Dropping In (Snow-Crossed Lovers Book 1)

by Carrie Quest

  “What click kind of dog click is that?” he asks. His puppy sits at his feet, gazing up at him adoringly.

  I shrug. “Not sure. He didn’t come with a certificate.”

  Polo Shirt stops clicking long enough to squat down and gaze at Thor, who is currently chewing on my shoelace and growling ferociously.

  “He looks like he could be part Border Collie,” he says after a minute or two. “Like Felix here. Have you had him long?”

  He’s talking to me but staring at Natalie’s tits, which bugs me. I move a little closer to her, and Thor abandons my shoelace to wage war on her pant legs.

  “Only a couple weeks,” I tell him.

  “It’s our first time here,” Natalie offers. “We wanted to see how he handled other dogs.”

  I like the way she’s shutting this guy down by saying we. She’s only my roommate, so it’s fucked up that I care, but I still like it.

  I like the way she does a lot of things.

  “They’re really easy to train,” the guy tells her.

  Natalie nods earnestly. “I know. We’re having a great time so far.”

  She’s ignoring the fact that Thor has latched his sharp puppy teeth into the back of her jeans and is currently hanging from her ass, his paws a good six inches off the ground.

  “Have you ever used a clicker?”

  Nat turns to check out the device he holds out to her, and Thor swings around wildly, growling and pawing at her legs.

  “I don’t know if we need one,” she tells Polo Shirt. “Thor’s really mellow.”

  She stands there, dog dangling from her ass, with a completely innocent expression on her face. Her dark eyes are sparkling, and I can tell she’s about to laugh, but she holds on long enough for Polo Shirt to mumble something about a training website and take off, his little clone dog trotting obediently at his heels.

  She keeps her face frozen in a smile and waves when he turns around to stare at us. “Ben?” she says. My name is tight in her mouth because she’s trying not to move her lips.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you get your dog off my ass?”

  Gladly.

  I grab the little mutt and work my hand into his mouth, trying to detach him from her jeans. My hand brushes her ass and I feel it in my dick, which is ridiculous since I’m getting covered in dog spit and I think I just stepped in a pile of shit. The situation shouldn’t scream sex, but I’m going to have trouble walking to the car if I can’t get myself under control.

  “Ouch!” Her mouth makes a perfect O and all the blood in my brain heads south because holy damn all I can think about is those full lips around my dick.

  “He bit me!”

  My dog is gnawing her ass and she should be pissed, but instead she starts shaking with laughter. Thor growls and yips, and she stumbles into me. Her long ponytail brushes against the bare skin of my arm, and I can smell her citrusy shampoo and a hint of coconut sunscreen. I grab the dog but he’s wiggling like crazy, and if I brace my hand against her body for leverage to get him off I’m probably going to come in my pants. Which, I’m guessing, isn’t a real turn-on for girls.

  Luckily (or unluckily—for my dick anyway) Thor drops down a second later and takes off after an equally wild poodle puppy who is wearing butterfly hair clips. Nat brushes dirt off her ass and turns around to see if it’s gone, which reminds me of the way she fell off the couch the other night.

  Which reminds me of those cherry panties.

  I’ve got to distract myself, like, now, or else I’ll be joining the lovers in the trees to beat off before I can even drive home.

  “How’d it go this morning? Was your prof cool with you dropping the class?”

  She beams. “Yes! She was awesome. She signed the drop form, but she liked my stuff so much that she’s going to mentor me. She even invited me to be in her writing group, which is intimidating as hell, but probably exactly what I need, you know?”

  I nod. “Yeah, riding with guys who were way more experienced was huge for me when I was starting out. I learned a lot tagging along and watching them.”

  I’m relieved she doesn’t mind talking about this shit. Lots of people like to pretend that drunken heart-to-hearts never happened, and I kind of figured she’d pull the amnesia card. Instead, she happily chats away about some dude named Eli, who her professor is going to introduce her to at drinks next Thursday. By the time Thor has ripped out the poodle’s hair decorations, I know all about this douchebag. He’s also looking for an agent, he writes literary fiction, he wants to move to New York, and he is allergic to peanuts.

