"Is the rest of your family as adventurous as you, or are you the outlier?" I ask.
"Outlier all the way." Reeve reaches around for his water bottle clipped to his backpack. He takes a few swigs, securesthe lid, then reattaches it. "I'm adopted. My two brothers and my sister are all very corporate-minded. Hugely successful but also hugely ego-driven. It's all about status and money and how things look to everyone else. I was never good at school. I'd get bored and restless. Never did my homework either. Preferred to readRobinson Crusoeor watch travel videos on YouTube. Twenty-some years later, here I am."
"How old are you? If you don't mind me asking?" Mr. Perfect asks.
"Thirty-four. You guys?"
"I'm twenty-six. Wilkin's much older."
"I'm twenty-seven," he grits out.
"The lines on your forehead suggest otherwise."
He rolls his eyes. I smile victoriously. Reeve watches us without saying anything. Smart. He got burned when he tried digging for info when we were in the pool, didn't he? Not my proudest moment.
I'm surprised he hasn't packed up and chosen to stay with his grandmother to get away from us. I wouldn't blame him one bit if he did. And yet, this multi-day outing was his idea. Does that mean he actually wants to spend time with us?
Maybe he's not just crazy hot… Maybe he's just crazy.
8
Wilkin
After just over three hours of walking, we reach a tiny cabin by the edge of a forest.
"It's nothing fancy," Reeve says, downplaying it. He does that, I've noticed, especially whenever the topic veers to anything to do with him. His cooking. His adventuring. His kindness. "But it'll be a good base."
"What about sleeping arrangements?" Jett asks. "It doesn't look very big."
"Don't let its size fool you," Reeve replies, a smile pulling his gorgeous lips wide. "There are three large bedrooms inside, each with a king bed and private en suite."
Jett's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Really?"
"No." Reeve laughs. "There's one big room, three mattresses on the floor, and an outside toilet. This isn't The Ritz, Mr. Hollywood."
"Hey, I'm no Mr. Hollywood," Jett retorts, throwing his backpack onto the ground. "I grew up in a trailer."
"Oh." Reeve's face collapses. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."
"It's fine." Jett waves his hand and squares up to Reeve. "Really."
Reeve's got a good four inches on Jett, and there's something so vulnerable in the way Jett is staring up at him that it makes my dick throb, and whoa…what is wrong with me? Maybe I'm dehydrated from walking. I drain what's left in my water bottle and follow Reeve and Jett inside.
The place is as tiny as it looked on the outside, and just as Reeve said, it's one big room, most of it taken up by three single mattresses spread neatly across the creaking floorboards, with a compact little kitchen set against the far wall and a large sofa and small wooden coffee table squished up against another. It's cute and cozy, with wafts of pine and ash lingering in the air.
"This was Grandpa's version of a man cave back in the day," Reeve says, dropping his backpack and striding over toward the kitchenette. "Granny wanted to make it all bougie, but he liked to keep things simple." He opens the half-size refrigerator, and his smiling face glows in the yellow light. "Granny really is the best."
I saunter up behind him—eyes up, eyes up—and am met with a fully stocked fridge…behind a fully stocked muscular ass.
"Is the toilet really outside?" Jett asks.
"It is. I'll show you where. We even have hot water, just…no thirty-minute showers, okay?"
"Fine by me," I say as he leads us out the back to a small enclosure with a toilet and a separate shower. Modest and clean, and it'll be fine.
We leave Jett to it and head inside.
"Is everything okay with you guys today?" Reeve asks as we unpack our backpacks.
