Page 31 of Bossy Mountain Daddies (Reverse Harem Mountain Daddies #3)

Ford

T he spreadsheet in front of me blurs as I try to focus on the numbers.

We're gathered around the table—Buck tapping his pen against the wood, Griff drinking his coffee—appearing to be reviewing last quarter's earnings but I’m not so sure.

"So, liquor costs are up about eight percent from last year. "

"Fucking distributors," Griff mutters, leaning forward to squint at the numbers. "They promised they wouldn't raise prices again after January."

Buck shrugs. "They do whatever they want to. It’s not like we can run this place without liquor. And, I swear to god they’re all in cahoots with each other. May as well call it what it is—a monopoly.”

I'm about to suggest we should look into alternative suppliers when footsteps on the stairs draw our attention.

Skye appears, and my mouth goes dry. She's wearing tiny blue running shorts that hug her ass perfectly and a tight white tank top that leaves little to the imagination.

Her hair's pulled back in a high ponytail, and she has zero makeup on.

She's stunning in that effortless way that makes it impossible to take my eyes off her.

"Hey," she says, a bright smile lighting up her face when she sees us. "Just heading to Jed's to check on Poppy before I go for a run."

Griff's eyes follow her as she grabs a water bottle from behind the bar. "Is he making progress?"

"I hope so. Jed said the new part might be arriving today." She twists the water bottle cap off, taking a long sip that makes her throat work in a way that's inexplicably sexy. "See you all later."

She catches my eye, and something passes between us—a shared memory of the other night, maybe. Her cheeks flush slightly, and she gives me a small, private smile before heading for the door.

We all watch her leave, the door swinging shut behind her. The silence that follows is heavy as we all look at each other with raised eyebrows.

Buck breaks it first with a low whistle. "Christ, those shorts."

"Tell me about it," Griff agrees, rubbing a hand over his beard. "Honestly thought I was going to lose it when she bent over to tie her shoes."

I take a sip of my coffee, trying to re-center. "Alright then, let’s focus on the numbers. Food costs are?—"

"Speaking of focus," Buck interrupts, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin, "I couldn't concentrate for shit earlier. Not after last night."

Griff chuckles. "No kidding. I haven't been fucked like that in years."

My pencil freezes mid-calculation. "Last night?" I ask, trying to sound casual despite the sudden tightness in my chest.

"After we closed up," Buck explains, his eyes gleaming with the memory. "Me, Griff, and Skye. It was... fuck, it was incredible."

A complicated mixture of emotions washes through me—jealousy, curiosity, arousal. I set down my pencil. "The three of you?"

Griff nods, a slight smirk playing at his lips. "Wasn't planned. We were playing some drinking game, and it just... happened."

"She took both of us," Buck adds, lowering his voice though the bar is empty. "At the same time."

The image forms instantly in my mind—Skye between them, her body taking both men at once. My cock stirs against my thigh, and I shift in my seat.

"She was fucking unbelievable," Griff continues, either oblivious to my discomfort or enjoying it. "The way she moved, the sounds she made..."

"The way she looked at us," Buck adds. "Like she couldn't get enough."

I take a deep breath, fighting the dueling urges to walk away from this conversation or demand every detail. "Sounds like you had a good time," I manage to say, my voice tight.

Buck's eyes narrow slightly, reading me too well. "You were with her the night before, right? You were at your place?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"So we're even," Griff says, clapping me on the shoulder. "Besides, it's what we all agreed. Her choice, no jealousy."

He's right, of course. That was our agreement. But hearing them talk about her like this—knowing they shared something I wasn't part of—stirs an unexpected possessiveness in me.

"You think she'd be up for all three of us sometime?" The question leaves my mouth before I can stop it.

Buck and Griff exchange a look.

"Abso-fucking-lutely," Buck says with conviction. "But obviously, we’d need to ask her."

"She was pretty adventurous last night," Griff adds, a hint of pride in his voice. "The way she handled both of us... I'd say she's game for more."

