Page 10 of Bossy Mountain Daddies (Reverse Harem Mountain Daddies #3)

Skye

T he next morning, Griff is gone by the time I wake up. I stretch, wincing slightly as my muscles protest, and that's when I notice the piece of paper on the dresser, folded once and propped against the lamp.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the wooden floor cool beneath my bare feet.

My clothes from last night are scattered across the room—my shorts by the door, my shirt draped over a chair, underwear.

.. hmm, where did my underwear go? I grab Griff's shirt which is closest to me.

He must have left with just his T-shirt on.

I pad across the room to retrieve the note.

His handwriting is surprisingly neat:

SKYE - HAD TO RUN SOME ERRANDS. SEE YOU SOON. - G

P.S. LAST NIGHT WAS INCREDIBLE.

I press the note to my chest, a smile spreading across my face. Last night was incredible. I can still feel his hands on my body, the scrape of his beard between my thighs, the way he filled me so completely. It was exactly what I needed… but I still can’t believe I did it.

I've never been a huge fan of oral sex. With Daniel, it always felt like an obligation, something to be endured rather than enjoyed.

He'd go down on me occasionally, and always made it clear he was doing me some kind of favor.

His technique was meh. But Griff... holy shit.

The way he'd looked at me, like he was starving and I was a meal.

The way his tongue moved against me, inside me.

The way he'd pulled back right when I was about to come, making me wait, making me beg. The way he'd finally let me explode.

I drag myself to the shower, and find that walking is slightly difficult. I can’t say I’m surprised.

The hot water feels amazing on my sore muscles. I wash my hair, scrub my body, letting my mind wander to everything that’s happened in such a short amount of time.

Back in my room, I towel off and pull on clean underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt. My phone buzzes with a text:

Charlotte: Any updates? Did the mechanic find parts yet? Miss you!

I should call her. I want to hear her voice. But what do I say? "Hey, so my car's still in the shop, and oh by the way, I slept with the insanely hot, much older bar owner last night, and it was mind-blowing"?

Yeah, exactly that.

I take a deep breath and dial her number. She picks up on the second ring.

"Skye! Hey! How are you?"

"Oh my gosh," I say, settling onto the bed. "It's been a crazy few days."

"I bet. How's the car?"

"Still in the shop. Jed—that's the mechanic—is having trouble finding the parts. Could be another week, maybe more."

Charlotte sighs. "That sucks. Are you still staying at that bar? What's it called again?"

"Devil's Pass. And yeah, I'm still here. Working here too."

"Working? Like, as a waitress?"

"Basically," I say. "Taking orders, serving food. It's not bad, actually. The people are nice."

There's a pause, and I can practically hear her deciding whether to push for more information or wait for me to volunteer it. Finally, she cracks. "What else is going on? Your voice sounds kind of funny."

I flop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and let it rip. "I slept with someone last night."

"You WHAT?" Her voice jumps an octave. "Who? Not Daniel? Please tell me you didn't?—"

"God, no," I cut her off. "Never again… It was one of the owners of the bar. His name's Griff."

"Skye McMillan! You've been there what, three days? And you're already hooking up with the locals?" There's no judgment in her voice, just surprise and a hint of admiration.

"It just happened," I say, though that's not entirely true. I wanted it to happen. I made it happen. I’m still surprised at myself. "He's older than me—like, a lot older. But Charlotte, the sex was... I don't even have words."

"That good, huh?" she asks, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

"Better than anything I've ever experienced. It's like he knew exactly what I needed, exactly what I wanted."

"Well, older guys do tend to know what they're doing," Charlotte says. "So is this a one-time thing, or...?"

"I don't know," I admit. "I'm only here until my car gets fixed. It's not like I'm looking for a relationship. But..."

"But you wouldn't mind doing it again," she finishes for me.

"Exactly." I laugh and wonder if I’ll get a chance. I have a sneaking suspicion that I will.

We talk for another hour, Charlotte filling me in on work stuff, me giving her more details about Flounder Ridge and the people at Devil's Pass. By the time we hang up, I feel better—more settled. Charlotte’s always done that for me which is why she’s still one of my best friends even though we haven’t lived in the same town for years.

I spend the next few hours reading, losing myself in a book that I’ve been meaning to start for months but hadn’t found the time.

