Page 70 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
"I know, right? If you'd told me two months ago I'd be having mind-blowing sex with three guys who own a bar in a town I'd never heard of, I'd have said you were insane." I pause, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. "And they're all so much older than me. Like, significantly older."
"What are we talking?"
"Mid-forties."
Charlotte whistles. "Silver foxes, huh? Never took you for a daddy-issues kind of girl."
"I don't have daddy issues," I protest but then start laughing. "But yeah, they're definitely silver foxes. And nothing like the guys I usually date. They're just so... I don't know, solid? Grounded? They know who they are, what they want and don’t give a fuck what other people think. They also both know their way around a woman’s body. Good god…"
"Unlike theboysour age who are still trying to figure out which end is up," Charlotte adds. "So is this just a fun fling while you're stuck there? Because I’m hearing in your voice it could be more."
The question hangs in the air, and I find myself staring out the window at the mountains, their peaks lit up in the late afternoon sun. "I don't know," I say finally. "That's the thing. It started as just physical attraction, but now..."
"Now you're catching feelings," Charlotte finishes for me.
"Maybe?" I sit up, hugging a pillow to my chest.
"Skye McMillan, you dirty girl."
"Stop," I laugh. "It's not like that. Well, itislike that, but it's also... I don't know. More."
"They're all okay with sharing you?"
"Apparently." I shake my head, still amazed by it. "They talked about it together, Char. They made this agreement that it was all up to me—no pressure, no jealousy."
"That's... surprisingly mature." Charlotte sounds genuinely impressed. "And kinda hot, not gonna lie."
"Right?" I flop back on the bed. "And the craziest part is, I'm starting to really like this town. Like, not just the guys, but the place itself. The people, the mountains, the whole vibe. It feels—I don't know—like I can breathe more easily here."
"That makes sense," Charlotte says softly. "I was worried you were having these feelings because of the trauma of what you’vebeen through lately. But after everything with your parents, and then Daniel... maybe you need to be somewhere completely different."
"Maybe." I trace patterns on the quilt beneath me. "But it's crazy to think I'd actually stay here, right? I mean, what would I even do? Tend bar? Wait tables? And what about my degree? All that student debt for nothing…"
"First of all, there's nothing wrong with working at a bar if it makes you happy. Second, your degree isn't going anywhere. You could still use it somehow, even in a small town." Charlotte pauses. "But Skye, it's only been a few weeks, right? Maybe don't make any major life decisions just yet."
"I know, I know." I sigh. "I'm getting way ahead of myself. It's just... for the first time since my parents died, I feel like I've found somewhere I belong."
"Then enjoy it," Charlotte says firmly. "Whether it's for a few more days or forever. You deserve some happiness, honey. And if that happiness comes in the form of three hot older men who worship you? All the better."
I laugh, feeling a weight lift from my chest. "You always know what to say."
"That's what friends are for. Now, I expect detailed reports on any further developments with your men. Especially if you sleep with all three of them at once."
I nearly choke. "Charlotte!"
"What? I'm just saying, if the opportunity presents itself..." She trails off suggestively.
"You're terrible," I tell her, but I'm grinning. "And I love you for it."
"Love you too, babe. Call me again when you can."
We say our goodbyes, and I set my phone aside, Charlotte's words echoing in my head. Enjoy it while I can. That's sensible advice. But as I glance around this small room that's somehowstarted to feel like home, I wonder if "while I can" might be longer than either of us imagined.
The dinner shift that night is crazy busy. The Saturday night energy is higher, the laughter louder, and, thank god, the tips better. Fixing Poppy is going to cost more than I was initially told, so making some extra money is crucial.
I weave between tables with practiced efficiency, balancing a tray of empty glasses while dodging the outstretched legs of patrons who’ve had a beer too many and aren’t paying attention to much of anything.
Behind the bar, Griff expertly mixes cocktails, his biceps flexing as he shakes a martini. Jesus, he’s fucking hot.
