The Winter Games

by Sharp, Dr. Rebecca

  “Dude, go get your girl. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  I smirked. “Don’t fucking call me ‘dude.’ That is some skier shit right there.” I hit him on the side of the arm, both of us laughing as I walked away. We were cool, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to give him hell for being a skier any chance that I got—and he did the same in return.

  Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pulled her back tight against me so her soft ass could cradle my dick that grew harder by the second. I sucked in a deep breath of her berry-scented blue hair. I’d always wondered why it smelled so damn good—and then the first time we showered together, I’d been the one to massage the special blue shampoo—Blueberry Bliss—that she used to help her hair keep its vibrant color.

  “Hey, babe,” I whispered.

  “Hey.” She relaxed back against me. Fuck if I didn’t feel like I held the whole fucking world in my arms at that moment.

  “Can I get you anything?” Like me. Forever.

  “I’m good right now. Maybe you want to check on Nick though… he’s been going non-stop all night. I’m worried he’s actually trying to kill himself.”

  I chuckled against her—no wonder she was going into healthcare, always determined to take care of everyone around her; that was my girl.

  “That’s the thing about Frost, J-bird, he could be trying to kill himself, but it will never happen—he’s not that lucky.”

  I didn’t want to let go of her. But then she looked at me with eyes that begged me to check on my friend. I’d never be able to turn that look down.

  “Alright,” I pressed my lips to her temple, “I’ll go make sure he’s not overdosing on his idiocy.”

  “Thank you.”

  She was right. After all of his family shit—his dad dying, his mom’s new boyfriend—he’d been really fucked up lately. And to say that about Frost was saying something. Frost was standing far too close to the pool of water that, in his current state, he could easily drown in. And knowing this crowd, I’d be the one having to jump in to fucking save his ass.

  “Hey, Ryder!” A hand reached out and grabbed my arm. Tony and Mike—two other skiers from our class—pulled me into their circle. A quick glance told me that Frost was safe for the moment with two girls literally plastered to each side of him; the way their tits looked, I was sure they could serve as flotation devices if an accident did occur. It was probably better that I not interrupt their conversation—at least until Frost’s drunk and buzzed alter-ego finally pushed them away.

  It didn’t really seem like I’d been talking to the ski crew for that long when the next thing I knew, it looked like most of the place had cleared out and Frost wasn’t where I’d left him.

  “Fuck,” I swore. Turning, I caught sight of his bright orange t-shirt disappearing through the door into the pool house kitchen. “I’ll catch you guys later. Someone’s gotta cut Frost off before he ends up choking on his own vomit later.

  I jogged over to the door and pulled it open.

  “What the—“ I mumbled underneath my breath, fumbling on the wall for where the light-switch was.

  The soft click might as well have been a gunshot—and instead of light, I saw red.

  At one point or another in life, you see something in front of you that you just can’t fathom to be real. For some, it was seeing the planes hit the Twin Towers. For others, it was seeing the devastation wreaked on Texas by Hurricane Harvey. Something so horrible that you stare at the image in front of you and think, ‘this can’t be happening, can it?’

  For me, it was this moment, standing in the kitchen and seeing Jessa—the woman I loved—kissing Frost, my best fucking friend.

  “Jessa…” It was like she’d been waiting for her name—as though it had set her free. She stumbled back and our eyes met, only I had no idea who I was looking at any longer.

  And like thunder always follows lightening, my anger rolled in with a boom after the split second flash of shock was gone.

  “WHAT. THE. FUCK.”

  If red-hot rage had a sound it would have been that of my fist connecting with Frost’s face; but it did absolutely nothing for me. The sound as he hit the ground was just like my snowboard when it smacked against the landing of a jump; it still did nothing for me.

  “How could you?”

  Her eyes were on Frost. I knew then that there was nothing left here for me.

  Present

  “About time there, J-bird,” I drawled as she stepped through the door. I’d heard her truck coming up the drive.

  Surprise and relief flashed over her face, like my car in the garage wasn’t enough of an indicator that I was, in fact, home. The pink flush in her cheeks from the cold deepened at the sound of my voice. She was completely bundled in clothes of every color—purple jacket, pink scarf, white hat; she was like a living, breathing unicorn.

  She was beautiful magic spun into human form. And I fucking needed her.

  I needed her more than I needed to eat even though that would have to come first.

  “I hope you’re hungry, because I ordered everything on the menu. And I was about to eat it all myself if you didn’t get home soon. I’m fucking starving.” Clearing my throat, I began to crack open the lids to the take-out that I’d set out on the counter.

  I’d ordered all of her favorites—and then called back five minutes later ordering everything else in case her favorites had changed. And then I fucking laughed at myself for it.

  “Sorry,” she said breathlessly, slipping out of her shoes and unwinding the knit scarf from around her neck. “The roads were a little icy and people were driving slowly.”

  Her golden gaze widened as I stepped out from behind the counter. I had on only a pair of light gray sweats—the same kind as the ones the other night. I’d never given them a second thought—they’d always just been what I’d worn when I was home. But ever since the other night, I was fucking glad that I had nothing else to wear because I could practically hear her pussy cry out when she saw me in them.