  “Is she trying to set you guys up?” I ask. The idea makes me want to grab the PETA lady’s trowel and go stab a few of the carefully placed obstacle course cones. Or maybe take Polo Shirt’s clicker and run over it with my Jeep.

  Nat blushes and the little freckles on her cheeks disappear as her skin changes color. It’s fucking cute.

  “No,” she says. “Why would you even say that?”

  “She told you everything but the guy’s star sign,” I point out.

  She blushes even harder and I laugh. “She told you that too, didn’t she?”

  “Virgo,” Nat whispers.

  “See? Total set-up.”

  She shakes her head so hard that her ponytail lashes her cheeks. “I don’t think so. She thinks he can help me with the agent stuff. It’s a professional meeting.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “At the Rio? For happy-hour margarita specials?”

  Nat bites her lip and the excitement fades from her eyes. Fuck, I’m a jerk. I already decided that nothing can happen between us, even if she wanted it to, which she doesn’t, so I have no business harshing on her good news. I should be encouraging her to be friends with these people if it makes her happy and helps her out.

  Still, if the fucker comes home with her, I’m gonna “accidentally” drop some tuna on him and let Chuckles take care of the problem.

  “I’m just fucking around,” I tell her. “I’m sure it’s all above board. It’s really cool of her to help you out like this. Most people wouldn’t bother.”

  She starts to look a little happier, and I decide I’d better cut my losses and get us out of here before I tell her what I really think. I do not like the idea of her drinking with these people. She doesn’t know any of them, and I don’t care what I just told her, the whole thing reeks of a set-up to me. What if Nat feels like she has to play along in order to keep her teacher happy? Maybe I’ll call Piper and see if she can come home that night to keep an eye on things.

  “What’s your book about anyway?” I ask as we head back to the Jeep. Thor is completely wiped out and collapses on the back seat as soon as I put him in there.

  “It’s an urban fantasy,” she says.

  “No shit. You know who loves that stuff? Adam. I’ve been reading him the series about the zombie detective. You know it?”

  Her eyes light up and I blow out a relieved breath. I’d have been pissed at myself if I ruined the rest of her day with my shit attitude.

  “Yeah, I love those books!”

  “Does yours have zombies?”

  “No—it’s about this girl who grows up training to be a soldier. Her family has battled demons for generations, and she’s really good, but she’s in love with a guy from a rival clan, and if she gets together with him then she’ll have to give up her mission. I pitched it as Buffy meets Romeo and Juliet.”

  “So it’s got some romance?”

  “A little. But it’s mostly about her figuring out how to be who she’s supposed to be.”

  I remember her movie requests from last night. “Does she go rogue?”

  And there’s the grin. “Of course. All the best people do.”

  “I could ask Adam to take a look at it if you ever want feedback.”

  She looks queasy at the thought and I almost take back the offer, but after a few beats she nods. “That would actually be really great. Monique said I need to share stuff more. It’s m
y first assignment.”

  “Cool. Just let me know.”

  We shoot the shit on the way home, and it’s relaxed and easy. She scoops Thor up and waves goodbye, and I head out to visit Adam. He’s got a thing for spicy food—says it’s all he can taste—and he requested a burrito from his favorite place on Pearl. But by the time I get there the line is fucking insane, which leaves me way too much downtime to think. My mind circles back to Nat and this Eli guy, so I text Piper and ask if she can be in Boulder next week. She’s got some therapeutic recreation trip she can’t miss, so I scroll through my contacts looking for Brody, who’s always up for a night on the town.

  He answers on the fifth ring, his voice slow and deep. He’s not a total stoner, but legalized weed has definitely been good to this guy. “Ben Easton. Heard you were in town, dude. What’s up?”

  “Not a hell of a lot. You?”

  He chuckles. “You know, mischief and mayhem, man. The usual.”

