My throat felt tight. Nausea and adrenaline twisted together.
But it'll perform. It'll save you.
I thought about my reputation. About my bank account. About going home to Phoenix and admitting failure to everyone who'd watched me build this crazy career. About watching Drew flourish while I was left with egg on my face.
He's just a hot guy chopping wood. You're not showing his face clearly—it's mostly profile shots, and he's far away in some of them. You're not using his name because you don't even know his name. It's fine. This is fine.
The rationalization barely held together.
What if he finds out? What if he's angry? What if he—
What if this is your only chance to turn things around?
I took a deep breath.
And I hit post.
The upload took seconds. I watched the little loading circle disappear, watched it become real and permanent and irreversible.
Oh god. What did I just do?
But even as guilt crashed over me, I couldn't help refreshing to see if anyone had liked it yet.
My phone exploded.
Not literally, obviously. But it might as well have.
Within five minutes, 200 likes. Within ten minutes, 500. Within twenty minutes, 2,000.
I sat in my car in the parking lot, watching the numbers climb—elation and horror twisting in my chest.
Within an hour, 15,000 likes.
Comments poured in so fast I couldn't keep up.
@maddieinthemountains:DADDY??????
@jessicawrites:I NEED HIS LOCATION IMMEDIATELY
@christmaslover24:Hot Mountain Daddy saved Christmas
@influencertea:Candi's comeback era starts NOW
@sierra.jones:forget Drew, THIS is what we need
@mountainmamalife:ma'am you can't just post this and not give us MORE
The video was being shared. Reposted. Stitched on TikTok. People were screenshotting the best frames—him mid-swing, muscles flexing—and posting them with their own thirsty captions.
#HotMountainDaddy started trending.
My follower count started climbing.
487,432.
495,105.
510,678.
