Page 12 of Curvy Cabin Fever

ARIA

T ears spill down my cheeks as I stumble back into the cabin, not knowing where to go or what to do. I head to Morgan’s room, hurrying into the ensuite and locking the door behind me before I fall to my knees and sob.

Rhett thinks I’m some kind of slut.

My cheeks burn with humiliation as I realize Rhett knows his friends better than I do—what if they’re just having fun with the fat girl?

Oh my god, I’ve been so stupid.

My hands tremble as I hug myself, trying to stop this feeling of regret from swallowing me whole.

I let myself believe this was real.

I’ve known these men for three days —barely enough to decide whether I like them or not—and I’ve slept with two of them already.

Fuck. Am I that easy to get into bed?

I’m starved of attention, that’s what it is. Trevor cheated on me—the fuckwit—and he’s left me craving attention, and who better to find that from than three burly, dangerously hot as fuck men I’m snowed-in inside a cabin with?

Make that two, because Rhett hates me.

His words play over and over in my mind, and I wince, embarrassed beyond belief.

Stupid fucking Aria—always easily duped.

What woman in her right mind would stay with three strange men in a cabin in the mountains, anyway? My god, I could be on the news in a week—chopped into pieces.

Nausea rolls in my stomach, and I try to convince myself that Damien and Morgan aren’t murderers—although I can’t say the same for Rhett. I shudder at the thought of his jibes and stony stares, and here I was, thinking he was jealous.

Of what, Aria, you? The patronising voice in my head sneers. He’s had better women than you when he’s drunk. Don’t flatter yourself.

I swallow against the lump in my throat and push myself up, my knees aching from kneeling on the cold tile floor. My head pounds, my body feels hollow, but I don’t care.

I can’t stay here.

I wipe my face with shaking hands, but the tears keep coming, my stomach churning as I move toward the locked door.

I need to leave.

Before Rhett humiliates me even more. It’s his cabin, too! He will probably throw me out, anyway.

I will have to battle the roads. Fuck it—I have my Jeep. The thought terrifies me, but what other option do I have? Rhett could be violent, for fuck’s sake. I can’t expect his best friends to protect me —some random woman.

I unlock the door and step back into Morgan’s room, my heart hammering against my ribs as I head towards the living room where my things should be.

Shit—they’re in Damien’s room.

I chew on my lip, contemplating leaving without my things. I don’t care if I have to walk through the fucking snowstorm barefoot—I just need to get the hell out of here.

My coat will be on the sofa, and my boots must be somewhere nearby. I’m in a hoodie—sorry, Morgan—and the Jeep has heaters. I’ll be fine.

Right?

I open the door and slam right into a solid chest.

Large hands grab my arms before I can stumble back, steadying me.

Damien.

He looks down at me, his brows furrowing when he sees my face. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

I freeze.

My heart leaps, my breath catching in my throat as I stare up at Damien.

His grip on my arms is firm but not rough, his touch steadying even as my world spins out of control.

Yet again, I’m blinded by his fucking beauty, and I curse myself for being such a sap. I need to say something, maybe an emergency at home— anything that will get me away from these men.

But Damien isn’t an idiot.

His dark eyes sweep over my face, taking in my tear-streaked cheeks, my red, swollen eyes. His jaw tightens.

“Aria,” he says, his voice low, serious.

I try to move past him, but he doesn’t let me. “Please move.” My voice wobbles, my hands shaking as I push against his chest.

He doesn’t budge. His brows pull together, his eyes flickering with something dangerous. “You’re crying.” His voice is softer now, but that doesn’t mean he’s letting me go.

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering. “I’m fine.”

“You’re full of shit.”

I clench my jaw, looking away.

I can’t do this.

Not with him. Not with any of them.

I try to step around him, but he grips my waist, spinning me back toward him.

“Talk to me.” His voice is gruff, but there’s something else there. Something that makes my heart skip a thousand beats in a second.

