Aching for the Mountain Man - Page 1

1

ASHTON

“We should split up.”

That suggestion came from my best friend Tess, who was seated in the passenger seat of my sedan. We’d just pulled into the parking lot next to the area where volunteers were told to park. I chose a spot, then looked in my rearview mirror.

My other two closest friends, Cassie and Sloane, were staring down at their phone screens, probably not even aware that we’d arrived at our destination.

I looked over at Tess. “You mean go into that mess alone?”

She nodded. “If they see us as a solid unit, no guy’s going to want to have anything to do with us. We need one-on-one time with some mountain men.”

I held in a laugh. Tess was not the type of person who desperately looked for men. She was very level-headed and focused on her future career as a veterinarian.

But today, all four of us were on a mission. We were in this town full of single mountain men to lose our virginity. By the end of the week, the four of us would be experienced women.

“Let’s go!” I said.

I reached for the handle and pushed the door open before anyone could stop me. We’d driven nearly three hours for this. Now was not the time to back out.

I took several steps before I realized I had to hang back to make sure everyone was out of the car so I could lock the door. Once I verified the doors were shut, though, I was off, not even waiting for my friends.

It wasn’t much of a hike. Up ahead, I could see a large group of people. They’d be volunteers, working to rebuild after the tornado that roared through this town late last week. Someone shared some videos, including one of a drop-dead gorgeous guy. That video went viral, earning him the nickname Cyclone Stud.

That was the guy we all four had an eye on. May the best woman win.

As I approached the closest group, I looked back over my shoulder. Sure enough, my three best friends had split off at some point, leaving me here alone. That was what I’d intended, only now, it was anyone’s guess who’d end up working with the hottie from the video. In fact, I didn’t see a shirtless mountain man in all the people standing in the street directly ahead.

“See, there’s another one,” one of the women yelled out.

As I neared them, the entire group of women turned to look at me. That was when I saw that we weren’t alone in showing up here searching for hot mountain men. But unlike these women, we at least came dressed looking like we wanted to work. I saw women in tight tank tops and short shorts, sports bras and tennis skirts, and the best—a woman in ballet flats, leggings, and a tunic.

This had been a bad, bad idea.

“We’re full up,” one of the other women yelled out.

Everyone laughed. They didn’t look hostile, though, so I felt safe in approaching.

“I’m here to help,” I said. “I drove all the way from Chattanooga.”

That last part was added in case they were thinking about turning me away. It was a long way to drive to be rejected seconds after arriving.

“Join on in,” one of the women said, gesturing for me to keep coming toward them. “The more, the merrier.”

“I just don’t see that there’s that much for us to do,” the woman in the ballet flats said. “I’m going to track down that trailer.”

And with that, she was off. The crowd in front of me barely noticed. They grouped back up, oblivious to me, and started heatedly discussing what supplies they might need.

I came to a stop a good distance away and surveyed the scene, looking past the women. I saw houses so close together, they practically touched. One was missing a roof, while the one next to it looked fine. Past that was a house with boarded up windows and beyond that was nothing but land and piles of debris.

Whatever was happening here, it was clear nobody was in charge. And without organization, nothing would get done.

“Excuse me,” I yelled out.

I’d always been a take-charge kind of person. If people needed to be brought together to work on something, I was the person to do it.

It took a second, but a few of them turned to me. “You said you needed supplies,” I said. “What, exactly?”