Page 11 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies (Men of Medford #4)

CHAPTER NINE

Riley

“Well.” Asher finally groaned, letting the word draw out, dragging a hand over his face. “That was memorable.”

I let out a strangled noise that might’ve been a laugh if I wasn’t dying inside.

He rolled to his side, propped himself on one elbow, and gave me a smirk that was entirely too cocky for someone who’d just been walked in on mid round two setup by his brother.

“I’m gonna let you collect yourself,” he said, voice low and amused, like this was just an unexpected detour instead of full-on social suicide.

He leaned down, brushing a kiss to the corner of my mouth.

“But just so you know,” Another kiss, this time on my jaw. “Round two’s still on the table.”

I looked at him, wide-eyed. “You’re insane.”

He grinned, wicked and unbothered. “Little bit.”

Then he stood, tugging on his jeans like he hadn’t just been naked two minutes ago, like this was normal. As if my dignity wasn’t currently in pieces on the floor between his boots and my bra.

At the door, he paused, turned, and sent me a wink.

“Ash…” I started, not even sure what I was about to say.

But he just shot me a lopsided smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll deal with the growly one.”

And then he was gone.

Door closed. Silence.

The moment he left, the weight of everything crashed down like a cold wave.

I sagged forward, pulling the sheets tighter around me. The glow that had buzzed in my blood only minutes ago was gone, replaced by a suffocating sharpness.

What had I done?

This wasn’t just a hookup anymore. It wasn’t even just about Asher and me. This was Lucy’s brother.

Lucy, the one friend who was there for me when the rest of the world turned their back.

I was supposed to be rebuilding. Rebranding. Getting my life together after it imploded in real time for millions to see.

And here I was, flustered and entirely undone in her brother’s cabin.

Damn the burst pipes.

None of this would have happened if Lucy’s cabin had been available.

It had been bad enough the first time. At the Medford Inn, when I hadn’t known who he was and we’d gotten swept up in heat and vodka and late-night loneliness.

But now?

Now I knew.

And I’d still come back.

My fingers hovered over my phone on the nightstand.

I could text Lucy. Maybe spin it as a joke, a “haha, you’ll never believe what just happened” kind of thing. But my stomach turned at the thought.

She wouldn’t laugh. She’d be hurt.

Worse, she’d be disappointed.

She’d stuck her neck out for me. Let me into her life out here when mine was falling apart, made space for me when the world decided I wasn’t worth believing in anymore.

And this was how I repaid her?

I sank down onto the mattress, wrapping my arms around my knees, trying to steady my breathing.

My body was still warm from Asher’s hands, his mouth, the way he looked at me. Like I was something he wanted, not just a plaything to touch and forget.

But even that couldn’t quiet the voice in the back of my mind. The one that whispered:

You don’t deserve any of this.

Not the kindness. Not the safe haven. Not Lucy’s friendship. Not Asher’s attention.

Especially not Asher’s attention.

Because I was a mess. And messes broke things. Relationships. Reputations. People.

The worst part?

I wanted to tell her everything. Curl up on her couch with a blanket and coffee and confess it all. Let her laugh or yell or tell me I was being ridiculous.

But I couldn’t. Not this time.

Because I knew I’d crossed a line.

And there might not be any going back.

Fuck .

A few hours later, I cracked my door open like I was trying to escape a crime scene.

Which, honestly, wasn’t that far off.

The hallway was quiet. Shadows long. Somewhere downstairs, I could hear Beckett’s hammer tapping, muted and steady.

No voices. No footsteps. No smirking brothers with sex-tousled hair and devastating winks.

Good.

I slipped out, bare feet silent on the wood floor, and tugged my hoodie down over the oversized sleep shirt I hadn’t bothered to change out of.

My stomach growled, loud and traitorous. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and no amount of mortification could make me ignore the scent of something vaguely cinnamon drifting from the kitchen.

The house creaked with old wood and colder weather. The kind of silence that made you hyper aware of everything, the way your pulse sped up, how your breath sounded louder than it should, and especially the way your thoughts looped in mortifying circles.

You screwed Lucy’s brother. Scratch that. You fucked Lucy’s brother. Again.

I winced.

Damn, I wanted to text her so bad. A quick “ Hey, can we talk?” But there was no cell service. No internet. Just me, my impulsive decisions, and three bearded men who knew way too much about me now.

I crept down the stairs, fully expecting a full-blown tribunal waiting in the living room.

Instead?

Beckett was focused on reinforcing the fireplace, his back to me, tools spread neatly beside him. He didn’t look up.

Garrett was outside, framed by the frosted window, chopping wood with controlled, purposeful swings. His jaw was clenched, the hard lines of his body rigid like he was trying to work his emotions out of his system.

And Asher was exactly where I didn’t want him to be. Leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping something warm from a mug, and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

His eyes flicked to me the second I padded into the room.

“Look who finally emerged from her shame cocoon,” he said, voice low and teasing.

“Starvation is stronger than shame,” I muttered, brushing past him and yanking open the fridge.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “You sure about that? You looked pretty committed to hiding.”

“I was thinking,” I said, pulling out a Tupperware of something that looked like leftover cinnamon rolls. “And avoiding the wrath of Garrett.”

“You think I’m still alive because I avoid Garrett? Babe, that’s not how survival works around here.”

I rolled my eyes, popping the lid open. “Don’t ‘babe’ me. Not after you winked at me like some walking cliché.”

“You liked it.”

“I was half feral with hormones.”

“Exactly. I’m irresistible when you’re starving and embarrassed.”

He grinned again, cocky and warm, and I hated that my chest fluttered even a little.

I grabbed a fork and turned away before I gave him more power than he already had.

He didn’t push. He let the silence stretch between us while I ate over the sink like some awkward raccoon at a dumpster. Every now and then, I felt his gaze, heavy and amused, like he was reading every word I didn’t say.

And still, I didn’t regret it. Not really.

But that didn’t mean I had any clue what came next.

I shoved another bite of cinnamon roll into my mouth and made a face. Dry. Probably a day old. Still tasted like sugar and shame.

Asher leaned a hip against the counter beside me, watching me with that intense look again. Not smug, not exactly sweet… just that infuriating, fascinated calm like he was waiting for me to unravel or spontaneously combust.

“You okay?” he finally asked.

“No,” I said around a mouthful. “But I’m not dead, and I’m not crying, so that’s a win.”

“High bar.”

“Welcome to my rock bottom,” I muttered, licking icing off my thumb. “Population: me.”

He chuckled under his breath, and I could feel him trying to decide if it was safe to joke again. I beat him to it.

“Listen, I’m not going to sit around here like some sad exiled Instagram ghost waiting for the storm to pass. If I’m stuck in this snow globe nightmare, I’m gonna do something useful.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Useful?”

I set the fork down and turned to face him, arms crossing under my hoodie.

“Yes. Useful. Productive. Not entirely embarrassing. I may be a fallen influencer with a scandal in my rearview and mascara in my hair, but I still know how to work. I built an entire brand from scratch. You think I can’t contribute just because I can’t chop wood or fix a generator? ”

Asher blinked. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” I snapped, the cinnamon roll sugar crash starting to kick in. “Your whole family looks at me like I’m a feral cat someone accidentally let inside.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then seemed to think better of it. Smart man.

“I’m proving myself,” I announced, hands on hips now. “I’m going to find something, anything to do around here—and I’m going to do it well.”

Asher took a sip from his mug, clearly fighting a smile. “You going to rebrand the pantry? Organize the spice rack by aesthetics?”

“No. I think I’m going to do something more than that.”

It was my turn to wink at Asher as an idea took root in my mind.