Dropping In (Snow-Crossed Lovers Book 1)

by Carrie Quest

  We both glance over at Monique, who is sipping from Filipe’s margarita glass and smiling coyly up at him. There’s really no need to be coy since his hand has disappeared under her skirt, but whatever floats her boat. I guess I won’t be needing those copies of my first chapter that I have stuffed in my bag. This meeting is clearly more about drinking than writing.

  Eli sucks down the rest of his own drink and snags Monique’s glass. She’s so busy flirting that she doesn’t notice. “Monique tends to exaggerate,” he says after he throws her straw to the ground and gulps down half her margarita. “I’ve had an R-and-R, but no solid offers.”

  “R-and-R?”

  “Revise and resubmit,” he says. “He liked it, but he had a few concerns, said he’d take another look if I revised.”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  He snorts. “Hell, no. It’s my vision, you know? I’m not changing it for anyone.”

  “But aren’t agents, like, the experts? He knows the market, so maybe he thinks it will be easier to sell if you make the changes.”

  He drains the rest of Monique’s glass and looks around the table for another unguarded drink. Carole and Karen immediately snatch their glasses up, cradling their drinks close to their chests. I try to catch their eyes because Eli is really scowling now, and I don’t think this conversation is going anywhere good. Sadly, they’re still yapping about the gross Voldemort baby and ignoring the rest of us.

  “First of all,” Eli says, rolling his eyes. “Who cares about what will sell? It’s my art! It’s not about making money, it’s about bringing my vision to the world. Fuck that idiot in his pristine New York City office. He’ll be sorry when I hit the bestseller list!”

  Oh, honestly.

  “I know you’re young and inexperienced,” he continues, “so I’m going to set you straight right now about a few things. Art has nothing to do with money. It isn’t a job, it’s a calling.”

  I hold up my hand. “Stop right there, mansplainer. If you don’t care about selling your art, then why are you even sending it to agents? Why not just pull a J.D. Salinger and sit on your secret manuscripts forever?”

  Eli gapes at me and I seriously wish it were possible to kick my own ass while sitting. What the hell am I doing? This is not the way to make lifelong writing buddies. I’m going to get kicked out of this group before I even get a chance to attend a real meeting. Crap on a crabtree.

  Then I hear giggles coming from across the table.

  “She has you there, Eli,” Carole says.

  “Maybe if you treated it more like a job, you’d be able to afford your own drinks,” Karen adds.

  Eli runs his fingers through his pube-tastic facial hair, and I notice the two women across the table cringing right along with me.

  For a second I think he’s going to start yelling at all of us, but instead his face cracks into a huge grin.

  “You could be right about the drink thing,” he admits. “I probably wouldn’t be sleeping on Monique’s sofa, either.”

  His grin fades, and he thumps his head a few times on the table. “Sorry, Natalie. This is not how I wanted our date to go.”

  My eyebrows jump up so fast I think I might’ve sprained a forehead muscle, but before I can clarify that we are definitely and absolutely not on a date, Karen reaches over and pats his hand.

  “Next round on me,” she says. “Come help me carry? Another margarita, Natalie?”

  I shake my head. I’ve still got half a glass left, and it’s not that I don’t trust Eli exactly, but he’s obviously a little off balance tonight and I’m not taking an open drink from him.

  “He isn’t really a bad guy,” Carole says after the two of them are gone. “This agent stuff is messing with his head.”

  “Have you gone through it?” I ask her.

  “Not yet. I’m still revising my book. I want it to be perfect before I send it out. You only get one shot, you know?”

  I mumble a response but don’t really answer because the freak out in my head is so loud I can’t concentrate on anything else. She’s totally right. What was I thinking? I started querying agents without even letting anyone else see my book. Of course it isn’t ready. All the agents I send it to are probably going to put my name and picture on their secret “never read except under pain of death” list. I’m dead in the water before I even started to swim.

  Carole shoves my glass toward me. “Drink,” she says. “You look like you need it.”