I shake my head, blinking rapidly. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

His eyes narrow. “Bullshit.”

I let out a shaky laugh, but it sounds broken. “I’m leaving, Damien. Are you gonna stop me?” I challenge him, trying to sound firm, but my voice wavers.

His jaw tics, his grip tightening. “Yeah. I am.”

His words send a jolt through me, like a live wire pressed to my skin. I shake my head. “You can’t keep me here.”

His eyes flash. “Try me.”

I try to yank away, but he hauls me closer instead.

His grip is firm, but his touch is warm and solid.

Fuck.

I was so focused on getting out; I didn’t prepare for what it would feel like to have him pull me back in.

“Damien,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

He exhales sharply, like my pain physically hits him. “Rhett didn’t mean it.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

He did.

“He—”

“—is sorry,” another voice cuts in, pushing us further into the room.

Morgan steps inside, closing the door behind him, effectively caging me in.

No, no, no. Not both of them. This isn’t fair.

I take a step back, my pulse hammering as I glance between them.

“I don’t care,” I remark quickly, shaking my head. “I don’t care if he’s sorry. You don’t speak to people like that.”

Morgan sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.

But Damien?

Damien doesn’t let go of me. His grip isn’t tight or forceful, but it’s there, keeping me still like he knows the second he lets go, I’ll bolt.

And he wouldn’t be wrong.

Morgan watches me carefully, his usual playful smirk nowhere in sight. Instead, there’s something calculating in his gaze, like he’s trying to piece me back together, figure out where my head is at.

I can’t do this.

I take a shaky breath, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Let me go.”

Damien doesn’t.

Instead, he softens his grip, his thumbs brushing against my sides like he’s trying to calm me.

My body reacts before my brain can stop it. I lean into his warmth, my eyes squeezing shut as I try to ignore the way he feels so damn solid, so damn real.

I hate this.

I hate how easy it is to want them.

I hate how much it hurts to think I was just a game to them.

Morgan steps closer, and I snap my eyes open, my back pressing against Damien’s chest now.

“I’m not letting you leave like this,” Morgan states, his voice low. “Not when you’re upset.”

I let out a shaky breath, clenching my hands into fists at my sides. “I’ll get over it,” I snap. “Worse things have happened, and I’m still alive.”

Damien lets out a low growl. “Like what?”

I swallow hard.

Morgan shakes his head at Damien, reaching out for me. “Not now, D.”

Morgan steps even closer, so close I can see the way his jaw tenses; his fingers lightly brush against mine. “What about the things we said to you?” he asks, voice low, edged with something dark. “Did you take them seriously, too?”

I flinch.

Because no, I haven’t.

“You said that so I’d let you do what you wanted with me,” I blurt out, my eyes closing with sheer humiliation. Like these guys need to use anyone. There would be girls queuing up around the block if they could fuck these men, no matter what they said to them.

Rhett included.

“I meant what I said,” he continues, shaking his head. “You’re not a fucking game to me, Aria.”

“Nor me,” Damien agrees quietly. “You’re…special.”

Morgan sucks in a breath and nods his agreement, stroking my hand so softly I shiver, but then I let out a bitter laugh.

“Tell that to Rhett.”

Morgan’s jaw tics, his eyes flashing. “He’s a fucking idiot. He doesn’t know something good if it punches him in the face. Right, D?”

Damien snorts and pulls me closer. “I liked punching him in the fucking face. I might go out there and punch him again for upsetting our girl.”

I take in a breath, my chest so tight it physically hurts.

Our girl? Punching Rhett?

I need to leave. I need to go before they break me down completely.

I force my voice to steady. “Let me go.”

Damien doesn’t move.

Neither does Morgan.

Instead, Morgan lifts a hand, reaching out. His fingers trail along the edge of my jaw, eyes so tender my chest aches. My breath hitches, and his eyes darken.

And then, so low I almost don’t hear it, he murmurs, “Not a chance.”