Page 25 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies (Men of Medford #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Riley

There was a moment, just one, when I let myself pretend none of this was complicated.

The music played, the air smelled of cinnamon and cold pine, and I was spinning beneath twinkle lights that felt too magical to be real.

Samantha twirled me until I nearly knocked over a marshmallow display, but before there was a disaster, Lila caught me with one hand and passed me off to Ethan like this was a well-rehearsed flash mob.

And maybe it was.

Maybe Medford was a living, breathing romcom, and I’d just stumbled onto the set.

I didn’t mind. Not tonight.

Lucy’s hometown was a lot of fun.

Especially because after so long, it didn’t feel like I was the main character. Nor did I want to be.

Sure, people were whispering. I’d seen the sidelong glances, the not-so-subtle murmurs near the cocoa booth, the phones held at weird angles as if someone might be trying to catch a photo in case I did something outrageous, like smile a little too much at one of the Wolfe brothers.

But they weren’t just whispering about me.

Apparently, Lucy Wolfe and Nate Harper had managed to detonate their own little scandal right in the middle of the square.

I spotted them slipping away past the food stalls, Lucy clutching her coat tight and Nate walking close beside her, head low as they murmured something only they could hear. I didn’t need subtitles to get the vibe.

I blinked. My brain stalled for a second, doing some kind of emotional math. Lucy. Nate. Together .

She hadn’t even mentioned a crush on the hot fireman but I had to admit, he was her type.

People noticed. Of course they did. This was Medford.

And yet somehow, it didn’t feel personal. Not like LA gossip did. Not sharp and slicing and hungry for blood.

More like: Ohhhh, they’ve been making eyes at each other for months and finally caved. Bless their hearts.

It was weirdly comforting.

The attention wasn’t solely on me for once, and that gave me space to breathe. Just enough air to remember that my life didn’t have to be an open wound waiting to be poked.

I took a step back from the dancers, heart still doing double time from the last twirl with Ryan Marsh, who was surprisingly graceful for a guy built like a linebacker.

I tugged my gloves tighter and scanned the crowd, instinct more than anything. That was when I saw them .

Asher. Garrett. Beckett. Moving toward me in unison like they’d just broken through the edge of a storm.

None of them smiled.

Not even Asher, who normally had that half-grin ready for me.

He reached me first. Jaw tight, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Garrett was right behind him, arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd like he expected a threat. Beckett looked calm. The kind of calm that meant trouble was close.

“Come with us,” Asher said, low enough that no one else could hear.

My eyebrows lifted. “What?”

“Cabin,” Garrett added, voice like gravel.

Beckett didn’t say a word. He reached for my hand, fingers brushing my glove. It wasn’t a question.

Something about the way they stood, the way their bodies subtly formed a triangle around me, protective, territorial, sent a flicker of nerves zipping up my spine.

I didn’t ask why. I didn’t need to.

We all wanted the same thing.

So I went.

I followed them through the festival crowd, my boots crunching over fresh snow, the buzz of laughter and music fading behind us as we walked.

The car ride was silent. Heavy.

Tension stretched across the air like fishing line, thin, taut, and ready to snap if anyone tugged too hard.

Beckett drove. His fingers gripped the steering wheel as if it might try to escape. Garrett sat beside him, arms crossed, jaw set in a line of concrete.

Asher was in the back seat next to me, eyes forward, saying nothing. Not even his usual smirk.

No one spoke. Not until the lights of town disappeared in the rearview mirror and the road narrowed into those familiar snowy curves that led back to the cabin.

Back to where it all began.

“You good?” Asher asked, voice low, rough like he’d chewed on it for miles before letting it out.

I turned to look at him, and whatever he saw on my face made his jaw tick.

“Yeah,” I said softly, breath misting the cold glass of the window. “Just thinking.”

His hand twitched on his thigh. Like he wanted to reach for me. Like maybe he already had in his head.

Garrett turned slightly, catching me in profile. His eyes were darker than I remembered. “You sure?”

I nodded.

And then Beckett pulled the car into the parking spot.

The forest pressed in around us, quiet and heavy and draped in white, as if the whole world was holding its breath, too.

Asher shifted beside me, his thigh pressing into mine.

I felt the warmth of him through the layers of my coat, an anchor in the silence. Beckett’s knuckles flexed on the wheel. Garrett’s stare stayed glued to the road, but every part of the car felt alive with electricity.

Like they were all waiting for a signal. Or maybe I was the signal.

