Chapter 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.
I let out a long sigh. "It's complicated. But please know, it's got nothing to do with you. In fact, I'm surprised you're doing this."
"Doing what?"
"This. Bringing us here. I'm sure you realize it means you'll have to spend time with us. Alone. Are you sure you're up for that?"
He cocks his head and grins. "That a challenge?"
It wasn't, but if it keeps him looking at me with that heated look in his eyes, then… "Maybe."
He holds my gaze for a few seconds more. "You guys are…interesting."
"You mean diabolical?"
He lets out a rich chuckle as he ties up his hair in a loose ponytail. "Should I be afraid?"
"Most definitely," I reply without missing a beat, and our eyes meet.
He can tell I'm kidding, and a light, fluttery feeling stirs in my chest. It's nice having someone get you without having to explain everything.
Jett returns. "What did I miss?"
"Wilkin warned me to sleep with one eye open in case you go on one of your, and I quote, 'usual rampages.'"
Jett, clearly missing the humor in Reeve's voice, aims his laser-beam gaze at me and growls, "What the fuck did you say?"
"Nothing, he's kidding. Right, Reeve?"
"Totally. Sorry. My bad," he says, biting back a smile. "You're a live one, aren't ya?"
Jett glares at me then takes a deep breath, possibly to recalibrate, possibly to plot my actual murder tonight, and directs a much softer gaze at Reeve. "So I've been told."
Jett goes over to his backpack, unzips it, and starts taking his clothes out, arranging them neatly on the floor.
Reeve catches my eye, and with a smile on his lips, mouths, "See? Challenge."