Dropping In (Snow-Crossed Lovers Book 1)

by Carrie Quest

  The worst part is, she has a point. I do start things and quickly lose interest. My closet at home is crammed with half-finished projects and I’ve never had a relationship or career goal that lasted longer than a semester. I have no logical reason to believe that writing will be any different.

  All I have is a feeling—a peace that comes over me at the thought of making my life out of words. But that sounds crazy, even to myself, so I don’t say it out loud.

  We stare at each other for a few more minutes. They both look so sad and disappointed that it takes all my self-control not to cave. Then the timer goes, and I allow myself to blink. My parents are busy and efficient people. They set a timer for our conversations and when it goes, that’s it. On to the next thing.

  My dad reaches over to shut off the beeping noise. “We’ll continue this conversation when we see you tomorrow morning. Email us the details. We’ll have Wi-Fi on the plane.”

  “I’ll get it to you before you leave for the airport tonight,” I promise. They’re taking the red-eye from Boston to Denver for a medical conference and will be in town to take me to brunch tomorrow. I’d put off telling them about the class as long as I could, but there was no way I was going to break the news in person. Tonight was my last chance. Hopefully they’ll be more open to the idea after they sleep on it.

  We hang up and I send them the message that’s been sitting in my drafts folder for weeks. Then I climb into bed and huddle under the duvet, trying to convince myself that I didn’t just screw up my entire future. After the earthquake, I decided it was time to get serious, and that meant playing by my parents’ rules. I thought that buckling down and doing what I was supposed to do would make me feel secure, like my future was finally opening up for me.

  It was like that in the beginning. My parents were happy, my professors loved me, and for the first time in my life I was ticking all the boxes on the Bright and Happy Future list. But after a while I began to feel like I was stuck in a cave, and every A that I earned was a brick dropping down to seal up the entrance and trap me inside. I couldn’t breathe.

  So I began to write. First it was an escape, then it became an obsession, and then, somehow, I actually finished a book. My goal this summer is to start the journey to getting published, and I’m going to start emailing agents soon, but I’m not going to tell my parents that. No way.

  I hear the front door slam, then someone stomping up the stairs. My covers are ripped off and I blink at the sudden brightness. Piper stands at the end of my bed and I scramble to cover my bare feet with one of the pillows she just flung to the floor because she’s holding Chuckles, the world’s crankiest and scratchiest cat, and I don’t want to lose a toe.

  “How did it go?” she asks. “Did they freak out?”

  I wave my hand toward the Bingo card covered in red Xs on my desk. Piper whistles.

  “Damn,” she says. “I hope I got enough tequila.”

  “No such thing,” I say.

  Chuckles hisses at me and I glare at his squishy face. “You’d better be a little nicer to me,” I tell him as I sit up and pull on my thickest socks (claw armor). “After today it’s just you and me, buddy.”

  Piper pulls her fluffy fleabag closer and rubs her face in his yellow fur. “Don’t remind me,” she says. “What am I going to do without my baby?”

  “Walk barefoot in your own home?” I ask. I’m about to add on a long list of the advantages of a Chuckles-free lifestyle, but somehow I get choked up instead. Because Piper’s leaving in a couple days for her summer internship, and even though she’ll only be in Denver, less than an hour away, I know I’m barely going to see her.

  Piper sets Chuckles gently down outside my door and the bed sinks and creaks as she sits next to me.

  “It’s going to be a great summer, Nat. I’m really proud of you for going for it.”

  “I’m proud of you too,” I say. And I am. Piper has always known she wanted to be a physical therapist who works with elite athletes. Her older brother, Ben, is a professional snowboarder (and semi-professional hottie) and she’s watched him and his friends bounce back from some pretty gnarly accidents. She’s got an internship at one of the top rehab places in the country and I’m super happy for her, but I’m going to miss her a lot.

  Especially since I’m terrified that my summer plans are a huge mistake.

  “You’re not making a huge mistake,” Piper says.

  “Did I say that out loud?”