  Brody used to be on the circuit with me and Adam, but after he took out a silver at the last Olympics he found Buddha and the backcountry and decided he didn’t believe in competition anymore. He’s a few years older than we are, and he had a nice chunk of change stashed away by then, so he started a production company called Mischief and Mayhem. They basically drop a bunch of riders into remote places and then film them doing crazy shit, and Brody’s always out in front.

  “Any trips planned?”

  “Yeah, man. I was actually going to call you a few weeks ago, but I ran into the lovely Piper and she said you were MIA.”

  I pause, probably for too long, and then clear my throat. “Yeah, well, it’s been pretty shit, to be honest. Needed some downtime I guess.”

  “Totally understandable. How is he?”

  “Getting better,” I say. “It’s a long road. They moved him to Craig, that’s why I’m back in town.”

  “Sweet,” he says. “Is he up for other visitors? I could bring him a rough cut of the latest movie.”

  It’s a nice offer, but the sight of other guys carving lines through all that untouched powder will just fuck with Adam’s head. We’d always planned to go on one of Brody’s trips together one day, and he doesn’t need a reminder of yet another dream that’s never going to come true.

  “I’ll let you know,” I say. Adam hasn’t exactly told me that he wants me to keep my mouth shut about him not being able to ride again, but it feels really personal. Like something he should tell people himself, when he’s ready.

  “Cool. Anyway, I was going to call so I could ask you if you’re interested in a little Alaska adventure. I’m putting together a crew. Mostly guys who’ve done a lot of big mountain riding, but we want a couple kick-ass newbies to come along. Do a passing the torch kind of deal. Your name came up.”

  My first instinct is to scream “hell yeah” and ask him when I should pack my bags, but that only lasts a second or two. Then everything comes rushing back. I glance down at my leg and see that I forgot to even put on the fucking knee brace today. Hopefully Nat didn’t notice.

  “Thanks, man, but I’m going to pass on this one,” I say. The regret in my voice is real. “I jacked my knee and until I know where that’s at, I’m grounded.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah, it sucks. That’s actually why I called you. I need to drink away some of these sorrows. You up for going out next Thursday night?”

  “Hell yes, brother. Text me when and where and I’ll be there.”

  We hang up, and I’m almost at the front of the line and feeling better. It’s not like I’m going to follow Natalie around, but if Brody and I happen to find ourselves at the Rio, then I’ll at least be able to check up and make sure she’s not stuck in a sketchy situation.

  Piper did tell me to look out for her, so this is me doing my duty as an older brother. Nothing more to it than that.

  Absolutely nothing.

  11

  Natalie

  Ben and I hang out a few times over the next week, but I’m too chicken shit to give him my manuscript until the day I’m supposed to meet my writing group. There’s no sign of Ben when I get up, and Thor is also MIA, so they must have already left for their morning bagel run. I need to tell Ben that I’m happy to take over some of the dog-walking shifts since his knee is hurt. Piper told me it’s pretty bad, but he hasn’t been wearing the brace as much, so hopefully he’s on the mend.

  I’m glad he’s not here, actually, because I don’t know if I’d be brave enough to physically hand over the manuscript I printed up last night. I realized after my second printer-induced temper tantrum that letting Adam look at my book was essentially giving it to Ben to read aloud. The very thought of my words in his mouth (formed by his madly skilled tongue) made me want to burn the book and ignore his offer.

  I know that’s stupid, since I’m sending it out to agents every day and praying they’ll read it, but somehow that seems safer than giving it to someone I actually know. Especially someone I kind of want to bone.

  I leave it on the table with a note saying thanks and then run like the place is on fire. I spend the day in the library, trying to write but mostly checking my phone to see if Ben has texted me saying he and Adam love the book so much they’re fighting over who gets to father its babies.