  I take a big gulp. “Sorry. Minor nervous breakdown. Happens on the regular lately.”

  “That’s the writing life,” Carole says with a smile.

  Eli and Karen come back, and the night gets a lot better. All three of them have been published in a few literary journals, and I write down the names, so I can look them up later. Eli doesn’t say anything else about us being on a date, so I start to relax. Monique and Filipe take time out from their flirt fest, and she tells me about some contests I should enter and places I can submit to for publication if I want to build up my resume. She name-drops a couple of big shot agents I’ve been too scared to even query, and even promises to tell them about me after we’ve finished working together this summer.

  For about two hours it’s like I’ve hit the good times montage scene in the movie of my writing journey. We’re all laughing and having fun, trading war stories about rejection letters and cures for writer’s block (Carole says chocolate. Monique purrs “sex” while staring into Filipe’s eyes.). It’s pretty much exactly how I hoped the night would go until I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and find Eli waiting for me when I make my way back up to the rooftop terrace.

  “Hey, there,” he slurs. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Here I am,” I say. “See you back at the table.”

  “Stay and chat for a minute,” he says. “We’ve hardly had a chance to get to know each other.”

  “Look, I’m not sure what Monique said to you, but the only thing I’m looking for here is a writing group.”

  “You have a boyfriend?” He groans and rubs his pube beard again. Gross. He definitely needs a new signature move. “What am I saying, of course you have a boyfriend. Look at you.”

  I take a couple breaths before I speak, because this guy lives with Monique, so they must be close, and I don’t want to blow my chance at getting letters of introduction to those agents.

  “It’s not about another guy,” I say.

  His eyes light up. “So, I have a chance,” he says. He reaches out to stroke my hair, but I catch his wrist in my hand and shake my head.

  “I’m only looking for a writing group,” I say.

  “I really like you,” he replies. “Vy ochen’ krasivy. That means ‘you’re so beautiful.’ In Russian.”

  I stifle a laugh because really, buddy? Pulling out the Russian trick already? I have not missed this shit during my year of celibacy. Yes, I’m hornier than a twelve-point buck, but at least I haven’t had to deal with drunk asshats who think that anyone with a vagina will immediately bow down if they express interest in her. It’s so fucking predictable. And so fucking boring.

  “Not interested,” I say. I’m tempted to add “sorry,” to be polite, but I clamp my lips shut because fuck that. I have nothing to apologize for.

  The luster has worn off the night, though. Time for me to say goodbye and make a graceful exit before Eli really starts bugging me and I say something that will piss him off enough to run to Monique.

  “How about coffee tomorrow?” he asks. “Give me a chance. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

  I shake my head and turn around, ready to head back to the table to grab my stuff.

  I don’t get far, though, because I run smack into a hard, hot wall of muscle. I stumble and two strong arms close around me, holding me up.

  “Sorry,” I say, because I’m pretty sure I just crushed the hell out of this guy’s toe.

  “No worries, Nat.”

  Holy hell. It’s Ben, and he
’s glaring at Eli like he’s about to strangle him with his own cardigan. His blue eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them, and his jaw is clenched. I can feel the tension running through his body, but his grip on my arms is gentle. He pulls me closer to whisper in my ear, and he smells like soap and pine and fresh air, like he’s carrying a little bit of the mountains with him. I sigh and press myself closer. One of his hands comes up to cradle my head and suddenly my cheek is pressed against his chest and I can hear his heart racing.

  Whoa. He’s either as affected by this as I am or he’s about to hulk out and pound Eli into hipster hamburger meat.

  “You okay?” he says softly.

  I want to ask him to repeat the question, so I can feel that soft breath of air against my ear, but I just nod and pull back slightly to balance on my tiptoes, so I can reply.

  “Just a drunk loser, but he’s friends with my prof so I’m trying to be diplomatic.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “So you don’t want us to drag him out to the alley?”

  I notice for the first time that Piper’s friend Brody is standing behind Ben. His face is relaxed, and he throws me a wink, but his arms are crossed and he’s definitely giving off a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe that’s at odds with his usual laidback demeanor.