The front door swings open, and Vanna strides in with Loverboy trotting at her heels. She's wearing her usual—jeans, boots, and a T-shirt. Her copper hair is piled messily on top of her head.

"Well, well, the three musketeers deep in conversation," she says, eyebrows raised as she approaches our table. "What's got you boys looking so serious? And why did Skye just jog past me looking like she stepped out of a running magazine?"

"Business meeting," Griff says, tapping the ledger, and avoiding the question about Skye.

Vanna's eyes narrow, flicking between the three of us. "Uh-huh. And I'm the Queen of England." She sets her bag on the bar. "You were talking about her before I walked in, weren't you?"

We all clam up immediately. Buck suddenly finds the spreadsheet fascinating, Griff becomes intensely interested in his coffee, and I start straightening the papers in front of me.

"That's what I thought," Vanna says with a knowing smirk. "You know I'll find out what you morons were talking about. I always do." She snaps her fingers, and Loverboy sits obediently at her feet. "Actually, before you scatter like cockroaches under a flashlight, I want to show you something."

She heads to the bar and pours a small amount of draft beer into a glass. "Watch this."

We all stare as she deliberately pours a small puddle of beer onto the floor. Loverboy's nose twitches, and his ears perk up, but to my amazement, he stays put, just watching the beer with a mournful expression.

"Holy shit," Buck says, genuinely impressed. "How'd you manage that?"

Vanna beams with pride. "Several days of consistent training.

Every time he went for beer, I made a loud noise and gave him a treat if he backed off.

Then gradually reduced the treats and kept the noise.

Now all I have to do is click my tongue.

" She demonstrates with a sharp clicking sound, and Loverboy looks up at her, clearly expecting a reward.

"That's impressive," I say, watching as she bends down to scratch behind his ears. "I figured his beer obsession was hardwired into his doggy DNA."

"Never underestimate the power of positive reinforcement," she says, producing a small treat from her pocket and feeding it to Loverboy. "Works on both dogs and men."

Her eyes sweep across the three of us again, that knowing look back in place. "Speaking of which, whatever's going on with you three and Skye... just be careful. She's been through a lot."

"We know," Griff says, his voice softening. "We care about her."

Vanna studies him for a moment, then nods. "Good. Because if any of you hurt her, I'll personally cut your balls off." She smiles sweetly. "Now, who's going to clean up this beer?"

I grab a rag from behind the bar, relieved for the distraction.

As I mop up the spilled beer, my mind circles back to the possibility of the four of us together—me, Skye, Buck, and Griff.

The thought sends anticipation coursing through my entire body.

It's something I wasn’t sure I’d ever do again.

Until I met Skye. And now that the idea's planted itself in my head, it’s going to be hard to push it back out.

Later that night, the bar hums with Friday night energy. I'm on autopilot—pouring drinks, running credit cards, chatting with some of the regulars.

My mind is elsewhere though, stuck on a loop of imagined scenarios: Skye between all three of us, her body responding to our combined attention, her eyes dark with desire as we take turns with her.

The thought is overwhelming. I've had foursomes before, but I’m pretty sure this one is going to be different.

"Hey, Earth to Ford," Vanna snaps her fingers in front of my face. "Table four's been waiting on their beer for ten minutes."

I blink, realizing I've been standing with my hand on the tap, lost in thought. "Sorry," I mutter, quickly filling the glasses and adding them to her tray.

She narrows her eyes at me. "What's with you tonight? You're a million miles away."

"Just tired," I lie, though from her skeptical expression, she doesn't believe me.

As she walks away, I force myself to focus on the task at hand. But between customers, my mind keeps circling back to the same thought: if we're really going to do this—all four of us together—I want it to be special. Not just some spontaneous thing that happens after closing.

Skye deserves better than that. Better than a rushed encounter on a narrow bed with thin walls and the lingering smell of bar food. She deserves something beautiful, something memorable. Something that shows her how much we—how much I—care about her.

By the time my shift ends, I've made up my mind. This needs to be planned, carefully orchestrated to ensure Skye’s comfort and pleasure. She’s not going to be here much longer and I want this to be something she never forgets.