  She laughs. “I’m your best friend, Nat. I know your ‘I’ve made a huge mistake’ face. It’s a lot like your ‘I’ve got to take a crap’ face, actually. You may want to work on that.”

  “This is how you build up my confidence? By telling me I walk around looking like I’ve got to shit all the time?”

  She knocks her shoulder gently against mine. “It’s not all the time, and you’re definitely not making a mistake. You’re doing what you want to do for the first time in a year.”

  “I know.”

  “Maybe you should also do that guy at the deli,” she says with a wink. “You’ll have the place to yourself this summer. You can make your bed squeak and creak as much as you want.”

  “This bed is a family heirloom.”

  “Your parents paid to ship that bed out here as a form of birth control. And the deli guy is cute and always gives you free cookies.”

  “I’m not sleeping with someone for free cookies,” I say.

  “You’ve slept with people for worse reasons than that,” she points out. “And you haven’t even kissed anybody since you came home, let alone had a boyfriend.”

  “I don’t have boyfriends,” I say automatically. Piper knows this. I am strictly a friends-with-benefits girl, and none of them have ever lasted longer than a semester.

  “Fine. You haven’t had a ‘special friend’ for a year. That’s one hell of a dry spell.”

  You’re telling me.

  “If I want a cute guy, I’ll open Hot Dudes Reading on Instagram,” I say.

  “Best thing on the internet,” Piper agrees. “But not exactly a satisfying substitute for the real thing.”

  I shake my head. “Figuring this writing thing out is more important than orgasms, even if they come with free baked goods.”

  “That’s serious shit, Nat. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  I laugh. “Almost never.”

  Piper’s lips lift in an almost-smile. “You do, though,” she says quietly. “You’re absolutely doing the right thing, which is why we’re going to celebrate. We both deserve a good night.”

  Truth. Piper’s life hasn’t exactly been a montage of awesome lately, despite landing a killer internship. Her brother’s best friend (who is also her ex; it’s complicated) crashed in a half-pipe when he was training a few months ago. Ben called Piper right after it happened to give her the news, but she hasn’t heard from him since and he won’t answer calls or emails.

  I reach for her hand, feeling shitty that she’s the one cheering me up when I know how stressed out she’s been.

  “Any word?”

  She shakes her head. “Ben’s still not picking up his phone, and I can’t exactly call Adam’s parents. Not after…”

  Not after you broke up with him and he got wasted and puked all over the bottom of the half-pipe on Japanese national television. While wearing a Big Bird costume.

  But I can’t say that because Piper’s number one rule is: We Don’t Talk About Adam.

  “Whatever you need, I’m here.” I pull her into a hug.

  “Thanks, Natty. I’m okay. I just wish Ben would answer his damn phone. I’m worried about him too, you know? He’s gone totally MIA and my parents are flipping out.”

  Piper and Ben are tight in a way I’ve never been with my sister. He’s always traveling, but he owns our house and lets us live here for super cheap rent in exchange for taking care of the place.

  “Not even the Ben’s Babes know where he is,” she continues.

  “Wh
o the hell are the Ben’s Babes?”

  “This group of fans who think he’s hot. They watch him ride and put up sightings on social media if they see him out or talk to him. There’s a hashtag.”

  “What is it?”

  She snorts. “BensBone.”

  “Holy hell. I had no idea he was that famous.” I knew he was that hot, though. I’ve got eyes. And a vagina.

  “Yeah, well, I try not to look at their stuff because I really don’t want to read about his mad tongue skills or his magical penis. But desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  I, on the other hand, would be very interested in reading about Ben’s mad tongue skills, but I’ll look that shit up later. When I’m alone. And my hands are free.

  In the meantime, I concentrate on not blushing, which is what I always have to do whenever Ben’s name comes up. My reaction to Ben Easton is ridiculous. I’ve met the guy twice and had one actual conversation with him (during which I made a complete ass of myself) but that doesn’t stop me from getting a giddy rush every month when I transfer my rent money into his account and see his name on the screen. He’s my landlord and my best friend’s brother. That’s all he’ll ever be, so it really shouldn’t matter to me if there’s a hashtag about his penis.