  “I don’t need a dramatic rescue,” I tell Ben. “But a boyfriend would save me a hell of a lot of hassle.”

  His forehead wrinkles for a second and then he grins.

  “At your service,” he says.

  Yeah. If only.

  He drops his head and nuzzles my neck as his hands run lightly over my ass.

  Holy hell. I sigh, and I feel his smile when he presses his cheek to mine.

  “Just keeping it realistic,” he whispers. Then he turns me around and puts one hand around my belly, pulling my back firmly against his chest.

  “Ben Easton,” he says, sticking his hand out for Eli to shake. “I’m Natalie’s boyfriend.”

  12

  Ben

  The dude gapes at me and leaves me hanging for the handshake, but I’ve got no fucks to give about that, not when Nat’s tight ass is pressed up against my thigh. She starts to take a step away, but I pull her back against me and drop my head, so I can whisper in her ear.

  “Is this your big date?”

  She turns her head slightly, so she can answer me and her smooth hair slides across my cheek. The sweet citrusy smell of her shampoo hits me, and I pull her even closer, closing my eyes to breathe her in. I dip my head lower and the warm puff of her breath across my cheek when she speaks has all my blood rushing south. If I hold her this close for much longer, shit’s going to get real awkward.

  “This is him,” she whispers. “Pubes and all.”

  I bury my face in her neck to hide my laugh because that beard totally makes it look like the guy should have a dick in place of his nose.

  But I’m not holding onto that mental picture long, not when my face is tight against the soft, warm skin of her neck. Not when her smell is all around me and my heart is racing, and all I have to do to kiss her is raise my head a few millimeters and take her lips.

  “I was about to go,” she says. “Can you get me out of here?”

  Hell yes. I can definitely do that.

  “Let’s go,” I say. But I don’t move to release her, and she doesn’t seem in a hurry to get away. I keep my head buried a few seconds longer, then look up to see the guy still staring at us with Brody right next to him, grinning like a maniac.

  “Nice to see you, Natalie,” he says. “Don’t think we’ve run into each other since you and Benny Boy here became a hot item.”

  Nat finally steps away and gives Brody a quick hug, which kind of makes me want to punch the guy, even if he is one of my oldest friends. I grab my beer off the table next to us and gulp it down, trying to swallow my jealous rage along with it. Because this shit is ridiculous. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why wouldn’t she hug him? He lives in town and he knows Piper. Nat probably sees Brody all the time. They’re probably friends. Maybe even close friends. Maybe they’ve even hooked up.

  This train of thought is not helping with the whole jealous rage thing, so I look over to her discarded blind date, trying to distract myself. But my mood must be showing on my face because he takes a quick step back, then belatedly sticks his hand out. I grab it a little too hard and pump it up and down.

  “I’m Eli,” he offers.

  His eyes can’t quite focus and he’s clearly on his way to being totally wasted, but he’s aware enough to know that he doesn’t want to mess with me.

  Instead, he turns to Natalie. “I thought you said there wasn’t a guy,” he says.

  “I said it wasn’t about a guy,” she corrects.

  I throw my arm around her shoulders. “I just got back to town,” I say.

  “Ben’s a snowboarder,” Nat offers. She shivers a little and I pull her in closer. It gets cold fast in Boulder when the sun goes down and if I were a gentleman, I would take off my hoody and offer it to her, but then I’d lose my excuse to touch her. Fuck that.

  “I’ve always thought I might get into that after I finish grad school,” Eli says. He drains his drink and turns his head to belch. “I haven’t been out in a couple seasons, but I used to be pretty decent on a board.”

  Fuck. He’s one of those guys. A guy who thinks that because he can stand up on the board, maybe get some air on a few jumps, that he’s one step away from going pro. Because how hard can it be, right? It’s not like you need a goddamned brain or anything.