  Especially when I was semi-hard from just the anticipation of seeing her.

  “Wow, you really did get everything,” she said, standing at the edge of the counter and looking over the spread. “We are never going to eat all this. Are more people coming?”

  “No.” I smiled. “Wasn’t sure if your favorites had changed at all.”

  Her head shook slightly. “No, some things don’t change.”

  There was more to that statement and we both knew it. If I hadn’t heard her stomach grumble when she came into the kitchen, all this shit would have been on the floor already and the only thing that I would be eating was her.

  “Ladies first.” I handed her a plate.

  Even the ambitious amount that we heaped onto our plates didn’t put a dent in the mass of food that I’d ordered. Whatever, it was good as leftovers.

  “Friends?” Realizing how that sounded, I clarified, “Do you want to watch Friends while we eat?”

  She turned and a laugh escaped me, seeing that she already had a forkful of lo mein in her mouth.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  She sat down next to me as I powered up Netflix. Two episodes later, we were both sprawled towards different ends of the couch. Her feet slowly sliding towards my chest.

  “One more?”

  “Just one,” she insisted.

  Letting Netflix continue right to the next episode, I grabbed her one foot and she squealed.

  “Don’t tickle me!”

  Tickling her had been one of my favorite things—the way she would squeal and squirm against me, bursting into a fit of laughter; Christ, it lit my soul. And tickling her while my dick was still buried inside of her… well that fucking consumed me.

  “No,” I informed her regretfully. “I was just going to rub your foot. You look like you’ve had a long day.”

  “Well, I have this one patient who is so obnoxious and demanding…” Her eyes twinkled.

  “Oh,
yeah? Demanding? He hasn’t done anything inappropriate, has he? Because I can have a nice firm chat with him.” Now, I was grinning too—our conversation much more entertaining than Phoebe and Joey on the TV.

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” she replied. “But, I think I can handle him.”

  “Oh, yeah?” My eyebrow arched as my fingers pressed firmly into the arch of her foot.

  My dick twitched against her leg when she moaned. So, I kept doing it. Eventually her eyes made it back to the TV; mine stayed on her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured when the credits began to roll. “I can’t believe I ate all of that.”

  “Really?” I asked with a faked astonishment; Jessa had never been shy about eating or loving food. She was never embarrassed about taking what she wanted. Anything that she wanted. “Because I’m pretty sure that you just put it in your hollow leg.”

  “The hollow leg is only reserved for donuts,” she replied without missing a beat and we both laughed.

  “I’ll clean up.” I reached over and took her plate before she could reach for it.

  “You got dinner. I can do this.” She stood and her hands cupped mine, trying to take the dish back. She had the strangest look on her face—an unstoppable need to do something for me, only I doubted that cleaning the dishes was it.

  I raised an eyebrow at her and she took the hint, her hands falling to her side. My skin tingled from where her fingers had touched me.

  “You really don’t have to do this…” Now, she looked nervous.

  Since when was this girl nervous? Apparently, my memory didn’t get that that question was rhetorical, flicking back to the night she’d kissed Frost. Immediately, my entire body was on edge and I wanted to punch something the way that I’d punched his fucking face.

  A mistake, in retrospect. Sure as shit, the next day, Frost was still lying on the kitchen floor where I’d left him. He had no memory of what had happened which probably had more to do with the alcohol and drug cocktail that he’d consumed rather than my physical assault.

  He looked like death. And when I did tell him what happened, he fucking puked everywhere.

  “But, thank you.” Each word fell as softly as a snowflake, yet with a heaviness that crushed the anger that stirred from my memories.

  Clearing my throat, I grabbed the rest of plates and made for the kitchen, saying, “Figured I could give you a little break since you had such a pain-in-the-ass patient today.” Grinning, I set everything in the sink, wondering where to start. “But, don’t get used to this. I’m going to have to start putting you to work to pay for your rent.”

  Her laugh floated behind me. Even that was enough to make me screw the dirty dishes in favor of screwing her.

  “Well, I do appreciate that,” she said. “I’m gonna go grab a shower and then maybe we could watch a movie or something?”

  Netflix and chill. “Sure.”

  The only movie I was going to be watching was the way her body came apart as I fucked her. And that shit was going on repeat.

  Yeah, I needed to get upstairs to Ally’s—my room and get these scrubs off before I started to look like I’d pissed myself. I was halfway up the staircase when I paused over the bannister.

  “Don’t use the water. It makes the shower cold,” I said, wincing at my words that suggested he didn’t know how his own house worked. Living with well water made life very interesting; nice, toasty water could turn quite frigid in a second if the water was turned on anywhere else in the house.

  At this point though, I could probably use a cold shower.

  “I take it that’s not an invitation, then?” he yelled up with a grin.

  No, Jessa. Say ‘no.’

  You better say no. If you don’t—“No.”

  Good job.

  “Maybe next time then.” I could hear the laughter in his voice.

  “You wish,” I teased back, taking another step. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  His voice followed me all the way to the second floor. “Or maybe we could go for a dip in the hot tub. I love watching your face as the jets—“ I slammed the bathroom door, cutting off whatever he was going to say.