I turned, slowly, and met Asher’s eyes.

Dark. Hungry.

I couldn’t get enough of that look.

“I can’t breathe,” I whispered. Not because of the cold.

Asher didn’t ask for permission. He reached over and unfastened my seatbelt in one fluid motion. Then he tugged me into his lap, bold, rough, a flame catching dry wood.

The cabin of the SUV went quiet in a new way. Not silent, but still. Like everything paused to watch.

My knees straddled him awkwardly, but I didn’t care. His hands found my hips, pulling me flush against him until I could feel every sharp edge of tension he’d been holding back.

“You good?” he asked again, his voice lower now.

I nodded. “Better than ever.”

His mouth was on mine in an instant.

Hot, possessive. No teasing. No slow build. This wasn’t playful.

It was weeks of friction snapping all at once.

Asher kissed like a storm breaking—wild and hard and unapologetic. His tongue swept into my mouth as if he owned it. He’d waited long enough and wasn’t asking anymore.

Behind me, I heard Garrett’s breath hitch. Beckett’s quiet, low curse.

Asher’s hands slid under my coat, fingers skating over the hem of my sweater like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to strip me bare or press me closer. I rocked into him, instinct and heat pushing me forward, chasing that friction.

The windows fogged over.

Asher’s breath was ragged against my mouth now, his hands moving with more urgency, sliding up beneath my sweater, dragging over bare skin.

I gasped into the kiss, every nerve lighting up as his thumbs brushed the sides of my ribs, just below my bra.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered against my lips.

“You started it.”

A low laugh from the front seat. Beckett.

But it wasn’t amusement. It was strained. Tense.

Asher didn’t stop kissing me, but I could feel his control hanging by a thread. And when I looked over his shoulder, Beckett had turned in his seat, one arm slung over the back of it, his eyes locked on mine.

Not jealous. Not mad.

Starving.

He’d been holding back just as much all day long.

Garrett didn’t move, didn’t speak, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on my bare skin where my coat had fallen open, where Asher’s hands had mapped a trail of heat and want.

“I think we need to get her inside,” Beckett said, voice low, velvet over steel.

“Immediately,” Garrett agreed.

Asher’s hands tightened on my hips, but he didn’t push it further.

Not here. Not yet.

Instead, he nipped at my lower lip, breathing hard. “You move like that again and I’m carrying you inside over my shoulder.”

I arched a brow, already doing it, slowly, teasingly, amping up the already powerful tension between us.

“Do it, then.”

The next second was chaos. Door flung open, cold air crashing into the car, and then Asher had me in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist like it was second nature.

He growled something under his breath, something that made Beckett curse again and Garrett slam his door shut a little too hard.

Snow crunched under boots as the four of us made our way up the path to the cabin.

The second the door slammed shut behind us, the cold melted away fast. Garrett stomped in, shaking snow from his shoulders, but his eyes never left me, dark and burning even as he shrugged off his jacket.

Beckett locked the door with a hard click, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run the whole way here.

And Asher didn’t even pause. Still holding me tight, his boots thudded across the hardwood, carrying me deeper into the cabin like I weighed nothing. He couldn’t bear to let me go for even a second.

“Bedroom,” Beckett barked, thick with grit.

“No,” Garrett cut in, low and sharp, coming up behind us. “Here.”

His hand landed on Asher’s shoulder, halting him mid-step, and for a beat, all three of them stared at each other.

No words. Only heat.

Agreement.

Need.

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering so fast it might burst.

“Here?” I breathed, my voice catching on the word.

Garrett’s eyes met mine, pure fire and command. “Here.”

I didn’t get a chance to second-guess it. Asher dropped to the couch with me still in his lap, hands already working at my coat, stripping away my layers.

His lips crashed against mine, swallowing my gasp as cool air kissed my bare skin, chased by the heat of his palms.

Beckett was next, his jacket already gone, kneeling in front of me, tugging at my boots, his breath hot against my thigh as he worked them off.

His knuckles brushed bare skin, and I shivered, not from cold this time, but pure anticipation.

Garrett’s hands came down on my shoulders from behind, big and sure, massaging slow circles that had my head tipping back, a low moan slipping out before I could stop it.

“Fuck,” Asher muttered, dragging my sweater the rest of the way off, leaving me in nothing but a thin camisole and my bra. His hands slid up my ribs, thumbs brushing over lace, making me arch into him, chasing the friction. “So goddamn perfect.”