  “How’d you get a sponsor?” Eli asks. He winks at Natalie. “If this writing thing doesn’t pick up, then I’m going to need a Plan B.”

  How’d I get a sponsor? I busted my ass for years. I ate snow so often that my body probably thought it was a major food group. I watched riding tapes instead of Game of Fucking Thrones. I gave up girls and beer and anything else that wasn’t getting me closer to the top of that podium. And it worked. My focus was legendary.

  Until it put my best friend in a coma.

  Shit. Not thinking about that. I take a pull of my own beer and bury my head in Nat’s neck again. She sighs in my ear, a breathy little moan that I feel everywhere. She reaches down to the hand I have clamped over her hip and twines her fingers through mine.

  I glance over at Brody, who has a huge shit-eating grin on his face. I’m not sure if he’s laughing at Eli or the way I’m all over Natalie. “It’s not that hard to pick up a sponsor,” he tells Eli. “You should take some tape of yourself riding and start sending it around.”

  I snort at that blatant lie, but Eli doesn’t notice. He looks Brody up and down, taking in his messy hair, ripped jeans, and the wallet he’s flipping over his fingers that’s held together with duct tape. “You ride too?” he asks. “Have you ever placed in anything?”

  Nat stiffens next to me and leans toward Eli. She’s bristling; if she were a cat, all her fur would be sticking straight out.

  “Do you even know who you’re talking to?” she asks.

  Eli looks between me and Brody. He’s having trouble getting his eyes to focus. I was wrong before: He’s not on his way to being wasted. The dude is already plowed. “Bill and Bucky?”

  She rolls her eyes. “They’re professional athletes,” she says. “It’s not something you can just decide to do, like picking up golf on the weekend. You have to have actual talent.”

  Brody nods solemnly, winks at Eli, and lets out a huge belch. “Very true,” he says, then drains his beer.

  It’s fucking adorable the way she’s defending us from this idiot, but he’s not saying anything we haven’t heard before. I feel her draw in a big breath to keep schooling Eli, but before she can say a word I turn her around so she’s facing me and pull her in close. Her breasts smash up against my chest and there’s no way she’s not going to notice how happy my dick is about this new development, but fuck it. Nothing she hasn’t seen before.

  She relaxes into me and I grin over he
r head at Eli, who’s glaring at me like I pissed in his beer.

  “It’s sweet of you to defend us, baby, but there’s no need. We’re plenty secure in our manhood.” I keep my tone light, but there’s a part of me that really wants to smash this fucker’s head in. I hadn’t been in a fight in years before Adam got hurt, but I’ve gotten into it with a couple of different people in the past few months. Maybe all the aggression I channeled into my riding has to come out somewhere. Or maybe I’m pissed enough at the world that pummeling anyone and anything feels necessary.

  I should probably work on that.

  Nat leans her head back and gazes up at me. “We should get going,” she says.

  I nod reluctantly because I could easily stay a while. I haven’t been out since it happened, haven’t let myself relax or enjoy much of anything, but tonight it feels right to be here, holding Nat close and sinking a few beers. The thought of going home, back to reality and my empty room, of saying good night to Nat and watching her ass wiggle as she disappears up the stairs, makes me feel like shit.

  “Big Tom’s having a party,” Brody offers. “You lovebirds interested in checking it out?”

  Nat’s eyes are big and dark, and she stares up at me, her arms still wrapped around my waist. I’d give anything I own except my dog to know what she’s thinking right now. She leans her head back even farther and her silky hair tickles my arm. I clench my fists to keep myself from wrapping my hands in it and pulling her lips to mine.

  “I could do that,” she says.

  My mind is a little cloudy from the beer and from holding her, and for a second I think she read my mind and is saying she wants me to kiss her. The laughter and talking around us fades out and it’s just us, staring into each other’s eyes, so close I can feel her heart pounding in her chest.

  “Sweet.” Brody’s voice breaks the spell, and I shake my head and take a step back. What the fuck am I doing flirting with her? Touching her? None of this is supposed to be happening. I don’t deserve it.