Page 18 of Curvy Cabin Fever

RHETT

I t’s getting dark outside now. The last of the sun is sinking behind the trees, cloaking the cabin in darkness and a warm glow from the fireplace.

Damien and Aria are still holed up in his room—hours have passed since they disappeared, and part of me wonders if they’ll even come out tonight.

That just leaves me and him .

Morgan.

Shirtless, smirking, pushing my fucking buttons just because he can.

The kitchen is too quiet. The only sounds are the occasional crackle of the fire and my own uneven breathing.

I try to avoid eye contact with him because I can’t look at him.

Not now.

Morgan is still watching me, smirking, standing way too fucking close for a guy who isn’t trying to drive me insane.

I force myself to look anywhere but at him.

At the floor. The wall. The goddamn protein bar in his hand?—

Bad idea.

He’s licking peanut butter off his thumb, tongue flicking out just enough to make something twist in my gut.

I exhale through my nose, gripping the edge of the table. I will not react.

The light from the fireplace flickers over his bare chest, highlighting every fucking muscle. He’s always been built like this—broad, thick, stronger than he looks when he’s teasing.

“You’re being weird,” I mutter, turning toward the sink and rinsing out my mug so I have something to do with my hands.

Morgan leans against the counter. “You’re one to talk,” he murmurs, voice lower now.

I keep my back to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Morgan steps so close I can feel his heat behind me. The cabin suddenly feels fucking tiny.

“You tell me,” he replies smoothly.

I grip the counter too hard. “Archer, I swear to?—”

He grabs my wrist.

It’s not aggressive, not like yesterday when we were shoving each other in the snow.

It’s worse.

Because this touch is controlled. Deliberate.

I swallow, my throat bone dry.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

Morgan tugs just enough to turn me toward him.

We’re close again.

Too fucking close.

His dark eyes lock onto mine, searching, testing me again.

I tell myself I’m going to pull away—but I don’t.

The firelight flickers over his face, his cheekbones sharp, his lips parted just slightly like he’s waiting. Then his gaze flicks down to my mouth.

Fuck.

I should leave.

But my pulse won’t fucking slow, and the way he’s looking at me?—

It’s the same way I’ve been looking at him for years.

His grip is firm, but not tight. He’s not holding me in place, but he’s also not letting me run.

The fucker knows I want to.

“Don’t ignore this.” His voice is softer now, but there’s nothing teasing about it anymore.

I try to rip my hand from his, but he doesn’t let go right away. Just tightens his fingers for a second—a silent message that I can’t fucking read.

“Nothing to ignore,” I mutter.

Morgan exhales a quiet laugh. Like he gets it.

That’s what fucking gets me—that look in his eyes.

“Rhett,” he breathes, voice almost too quiet to hear. “I know this isn’t easy for you…”

My stomach clenches, and I can’t help but dart a look at his mouth again.

Fuck.

Morgan shifts, just slightly, and the space between us disappears. The back of his knuckles skim my jaw—a touch so light I don’t know if it was intentional or if I leaned into it.

My entire body locks up.

Morgan doesn’t pull away or press closer—he just waits, like he’s giving me the choice.

Stay. Or run.

I exhale too harshly, and I cough, slamming my fist against my chest.

I can’t.

I can’t do this.

I rip myself away so fast I nearly stumble back, breathing hard.

Morgan watches me, his expression unreadable now. He doesn’t smirk or laugh at me.

He just nods, like he understands exactly why I can’t do this right now.

That should make me feel better, but it only makes my stomach sink further.

Because he’s not giving up.

And for the first time in my life—I don’t think I want him to.

“You okay?” Morgan asks, watching me too closely as if I’m some wounded animal that might lash out at any second.

I should lie, brush it off, or crack a joke— anything to make this moment disappear.

But I don’t—Because I’m not okay.

“No,” I huff, my voice raw, finally admitting how hard I’m finding this whole fucking charade.

I need to stop leading him on.

“I’m straight,” I say, forcing the words out, like if I say them enough times, they’ll make sense again.

Right?

Morgan tilts his head slightly, and I hate that fucking thoughtful look on his face. Like he’s seeing something in me I can’t see myself.

He moves closer and tips my chin lightly, his eyes searching mine. His breath is warm on my face as he counters, “You sure about that?”

The question punches the air from my lungs. I stiffen, my fingers curling into fists. “I?—”

Morgan takes a slow step back, giving me space, but his voice is too fucking soft now.

“I’m not trying to make you something you’re not, Rhett,” he explains, like he’s offering me a fucking lifeline.

Like he knows exactly how much I’m struggling.

“But maybe…” He trails off, searching my face before shaking his head.

“Maybe you don’t have to fight it so hard. ”

The air feels thick, the space between us is still too charged, too full of something I don’t have words for.

I should tell him to fuck off.

I could storm out like I usually do. Instead, I stand there, breathing like I just ran a goddamn marathon, feeling exposed in a way I never have before.

“It’s not right,” I whisper, my voice cracking with need for him. My fucking need for a man.

My parents would die if they knew I was feeling like this.

I swallow and clench my jaw, closing my eyes.

“Don’t think about them,” Morgan commands softly, and a hard lump forms in my throat. “They’re wrong. How you feel…it’s okay.”

He knows—of course , he knows. He’s my best friend. And it’s okay for him—his family supports him and whatever he does.

But me?

I was adopted into a family that made it clear who I was supposed to be.

Grateful. Good. Normal .

Not this.

Not wanting my male best friend.

Not standing in a cabin with a man I shouldn’t be craving, shouldn’t be staring at him like I want him to press me up against the goddamn counter and?—

Fuck.

I shake my head, shoving the thought down so deep I don’t know if I’ll ever claw my way back out.

Morgan watches me too closely, his brown eyes filled with something I can’t face right now.

Like he’s waiting for me to stop lying to myself.

I don’t know how to do that—I don’t know who I am without the walls I’ve built.

But then there’s Aria…I can’t be… gay.

I’m about to move past him when my body freezes, refusing to move. It’s like the universe is intervening, telling me to do something. I reach out, my hand trembling as Morgan’s eyes widen, following the journey it makes until it touches his face.

I suck in a breath at the intimacy of the contact, my vision blurring with need as Morgan lifts his hand to cup mine. He closes his eyes and tilts his head to the left, his lips caressing my palm. Not kissing, just touching.

A noise leaves my lips that has his eyes snapping open, connecting with mine as I move closer— me, moving closer to him…

Our foreheads rest against one another, and my throat swells with emotion.

“It’s so hard…” I admit gruffly, hating the way my eyes prick with tears I’ll never let fall.

“What is?” Morgan prods, his right hand moving to stroke my cheek.

Thoughts of Morgan with Aria, with other men, with anyone…

It fucking kills me.

And even though I know it’s wrong and can’t do anything about it, maybe I can tell him this.

Just this.

My voice breaks with the weight of my confession. “Seeing you with someone else.”