Page 18 of Eco-Activist’s Mountain Men (Mountain Men Reverse Harem #4)

Eric

W omen never fall for me. I’m just not the type women seem to want.

I keep telling myself that one day I’ll meet “the right girl,” but the truth? Girls don’t find me attractive. I’m not rich, I’m not sporty, and I don’t have big muscles to flex on a beach. Not that I’d ever set foot on a beach anyway.

As for looks… my hair is a wild mess of ginger that makes me look like I survived an explosion in a copper wire factory. I’ve got freckles, I wear glasses, I can’t play guitar, and my singing voice sounds like two cats mating on a fence.

Confidence? Forget it. I’m shy as hell. If an attractive girl walks into the room, I blush. If she actually talks to me, I stammer and trip over my own tongue until I sound like a complete idiot.

Honestly, I hate myself sometimes. If even I wouldn’t date me, what chance do I have of convincing anyone else to?

And then Luna came along.

She didn’t just catch my attention—she swept me right off my feet. That’s supposed to be what men do to women, right? Sweep them off their feet, make them swoon, and then it’s passion and romance and happily ever after.

Not me.

I didn’t sweep her anywhere. She breezed into my life like a storm—bright, fierce, impossible to ignore—and I was left spinning. We shared a night together, tender and breathtaking. For me, it was everything. I fell in love. For her? By the next morning, it was like nothing had even happened.

That’s the difference.

She’s everything I wish I were but am not.

She’s spontaneous, whereas I overthink. She dives headfirst into life, while I hang back, paralyzed by hesitation.

She’s confident with people, while I’m the awkward one hovering at the edges.

She’s passionate—God, is she passionate.

And me? I can be passionate, but only in rare flashes, like an underused muscle I don’t know how to flex.

With her, the whole world sharpens. Colors are brighter.

Patterns are richer. Life feels like an adventure instead of a checklist. She extracts the joy out of every moment, and I sit behind a laptop, writing chapters of a thesis that no one but a professor will ever read.

I don’t hate my work—I actually like it—but it’s only half a life.

Without something… without someone… It’s gray.

That’s why I think Luna could be my balance. My spark. She could give me the excitement I crave. She means so much to me already. And yet to her, I feel like I’m nothing.

It’s not fair.

The question is: what the hell am I going to do about it?

My whole life, I’ve just… accepted it. Made excuses. Told myself it didn’t matter. Threw myself into academics and pretended that was enough.

It isn’t.

I am grateful for the scholarship that got me into college, and I’m proud of graduating with honors in Environmental Science.

My master’s went well, too. Now I’m wrapping up my doctorate.

In a few months, I’ll be Dr. Eric Kurtz.

The professors say I’m practically guaranteed to pass.

But then what? Stay in academia? Teach undergrads? Write papers until my eyes bleed?

That was the plan. But I’m tired. Tired of the campus, the endless research, the essays. Tired of feeling like I’m not doing anything that actually matters.

That’s why I came here.

I wanted something real. A break from theories and equations.

Out here, the guys from McKenzie Forestry Services do honest, physical work that leaves them sore and sweaty, but proud.

They build, haul, plant, and cut. They do things you can point to.

Real men with tan lines and muscles, confident in their own skin, whether they’re with other men or with women.

Me? I trail along behind them with a GPS tracker, tagging rare trees. Useful, sure, but let’s be real—it’s not the same.

No wonder women don’t take me seriously.

I remember once at a dorm party, a gorgeous girl sat next to me.

She asked, “So, what do you do?” and I started talking about my research—how mixed-species growth patterns change with different fertilizer protocols.

Within three minutes, she spotted her “old friend” across the room and left.

Of course, that friend didn’t exist. I left soon after, humiliated.

Luna had been different. At least I thought so.

She listened. She smiled. She said I was sweet.

She even called me “beautiful.” She fell asleep in my arms, and I held her the whole night.

My leg cramped up, but I refused to move.

I just stroked her back, smoothed her pink hair, listened to her breathing.

I memorized it—the way her chest rose and fell against me, the warmth of her breath on my neck. It was… beautiful.