I forget about Daniel and Alicia, about my broken-down car, about my uncertain future.

I just let myself exist in the moment, the way I haven't in longer than I can remember.

Around three, my stomach growls loudly, reminding me I haven't eaten since last night. The bar kitchen is closed until five, but Rose's Diner should be open.

I walk the short distance into town, enjoying the crisp mountain air and the way the sunlight dapples through the pine trees.

Flounder Ridge is quiet on a Sunday afternoon, just a few locals out and about.

An older couple nods to me as they pass, the woman offering a friendly greeting that catches me off guard.

In the city, you don't make eye contact with strangers, let alone greet them.

The diner is half-full, mostly with the after-church crowd, judging by the number of floral dresses and striped ties. I slide into a booth by the window, and the same silver-haired waitress from my first day brings me a menu.

"You were in here a few days ago, right?" she asks, pouring me a cup of coffee without waiting for me to order it.

I nod, surprised she remembers me. "I’m here until my car gets fixed."

"Jed does good work," she says approvingly. "You'll be back on the road in no time."

As I dig into a turkey club sandwich, I wonder why that thought doesn't bring me the relief I would expect. A week ago, being stranded in a tiny mountain town would have been my worst nightmare. Now, I'm not so sure I'm in a hurry to leave.

At five o'clock, I head downstairs for my shift, my hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a Devil's Pass t-shirt Vanna gave me. The bar is quiet, the calm before the Sunday night crowd trickles in.

A man I haven't seen before stands behind the bar, arranging bottles on the back shelf.

He's tall and lean, with dark hair streaked with silver at the temples, dressed in a crisp button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

When he turns, I'm struck by how different he looks from Griff and Buck—more polished, like he wandered in from a different world entirely.

His eyes find mine, intelligent and appraising. "You must be Skye," he says, his voice smooth. "I've heard quite a bit about you."

I approach the bar, suddenly self-conscious. "All good things, I hope."

"Nothing but." He extends his hand. "Ford Barrows. The third musketeer in this little enterprise."

His handshake is firm. "Nice to finally meet you," I say. "I was starting to think you were a figment of everyone's imagination."

He laughs, the sound rich and genuine. "I was in Denver for a few days. Business meetings." The way he says it suggests these meetings weren't for Devil's Pass. "I'm usually here most evenings, though. Griff handles the bar, Buck runs the kitchen, and I..."

"Handle the money?" I guess.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "That's one way of putting it. I prefer to think of it as keeping these two cavemen from running the place into the ground." There's affection in his tone that makes it clear this is an old, comfortable joke between them.

I like Ford immediately. There's something about him that puts me at ease—a quiet confidence, an attentiveness that makes me feel like he's really listening when I speak.

"So, Griff mentioned you’re stranded here," Ford says, sliding a glass of water across the bar to me.

I nod. "My old Mustang gave out on me on my way to Wyoming. The head gasket blew, among other things. Jed's looking for parts."

"You gotta love vintage cars. They’re beautiful, but temperamental." He leans against the back counter and folds his arms against his chest.

The door from the back room swings open, and Griff walks in, carrying a crate of beer. He stops when he sees me. "Hey," he says, his voice gruff.

"Hey," I reply, heat rising to my cheeks as images from last night flash through my mind—his hands on my body, his mouth on my lady bits, the way he growled my name when he came.

Ford's gaze flicks between us, one eyebrow raising slightly. "I'll go check on Buck," he says, a knowing smile playing at his lips. "Make sure he's not trying to reinvent the hamburger again." He slides past Griff, clapping him on the shoulder as he goes.

For a moment, Griff and I just look at each other. The air between us feels charged with vivid memories of last night.

"Sleep okay?" he finally asks, setting the crate down behind the bar.

I nod. "Great, actually. Your shirt's upstairs. I should've brought it down."

"Keep it," he says, a small smile playing at his lips. "I’m sure it looks better on you anyway."

Just like that, the awkwardness breaks. We fall into an easy rhythm as we prepare for the evening crowd—me wiping down tables and filling catsup bottles, Griff restocking the bar and checking inventory.

Occasionally our paths cross, his hand brushing against mine, or his eyes meeting mine across the room, and each time my stomach does a little flip.