Back at my cabin, despite the late hour, I open my laptop and begin searching.

Local hotels are out—too many prying eyes in a small town like Flounder Ridge.

I expand my search to private rentals in the surrounding mountains.

Most are either too rustic (an outhouse and cold showers isn’t going to work) or too family-oriented (bunk beds and board games definitely aren’t what I have in mind).

I'm about to give up when I spot it—a modern glass and cedar cabin perched on the edge of a cliff with panoramic mountain views.

The photos show a spacious living area with a stone fireplace, a chef's kitchen, and a master bedroom that takes up the entire second floor.

But it's the bathroom that catches my eye—a massive sunken tub positioned before floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the mountains, and a shower large enough for. .. multiple people.

The price makes me wince—more than my monthly mortgage—but as I scroll through more photos, I know it's perfect. The deck with its outdoor firepit and hot tub. A remote location that promises complete privacy.

I check the calendar on the website. It’s available Monday night and I’m sure Vanna could hold the fort down while we’re away. If we close the kitchen for the night, it shouldn’t be a problem—Monday nights are typically pretty dead.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I enter my credit card information and book it for the night. The confirmation email arrives seconds later, and a mixture of excitement and nervousness settles in my stomach.

This is happening. Or at least, it could be happening. I still need to talk to Buck and Griff—and most importantly, Skye—but the possibility now has a time and place attached to it.

I finally fall asleep with images of Skye in that sunken tub, water beading on her skin as she beckons us to join her.

The next morning, I head to the bar earlier than necessary. Just as I expected, Buck is already there, prepping for the day. He looks up when I enter.

"You look like shit," he observes, continuing to slice lemons. "Late night?"

"Something like that." I pour myself a coffee and lean against the counter. "Where's Griff?"

"Office. Doing payroll." Buck sets down his knife. "Why? What's up?"

"I'll tell both of you at once," I say, taking my coffee and head toward the office.

Griff is hunched over the computer, scowling at the screen. He glances up when I knock on the open door. "Please tell me you're here to take over this nightmare."

"Not exactly," I say. "I had an idea I wanted to run by both of you."

Buck squeezes in behind me, his bulk making the small office feel even more cramped. "This about what we were discussing last night?"

I nod, suddenly feeling awkward. How do you casually bring up planning a foursome? "I was thinking, if we're serious about... all of us with Skye... it should be special."

Griff leans back in his chair, giving me his full attention. "Special how?"

"I found a place," I say, pulling out my phone to show them the photos of the Airbnb. "It's up in the mountains, about an hour from here. It’s private and the views are incredible."

Buck whistles as he swipes through the photos. "Damn, Ford. This place is fancy as hell."

"It's perfect," Griff says, leaning over to look. "That hot tub alone is worth whatever it costs."

"About that," I begin, but Buck cuts me off.

"We'll split it three ways." He hands the phone back to me. "When were you thinking?"

"Monday night," I say. "Vanna won’t mind being here alone—she’d actually probably prefer it."

Griff nods slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "I'm in. Assuming Skye is, of course."

"That's the big question," I admit. "How do we even bring this up to her?"

"Directly," Buck says without hesitation. "No games, no pressure. Just lay it out and see what she says."

"Buck's right," Griff agrees. "We tell her we've booked this place, we'd like her to join us, but it's entirely her choice. No expectations."

I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. I'd been so focused on the logistics that I hadn't fully considered how to approach Skye about it. But they're right—directness is best.

"So we're doing this," I say, a statement rather than a question.

"We're doing this," Buck confirms, clapping me on the shoulder.

"Assuming she says yes," Griff adds, though the confidence in his voice suggests he has little doubt.

I look between them—my two oldest friends. There's trust here, a foundation built over years that makes this unconventional situation feel somehow right.

"Let's ask her tonight," I suggest. "All three of us together."

They both nod in agreement, and a charge of anticipation fills the small office.

I've always been the planner of the three of us, the one who thinks several steps ahead.

But even I couldn't have planned for Skye, for the way she's brought us together in a new configuration that somehow makes perfect sense.