One night isn’t enough.

Not now I know what it feels like.

I want more.

But how?

I don’t know what to say to her. If I just go to her, I’ll probably cry, or worse—beg. That would kill whatever tiny chance I still have.

No, I need a plan.

I need advice.

Luke’s not the one. Solid guy, reliable, but not exactly chatty. He keeps his feelings locked down tight.

Jack’s out too. He’s the boss here, at least while I’m seconded. I can’t dump my love life on him.

That leaves Toby.

Toby’s approachable. Friendly. He’s got that easy confidence with women that I’ll never have.

I’ve seen him in action—back when I tagged along on Friday nights in Rushville.

The moment he walks into a bar, he zeroes in on the best-looking woman there.

Within minutes, he’s got her laughing, touching his arm, inviting him in.

He makes it look effortless.

I have no idea how he does it.

But I’d sure as hell like to find out.

After five minutes of wandering around the camp, I finally track Toby down in the barn. He’s bent over the engine of one of the tractors, checking coolant and oil levels, his sleeves rolled up, grease streaking his forearms.

“Hey, Toby.”

“Hey, Prof.” He steps back and wipes his hands on an oily rag. “What do you think of her?” He nods at the tractor with obvious pride.

“Looks impressive.”

“Does, doesn’t she? She’s a John Deere 8R 410. That’s the one with more horsepower than the 370. We sprung for CTIS too—makes all the difference for soil health.”

“CTIS?”

“You mean CTIS, not CITS. Want me to explain?”

I nod, more fascinated by his enthusiasm than the mechanics.

“Cool. It stands for Central Tire Inflation System. Basically, you can inflate or deflate the tires at the push of a button from the cab. Perfect for boggy fields or rocky patches. Saves wear, saves soil, saves fuel.” He lowers his voice, like he’s sharing state secrets.

“And she’s got a heated massage seat, 6.

1 surround sound, even an integrated fridge.

But don’t tell the boys, or I’ll never get her to myself again. ”

He winks and grins, then gestures toward the ladder. “Wanna look inside?”

I climb up, settle into the operator’s seat, while he folds out a crew chair beside me. The cab is acres of glass, neat rows of dials and switches, and tan leather everywhere.

“Wow. It’s like the Space Shuttle.”

He laughs. “Go ahead, take the chair. Comfortable, right? That joystick’s the CommandPro. Totally programmable—steering, transmission, bucket, speed control. Does it all.”

“It’s amazing. Must’ve cost a fortune.”

“Somewhere around four hundred grand.”

“I can believe it.”

For a moment, I forget why I came, caught up in his easy confidence, the way everything seems natural to him. But then he tilts his head, sharp eyes on me.

“You didn’t come out here just to drool over my baby. What’s up, Prof?”

Apparently, I’m easier to read than I think. My cheeks heat. “Well… yeah. It’s personal. I was hoping for some advice.”

“Advice? Sure.” He shrugs, casual. “Shoot.”

I swallow. “It’s about… Luna.”

No raised eyebrow, no teasing smirk. Just a calm nod. “Okay. Go on.”

And then it pours out. The shyness, the lack of experience, feeling invisible.

Watching him charm women as if it’s second nature.

That night with Luna—what it meant to me, and how she acted like it barely happened.

My voice shakes, but he doesn’t interrupt, just listens, leaning back with his rag draped over one knee.

“So that’s it,” I finish lamely. “I want to talk to her. I just don’t know how.”

He takes off his John Deere cap, scratches his head, then lets out a long whistle.

“Man. First off—thanks for trusting me with that. I respect it.” He lifts a hand before I can answer. “And yeah, I think I can help. Some practical tips—but first, theory.”

He grins. “You’re the professor. Riddle me this: why do women need men?”

I frown. “Friendship?”

He barks a laugh. “Nope. That’s what their girlfriends are for. You’ve heard of the friend zone, right?”

I groan. “Unfortunately.”

“Exactly. Think cavemen. What did women need back then?”

I hesitate. “…Protection? Food?”