  Back up against the door, I half laughed and half whimpered at my current predicament. And then the memory of what he was about to say made its way through my amusement. Looks like it was time for a cold shower.

  Turning on the water, I reached back over and locked the door.

  Not to keep Chance out… but to keep me in.

  I wanted him so badly it felt like the lower half of me was revolting. But I needed to talk to him. It was written all over his face what he thought I’d meant when I’d suggested a movie, but really it was because I didn’t want him to disappear down into his man-cave. Now that I’d decided to finally tell him, the truth burned my throat like acid waiting to get out.

  The water was only lukewarm but I barely felt it. You’d think by now, after eight years, I would know what to say—how to tell him what happened, what I’d been thinking. I didn’t. And I dreaded the moment because I knew that it was only half of the battle—telling him this.

  Less than half.

  The real battle was to tell him the part that he knew nothing about.

  The real battle would come when I had to figure out how to tell him about our child.

  Turning the water off, I threw open the shower curtain and let the cold air bring me back to the moment.

  One thing at a time.

  I pulled on a soft cotton romper, opting for something that had slightly more fabric to it than most of my silk pajamas because those did not hold up well around Chance. The towel scrubbing against my head became less for drying my hair and more for stirring up courage and coherent thoughts.

  Looking over the bannister, I saw Chance standing at the counter in front of two glasses of ice and a bottle of gin. Shirtless and those sweats. He’d worked quickly, clearing every last container of food that had covered the island, the clean granite reflecting under the lights.

  I tried to keep my bare footsteps silent, watching the subtle flex of his muscles as he poured the clear liquor over the crackling ice. At this point, who needed alcohol? I was quickly getting drunk on the sight of him.

  As I rounded the corner, a spot on the floor squeaked. (There’s always one step that will…) Chance froze in the middle of pouring a drink and looked up at me. The glass bottle clanked down on the countertop as he stared at me, desire making his eyes storm.

  Yeah, cotton had been a good idea, a little voice in the back of my mind whispered as I felt warmth seep between my legs and my nipples scratch against the fabric.

  I swore it was my body’s reflex to him—like when they test your reflexes at the doctor, hitting your knee and watching to make sure your legs jump in response.

  That’s what this was.

  The sight of him hit me and it was all I could do to stop my body from wanting to jump him. With a mind of their own, my eyes roamed down his body that I could now see being in the same room.

  Those damn sweats of his made my mouth dry. I was tempted to burn them when he wasn’t looking. Asshole would probably just walk around wearing nothing then. Nope, this was not going to be easy. Not. One. Bit.

  Easy would have been saying ‘screw it’ to the truth and throwing myself into his arms. I would have been up against the glass sliding door with his dick buried inside of me faster than you could say ‘Pride.’

  “Do you own any other sweatpants?” was the only thing I managed to squeak out.

  I saw his cock twitch underneath them, knowing that it was what I was looking at.

  “Do you own anything that doesn’t make me want to fuck you?” Oh, damn.

  “I-I don’t know.” I walked over to the counter so that I could lock my legs together without him noticing.

  “No, Jessa. The answer is ‘no.’” He laughed and reached for the bottle of expensive Citadella gin again. “And if I did own another pair, why would I wear them when these make yo
u so hot and bothered?”

  “Gin and tonic. Extra lemon.” I looked down at the glass; it didn’t look right. “I jazzed it up a bit for you, J-bird. There’s some blueberry jam in there, too.”

  “Interesting,” I mumbled, looking at the cup once more before taking a sip.

  “Good?

  It was. Nodding, I took another sip. “Thanks.” At this point, maybe a good drink would help.

  “Still your favorite?” he asked, eyeing me as he screwed the cap back on the bottle. Who knew you could actually wish to be a bottle cap just to be screwed by him? I nodded and swallowed more of the cocktail; the combination of blueberry and lemon—sweet and sour—was addicting.

  “So, when are we taking this show to the mountain?”

  “What?” I blurted out, unable to focus on anything except what I needed to tell him.

  “When are we going to the mountain? To snowboard?”

  “Um… Friday?” I suggested Dr. Lev didn’t usually come in on Fridays; I wasn’t sure taking patients on field trips was one-hundred-percent sanctioned, but Chance needed that more than he needed the physical therapy or the aquatherapy or the stretching. He needed to realize that his life wasn’t over.

  “I hope you’re prepared. This isn’t going to be like how it used to.”

  Yeah, I was already well aware that nothing was like how it used to be. It was all so. Much. More.

  “Calm down. We are just going to go and enjoy the ride,” I offered, clutching my glass to me. “You’ll see that you are making way too much out of this.”

  “If you say so, J-bird,” he said wryly, raising his glass in a toast.

  Gingerly, I lifted mine in response, wondering just what we were—

  “To enjoying the ride.” The sound of the glasses clinking together echoed through the room—a soft alarm that I was on borrowed time.

  I took a sip; he drained the entire thing. And his wasn’t the fruit version either.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. His eyes narrowing on me were like two bright blue spotlights focusing in on their subject.