  “Come on.” Piper stands up and holds out a hand. “Let’s go downstairs. If we’re going to continue this conversation, I’m going to need tequila and Netflix.”

  Can’t argue with that.

  I wake up hours later, head pounding and mouth dry. The TV is off, and Piper’s gone, but I’m warm and cozy. No need to move until morning. I try to turn over and snuggle back down to sleep, but there’s something heavy on my legs.

  Something emitting a low growl and shifting its weight, like it’s getting ready to pounce.

  Shit. I’m about to get Chuckled.

  “Get off, you foul beast!” I kick my feet and hope like hell the blanket is thick enough to protect me from his Wolverine-like super claws.

  Chuckles just plants himself a little lower on my legs and keeps growling. He’s facing the front door, which is near the end of the sofa, and I have no idea what he’s doing. Usually he would’ve already sliced into me by now.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  That’s when I hear the high-pitched whining coming from the porch. And then a crash and the tinkle of breaking glass as something knocks over the recycling bin.

  “It’s only raccoons, Chuckles. Grow a fuzzy pair and get off my legs so I can go to sleep.”

  But he won’t move, and then the something (or someone) on the porch starts rattling the doorknob. My body goes from sleepy to what-the-fuck in about three seconds and I’m buzzing with adrenaline, my heart pounding so hard I swear Chuckles hears it because he gives me a dirty look like he’s telling me to shut up. A muffled curse comes from the porch, followed by more whining and a sniffling noise. Then the lock clicks and the doorknob rattles again.

  Someone is breaking into our house.

  I sit up quickly and move to the end of the sofa, scooping up Chuckles as I go. From here I’ll have a clear shot at whoever comes through the door, and that idiotic and unfortunate soul is about to seriously regret choosing to invade the House of Chuckles.

  Chuckles squirms and hisses but I hold him tight, ignoring the claws digging into my arms. The door creaks open, a tall figure steps slowly inside, and I do the only thing I can: I scream bloody murder and hurl fifteen pounds of angry cat straight at his head.

  2

  Ben

  I’ve been driving for days and I’m practically sleepwalking when I stumble into the house, but I wake up quickly when a hissing cat comes flying straight toward my dick. I try to shield myself with my snowboard, but fucking Chuckles uses it as a launching pad to propel himself up onto my shoulders, where he scratches the shit out of my neck and sinks his teeth into my ear.

  “Fuck!” I drop the board, barely missing the puppy, whose huge paws are slipping and sliding all over the wooden floors as he tries to jump up and knock Chuckles down. No wonder he’d been so eager to get through the door. The board crashes to the floor and I reach up and grab Chuckles, who gouges bloody lines down both my arms before leaping away and running toward the back of the house. The dog chases after him and I lean over, my hands on my knees, and try to catch my breath.

  Not exactly the homecoming I was hoping for.

  But probably the one I deserve.

  I take a minute, just breathing and trying to let my brain catch up with the adrenaline rushing through my body. I’d hoped to sneak in tonight and not see Piper until at least tomorrow morning. She’s going to be pissed and worried and have a lot of questions that I really don’t want to answer. At least not tonight.

  Someone clears their throat and I slowly straighten up, ignoring the hissing and yapping coming from the kitchen, to get a good look at the girl who tried to castrate me with my sister’s cat. She’s kneeling on the couch with her hands on her hips. Her dark hair is in long wavy tangles down her back and she’s got a mean glare going on.

  “You scared the shit out of me!” She’s whispering, as if the chaos coming from the other room isn’t loud enough to wake the dead.

  Natalie Berenson. I know her last name because she deposits rent into my account every month, but we’ve only met twice. The first time was when I was helping move Piper into the dorms. Nat was wearing these little khaki shorts and I watched her ass going up the stairs as she helped us haul Piper’s boxes to their room. Definitely made moving more interesting.

