang out or make a trip to town.”
“I do need more snacks,” Tyson said, looking down at his empty plate.
“We could go to town and then come back to the claim and rip around on the ATVs,” Rick said, finishing his bacon.
“Wouldn’t hurt to grab some extra parts while in town,” Mitch said, wiping his mouth.
Chris stood up with his plate.
“I’m low on cigars, and we’re almost out of beer.”
“Town run it is,” Parker laughed, then looked at you. “Need anything?”
“I wouldn’t mind going for the drive,” you said, taking another sip from your coffee.
“You just like to burn fuel, don’t you?”
You smirked.
“Especially when it’s someone else’s.”
“We’ll probably end up needing two trucks, you good to drive into town, Parker?” Mitch asked.
“Yeah, the bed of my truck is empty,” he replied, leaning back in his chair.
He looked over at you, his eyes lingering a little longer than they should have. As you looked up, you caught his eyes with yours, turning your cheeks a soft pink.
“My truck is the cleanest one on the claim. You’re welcome to ride with me,” he said, keeping eye contact with you.
You looked over at the team, who were now arguing over what brand of beer and kind of snacks to get. You looked back at Parker.
“Deal.”
“Leave in like an hour?” He asked, standing up and grabbing his dishes.
“Works for us!” Mitch said over Tyson and Rick, who were still in a heated discussion about gummy worms or gummy bears.
In the hour before the trip to town, you went and cleaned your room. You made the bed and swept the floor. Normal chores that took no more than 10 minutes in such a small space. As you finally took the bandage off your arm, your phone buzzed.
Boss. You sighed and opened the text.
We could leave now if you wanted, since you’re the only one riding with me.
You looked out the window, seeing Parker’s truck parked next to the office. Then it hit you, it would take about an hour and a half to get to town. And you’d be alone with Parker.
“Why are you freaking out about this, (Y/N)?” You asked yourself. “He’s your boss.”
You huffed and looked for your small bag you’d take to town.
“Just your boss who knows exactly how you take your coffee.”
Your thumbs danced above the screen, then typed.
I’m ready now if you are.
Sweet, let’s go.
Grabbing your ballcap and sunglasses, you headed out the door and towards Parker’s truck. It was covered in dust, as if it had been working in the cut itself.
Parker walked out of the office, ballcap on his head, with his hair slightly damp. You shrugged, thinking that at least he wouldn’t smell like dirt and sweat. He came over and opened the door for you.
“Ladies first,” he said softly, gesturing for you to get in.
“Is that so?” You teased, standing on the truck’s running board.
He smiled.
“Only right.”
You slid into the seat, Parker shutting the door and walking around the back of the truck. You tucked your ponytail through the back of the ballcap and put on your sunglasses.
He climbed into the driver's seat, shut the door, put his sunglasses on, and then started the truck. You both put your seatbelts on, and he backed the truck up, then headed towards the claim entrance.
Watching Parker as he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other on the center console, something about it felt very un-boss-like.
He glanced over suddenly, catching you looking.
“You good?” He asked.
You blinked and then looked out the windshield.
“Yep.”
Parker gave a small nod with a faint smile before focusing back on the road. You glanced back at him for another second before turning your attention to the trees passing by.
For the first time since arriving at the claim, the mine wasn’t occupying your thoughts.
You stared at your phone longer than you should have.
Compliment.
That was it - no crazy response. No explanation. Just the single word glowing on your screen.
“Man of many words,” you scoffed quietly and tossed the phone back into the cupholder.
Another rock truck rolled into position beneath your bucket, its diesel engine rumbling low against the steady drizzle that still hadn’t given up.
Scoop. Curl. Swing.
Another full bucket of dark pay dirt thudded into the truck bed.
Tyson’s voice crackled over the radio. “Careful with that stuff, (Y/N), that’s the good dirt.”
You smirked and grabbed your radio.
“Then maybe don’t drive it into the mud this time.”
A few chuckles burst across the radio channel from the other truck drivers.
The afternoon felt lighter than the morning or the days prior had. You were used to everyone watching you like you were seconds from screwing something up. This afternoon, they were joking. You took it as a good sign.
As the next truck pulled into position, you looked out across the cut. The darker pay streak running along the east wall, the rain making the soil even darker against the surrounding lighter dirt. You could still picture Parker standing there this morning. He had his hands in his pockets, and his eyes narrowed.
“Still can’t believe he trusted me,” you huffed quietly.
While you scooped another full bucket of dirt, your phone buzzed. You rolled your eyes and ignored it, continuing to dig. Work first.
Rock truck after rock truck rolled through Hell’s Kitchen while the rain kept the ramps as slick ribbons of mud. Somehow, the operation felt smoother than it had appeared since you first arrived.
Maybe it was the gold.
Maybe it was the fact that the boss had actually listened to someone else.
Or maybe it was the strange feeling of knowing someone was watching from the ridge again.
You glanced up towards the top of the cut, and sure enough, Parker’s truck sat parked.