  This is completely irrational since Ben has never texted me and probably doesn’t have my number. Still, he could ask Piper if he really wanted it. By three o’clock I’m convinced they both hate it. Ben will never again be able to look me in the eye, but I’ll catch him giving me pitying glances all summer. Then he’ll discretely tell Piper to ask me to vacate his property because he doesn’t want a talentless hack sleeping in his third bedroom and throwing off his groove.

  Three o’clock is a dark time.

  There is some unpleasantness with a tetchy librarian and a chocolate bar, and in the end, I decide to hit up the Rio a little early for some nachos. A solid cheese-and-chip base in the stomach is never a bad idea when margaritas are in your future.

  This is how my fancy new writing group discovers me: elbow deep in cheese, already slightly tipsy, and with spatters of frozen raspberry margarita staining my white shirt.

  It’s an accurate first impression, but I still feel like a loser. Especially since they’re all older than me and rocking the serious writer vibe. In fact, all five of them are wearing head-to-toe black, and I bet it’s not because they’re afraid of spilling margaritas on their shirts.

  Monique slides in next to me and kisses both my cheeks before introducing me to everyone around the table.

  “This is Filipe, he’s visiting from Madrid this week,” she starts out, pointing at an older guy on her other side. He’s got long silver hair pulled back into a ponytail, and he’s wearing loafers with no socks and carrying a man purse. He nods to me politely, but most of his attention is taken up by the hand he has on Monique’s ass, so I don’t take it personally when he doesn’t bust out the small talk.

  “And this is Karen and Carole.” Monique gestures across the table to two women who are scowling into their drinks. I nod politely and one of them (Carole maybe) flashes a quick smile. They quickly start arguing with each other about symbolism in the movie Eraserhead, which makes me want to puke up my nachos. A nerdy-hot film major once lured me to his futon with that monstrosity. He said it was a horror movie, so I figured he wanted to get me all clingy and then jump my bones. I was totally down with that plan. Instead, he forced me to sit through an hour and a half of some guy with Einstein hair trying to take care of a disgusting baby that looked like Lord Voldemort before he downed that potion to get his body back.

  Not exactly a frickin’ aphrodisiac.

  Excellent form of birth control, though. They should show it to every high school student during Sex Ed.

  I doubt Karen and Carole are interested in my baby-blocker theory, so I keep it to myself for now. Maybe I’ll hit them with it after they’ve had a couple more drinks.

  “And this,” Monique
says with a smile, “is Eli. I know you two will have lots to talk about.”

  Eli is sitting on my other side, and when I turn around to shake hands I instantly see two things.

  One: Eli is kind of cute in a hipster way. He’s got dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard, and he’s wearing red glasses with thick frames and a black cardigan.

  Two: Ben was totally right. This is a set-up.

  It’s not like he gives Monique a high-five and slips her a twenty after he sees me, but I can tell by the way his dark eyes move over my body that he’s coming into this with more than a friendly chat about the writing life in mind.

  I’d put him at six or seven years older than me, and he’s got a nice smile. I’m sitting close enough that I can tell he doesn’t smell, and the neat state of his beard makes me think that he probably takes his manscaping seriously, which is always a plus.

  Still, there’s no way it would ever happen, even if I hadn’t sworn off guys for the next few months. He has a pube beard, and that’s an instant no-go for me. It’s nicely trimmed, sure, but the hairs are thick and wiry and shiny, and there is no way in hell I would ever let them anywhere near my mouth. Just nope.

  Doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, though, so I smile politely and push over my ravaged nacho plate to see if he wants to eat the rest.

  “Professor…er…Monique says you’re also looking for an agent,” I say, determined to keep this conversation focused on writing. “How’s it going?”

  He grimaces. “It’s fairly hideous, to be honest. I’ve developed a fear of my phone’s email notification sound. Every time I hear it, my heart begins racing.”

  I laugh. “I’m totally with you there. Email used to be this fun thing and now I pray every time I check my phone that I won’t have one of those little badges.”

  He nods. “I call them my red badges of courage because opening the new messages feels like stepping onto the battlefield.”

  “Monique said you’ve been having some success, though? Getting offers?”