  The second time was last spring, when I bought this place and showed it to Piper. I told her she could live here if she wanted to move off campus, but only if she had a roommate. Boulder’s a pretty safe town, but I didn’t want my little sister on her own. So she and Nat came to check the place out. Nat was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of a Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter bunny. Santa had a little bubble coming out of his mouth saying the important thing is that we believe in ourselves, which I thought was hilarious. I even asked her where she got it, because I wanted to get a couple for me and Adam to wear to competitions.

  She gave me the website and then we all went to get a beer and talk about rent, which they insisted on paying even though I said I didn’t care. Nat and I got into a long discussion about the role of the Ents in Lord of the Rings that ended when Nat called Treebeard the ultimate phallic symbol, then turned bright red and ran for the bathroom when I asked her what exactly an ancient grouchy-ass tree had to do with cocks. Piper got salty at me for that one, but I wasn’t trying to make Nat uncomfortable. I actually wanted to know.

  This time, the third time, Nat’s wearing a white V-neck t-shirt that’s all rumpled and has ridden up high enough that I can see her panties. Which are also white, and covered with pictures of bright red cherries.

  Red fucking cherries.

  And just like that, my dick, which has shown no interest in anything or anyone since the accident, decides to wake up and twitch in my shorts. Maybe the Chuckles attack shocked him back to life.

  “Sorry,” I say, not sure if I’m apologizing for scaring her or for checking out her underwear. I talk in a normal voice because we can both clearly hear Piper moving around upstairs, but Nat scowls and shushes me, taking her hands off her hips and waving them as if she can swipe the sound of my voice out the door.

  That’s when she must remember her clothing situation, because her face turns as red as the fruit on her panties and she turns around to stare over her shoulder at her own ass like she can’t believe what she’s actually seeing. (I don’t blame her. It’s fucking hot.) Then she leans too far, overbalances, and tumbles off the sofa with an indignant shriek.

  Shit. No idea what the etiquette is when there’s a pant-less girl in a heap on the floor in front of you, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want me to help her up, especially with the glares she was giving me earlier. I stay put and a second later she reaches up and snags a blanket off the sofa, then pul
ls it over her head and disappears. I rub my hand over my face, still not sure the last five minutes aren’t some kind of fucked-up dream. I’ve been driving by myself for days and I’m exhausted. I also stink and don’t remember the last time I changed my shirt. It’s entirely possible I am dreaming.

  Maybe I dreamed the whole thing.

  Then the light over the stairs flicks on and my sister is rushing toward me and the force of her hug knocks the air right out of my lungs. I’m definitely awake. All of it definitely happened: the accident, the hospital, the fight in the desert, the drive, the cat attack, the cherry panties. It’s all real, and only one part of it is good.

  “Hey, Half-Pipe. Sorry to wake you up.”

  Piper squeezes me one more time and then takes a step back. “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Of course. Only a minor Fuckle.” I hold up my arms and show her the scratches. The tattoo of the arrow on my wrist is pretty bloody, but it’s not like I want to ever see that thing again anyway. “No big deal.”

  But she doesn’t look reassured, and it hits me that she isn’t talking about my arms. She’s talking about the thick neoprene brace on my knee. Or maybe it’s the black eye and the split lip I’m sporting, courtesy of the dog’s previous owner.

  Or maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t returned any calls for over a month and my parents left me a voicemail last night threatening to report me as a missing person if I didn’t get in touch soon.

  Piper’s eyes run up and down my body. “What happened to your knee?”

  “I hit something.” I try to keep my tone light and easy, but it’s tough.

  “And your face?”

  I touch my puffy eye. “Someone hit me.”

  She puts her hand on my chest and gives me a shove. “I don’t blame them,” she says, and then takes a deep breath. “We’ve been worried sick about you, Ben. You don’t text, you don’t call, and with Adam…”

  Shit. This is why I wanted to avoid Pipes tonight. Because I can’t talk about Adam right now. Not until I’ve had a shower and some sleep and some time to get my thoughts straight. Plus, I know she’s going to cry when we talk about him, and I hate to see her sad.