“That man needs a hobby,” you muttered while shaking your head.
Radio static popped again, Rick’s voice following.
“Alright, everyone. Wrap it up. Last trucks and shut the plant down.”
You blinked, looking at the radio like it personally offended you.
“Already?” You said quietly, dumping your bucket into your last truck of the day.
Rick’s voice came through again. “Cleanup time.”
Cleanup. That got your attention. It meant it was time to find out if that darker streak was actually worth the trouble and Parker’s money.
You parked the excavator for the night, climbed down, and wiped your hands on your pants. Checking your phone, you finally read the text you knew was from Parker.
You still moving dirt?
You checked the time he sent it, and it was four hours ago.
“Oops,” you laughed, typing back.
That’s generally what excavators do.
From down in the cut, you could hear Parker’s chuckle from up on the ridge, for whatever reason, which made your chest feel warm. You shook it off as nothing, then another buzz.
How’s your arm?
While working, you had forgotten that you had cut your arm yesterday. You glanced down at the now filthy bandage wrapped around your forearm.
Fine.
An immediate response.
Just fine?
Yep.
Silence.
After everyone enjoyed their meal in the mess hall, they all dispersed. It was only you, Chris, Mitch, Tyson, Rick, and Parker left in there. You would’ve left by now, but you were zoned out while scrolling your phone.
Gold weigh-in was usually only for Parker’s closest crewmates.
The sound of one of them clearing their throat broke you from the screen. Glancing around at the empty mess hall made your eyes widen.
You swallowed your bite of food.
“Want me to go?”
“She’s only been here three days, boss,” Mitch whispered, but not soft enough that you didn’t hear him.
Parker looked over at you and smirked.
“She’ll join us; it was her call after all.”
“I thought that was your call?” Chris asked, taking his cigar out of his mouth.
“She played it off like it was. I’ve noticed she’s not an attention seeker.”
The room went quiet for a second before everyone turned toward you. You could feel the redness creeping up your neck. You knew he watched you work, but was he really picking up on who you were as a person, too?
Following the small group of rugged men across from the mess hall to the gold room, you felt like you were stepping into the principal’s office. You weren’t sure if you were going to get praised or yelled at.
It was quiet, and for loud miners, that said something. You leaned against the wall with your arms crossed, the guys circling a small table with a scale on it.
Chris grabbed the stainless steel thermos labeled ‘Gold Gobbler,’ slowly taking the lid off and setting it on the table. He glanced around at the exhausted and dirt-covered men around him, Parker giving him a slight nod. With that, Chris started to pour the bright yellow flakes into the pan on the table.
Everyone watched the number on the scale climb.
10. 30. 60. 100. 120.
You could barely keep up with how fast the ounces climbed. Chris let the last fleck fall out, then tapped the side of the thermos.
As if everyone was holding their breath, they all exhaled in relief.
“203.7 ounces,” Chris said confidently.
“That’s a hundred ounces more than last week,” Rick said, rubbing the back of his neck.
You stared at the number on the scale, but you couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto your face. Rick glanced over to you, then over at Parker.
Parker hadn’t moved. He was standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the jar.
There was a moment of silence as the crew finished celebrating. Parker finally spoke.
“We shifted east because (Y/N) spotted the ground change.”
All heads except Parker’s turned to you, making you freeze.
Tyson grinned.
“I guess we oughta keep her around.”
“It’s just dirt.” You said and shrugged.
Parker then looked over at you, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
“If this is ‘just dirt,’ I’m gonna need you to keep finding a lot more of it.”
A couple of the guys chuckled.
Tyson slapped Rick slightly on the shoulder.
“Guess Hell’s Kitchen ain’t so hellish anymore.”
Rick shook his head with a grin.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Chris finished sealing the jar filled with gold flakes, then set it in the safe and locked the door.
“Well, gentlemen, and lady,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’d say that’s a good night’s work.”
The crew slowly started to break apart after that. A few headed back to the mess hall, the rest drifting outside to smoke or grab some air after the long day. You pushed off the wall, stretching your shoulders a little.
When you turned to leave, Parker was still near the table with his hands in his pockets.
Stopping just before the door, you turned back to him and asked.
“What?”
He simply shrugged.
“Nothing, just trying to figure out if you’re dangerous or not.”
“Dangerous?”
Parker chuckled softly, “You notice things the rest of us miss - including me.”
“I’m pretty sure that I just look at dirt.”
Parker looked at you for a moment longer than he probably meant to, like he was trying to figure you out.
The silence stretched just enough to make it noticeable.
You raised an eyebrow.
“You keep staring like that, boss, people are going to think I did something.”
Parker just looked at you one more time before shrugging.
“Just trying to figure out what you’re gonna cost me.”
“Probably a lot,” you said with a smirk.
With that, you pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool Yukon night, leaving Parker in the gold room wondering if bringing you to Hell’s Kitchen was still the best decision he made—or the most expensive.