He points. “Bingo. Women are wired to be drawn to strength, confidence, and capability. Not because they’re weak, but because survival used to depend on it. Walk around like a sad puppy and yeah, they’ll pity you—but pity doesn’t spark desire.”

“So… fake confidence?”

“No. Build it. Play to your strengths. You’ve got them—you just don’t see them.”

“Like what?”

“Like your hair. Your skin.”

I laugh bitterly. “They used to call me Carrot Top.”

“And that makes you rare. You stand out. With the right cut and clothes, you’d turn heads. Women love a makeover—hell, half of them live for it. Ask one to help you. Tell her you admire her style and want advice. She’ll be flattered.”

I blink. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious. And beyond that, you’re a damned environmental scientist, for fuck's sake. You’re smart. You care about something bigger than yourself. That’s sexy—if you own it.”

For a second, I can’t answer. No one’s ever framed me like that before.

“You don’t need to be me, or Jack, or Luke. Just be Eric. But own being Eric.”

I nod slowly. “Thanks. That… helps.”

But then he shifts, uneasy, scratching the back of his neck. “Actually, there’s something I should tell you.”

A chill runs through me. “Okay…”

“I, uh… I’ve been with Luna, too. Just once. Figured you should hear it from me.”

The words hit hard. I stare, numb. “…Oh.”

“I’m not telling you to screw with your head. I just didn’t want you finding out later and thinking I hid it.”

“Right. Yeah. Thanks.” My stomach knots, but I force myself to meet his eyes.

“Look, I don’t think Luna’s playing anyone. I think she’s figuring herself out. Same as you. Same as me.”

I manage a nod. “…And you? How do you feel about her?”

He pauses, really thinking, then shrugs. “Truth? I don’t know.”

“Oh.” The breath leaves me slow. “Okay. Thanks for being straight with me.”

We sit there in silence for a while, the hum of the barn around us. Not uncomfortable—just… full.

Finally, he stands up. “Right, Prof, I'd better get back to these coolant checks before Jack gives me grief.”

“Yeah. Thanks again. For listening. For the advice.”

He grins. “Anytime. And hey—why not go find her now? After Luke’s little blow-up this morning, she probably needs a friendly shoulder. You’re just the guy.” He winks.

I hesitate. “You don’t mind?”

His smile softens. “Truth? I don’t know if I mind or not. But if she chooses you, who the hell am I to stand in the way? Either it’s meant to be, or it ain’t.”

“…That’s generous.”

“Nah.” He tugs his cap back on. “Just realistic.”

First stop is the medi-bay, which has become Luna’s room. I knock lightly on the timber door with my knuckles.

“Luna?”

Silence.

I turn the handle and ease it open. The hinges creak, but the room is empty.

“Luna, are you in here?”

Still nothing.

A knot starts to form in my chest. I check the laundry room—empty.

One bathroom, then another—no sign. The gym—nothing.

Finally, I try Jack’s office. He’s there, hunched over his desk, surrounded by mountains of paperwork, scribbling numbers into endless columns.

He barely glances up, and there’s definitely no Luna.

Back in the kitchen—the last place I saw her, the place she stormed out of earlier that morning. At the time, it had almost been funny. Now… not so much.

Southpaw’s curled up in his basket, head on his paws.

At first glance, he looks asleep, but his body betrays him—his back leg twitches every so often, and he lets out these quiet, mournful moans.

Like he’s caught in some terrible dream.

Maybe he’s dreaming of being hunted down by twenty-foot, genetically modified rabbits out for revenge on all wolves.

“Hey, Southpaw,” I say softly. “Where’s Luna?”

One golden eye cracks open. He studies me for a long second, then rises onto his haunches. His chest expands, and then he lets out a long, low, heart-wrenching howl that echoes through the kitchen.

The knot in my chest tightens into something colder.

For the first time, I really start to worry.

If Southpaw’s this unsettled, something’s wrong. Bad wrong.

I need to tell Jack. He’s the one in charge. He’ll know what to do—or at least he’s supposed to.

I head back toward his office, Southpaw padding close behind me, tail drooping, his whole body a picture of lupine misery.