“Didn’t something happen a few years ago?” Channing wondered. “Something with one of her friends?”
Wyatt continued to stare at the TV before shaking his head. “You know, it sounds familiar but, fuck… I can’t put a finger on it.” The curiosity in my bones peaked a little higher. “I think,” he continued. “I think something did… but aside from the Olympics, I didn’t really travel in those circles. Skiers and snowboarders are like oil and water… Even if we were on the same mountain at the same time, I would’ve been in the park while she was on the slopes.”
“I’m sure they’ll dredge it up on the news at some point or another,” I muttered and looked back to the screen, still searching for a glimpse of her face.
“I’d like to meet her,” Channing interjected. “I mean… I know I competed as Chance and all, but bitch or not, even I can appreciate a skier with that kind of talent. I mean, the only female to win the Cup four times?”
“Yep.” Wyatt nodded. “Pretty fucking impressive.”
“Hey, maybe you’ll get to meet her, Kyle!” Her bright blue eyes widened as they fixed on me. “Right? Don’t they have you on patrol for the events?”
My chin dipped in agreement. “Maybe. Although probably not. At that level, she’s most likely got her own personal trainers and doctors on stand-by,” I mused lightly, setting my empty beer can on the counter. Who the hell knew where they were going to stick me when competition days came…
“They should put you with her,” Channing exclaimed like it was a genius idea, one hand pushing her short blonde hair out of her face before it gripped into her fiancé’s bicep. “You’re probably the nicest guy on the planet—aside from you, babe.” I watched as she leaned over and planted a kiss on Wyatt’s cheek.
Her brother groaned and I looked back to the TV, annoyed by how much I really wanted something like that in my life. More annoyed that every girl I’d thought about dating in the past few months was either already taken by one of the SnowmassHoles or had no interest in anything serious with me.
Maybe I missed the memo where pretty-boy automatically meant player who only wanted one-night wonders.
“I don’t know if there’d be anyone else with more patience than you, Kyle. Maybe you could teach her a thing or two about cordial competition,” she teased with a wink.
My lips tugged up into a cordial smile even though the thought really wasn’t appealing. Yeah, I was the nice guy.
And I was sure as fuck getting tired of being reminded how it really was the nice guys that finished last.
One week later
“YOU ALMOST READY THERE, BIG guy?”
I grunted as Shawn’s face appeared right above my head. Slowly, lowering the bar of weights back to the rack, I sat up to catch my breath.
It was after five so the out-patient center where I worked was closed for the day. The state-of-the-art machines and lifting equipment sat empty along walls of mirrors and the giant windows that faced out into the parking lot.
The building—especially the gym—was kept cleaner than a hospital. I swore, it’d probably be safer to perform surgery on one of these benches than it would on an operating table. It was one of the many things I liked about this place—attention to cleanliness and detail; the other was that employees were allowed to use the gym anytime. And that meant I always stayed after work to get a lift in unless the band was practicing or had a show—which wasn’t happening in the near future.
I glanced back at Shawn’s grinning, expectant face. Looked like my set was being cut off early today. Grabbing my water bottle, I drained what was left as I took the towel that he offered me.
“You know you aren’t going to bulk up if you keep cutting your lifting sessions short,” I said hoarsely, wiping the sweat from my face.
Shawn originally started here as a patient of mine with a minor shoulder injury from a skiing fall. He’d healed up quickly, but we’d become friends in the process. He’d asked if I’d ever done personal training—really, he’d just demanded that I become his personal trainer. The only problem was that in-fucking-variably, every Friday after we finished another session he begged me to go grab a burger and beers with him after.
“Don’t give me shit for my birthday.”
I laughed as I stood.
His birthday was last week, but because of the last show with the Wanderers, I hadn’t been able to join in the celebration. So, he decided I’d be making up for it tonight with beers after the gym.
“Hey, you asked me to help you, I’m just doing my job.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed. “And now I’m telling you that your job is to be my wingman and not give me shit.” I just shook my head. “C’mon, I have a good feeling about tonight.” He clapped me on the back as we headed for the showers.
I wished I had a good feeling about tonight, but I’d given up on good feelings months ago.
Now, the only thing I could count on was meeting some chick who wanted to screw Aspen’s Abercrombie physical therapist. I knew that would be ideal for some… but not for me.
“Holy shit, it’s really packed in here.” Shawn set down another now-empty beer bottle on the table in front of me.
I’d told him we should really go for burgers at Peak’s Pub, but he insisted on going to Big Louie’s, the local sports bar.
We’d claimed a table in the corner, chowing down two mediocre burgers before the place really started to fill in. Now, it took me so long to grab us drinks at the bar I’d resorted to ordering two at a time for each of us. Meanwhile, Shawn stayed at the table and scoped out the situation, waiting until he saw the perfect girl to talk to.
“You want me to go this time?” he offered.
I patted his back as I stood. “It’s your birthday. You hold down the fort.”
Clearing some of our empty cups, I began to slowly work my way through the crowd, a task that was slow-going because of my size and the mass of people.
“Hey, Jimmy,” I greeted the bartender with an ‘it’s me again’ smile.
“Four more?” He wiped his arm across his brow; he was definitely earning his tips tonight.
“Actually, let’s do some Jameson and ginger. Two. Doubles.”
He nodded as he finished shaking up another drink order and then disappeared down the bar.
Probably should have just stuck to beer.
I sighed, staring down at the wood of the bar that was textured and sticky from alcohol. I felt like shit for not wanting to be here. It was my friend’s birthday, but I’d been religiously checking the clock like it meant we’d be leaving any sooner.
Besides the fact that picking up girls in bars just wasn’t my thing, I’d just been feeling… stuck… lately.
I groaned.
I shouldn’t be complaining. I had a great job, great friends, great place to live. But I wanted someone to share it with. I wanted someone who made me look forward to a future whether it was what I always wanted or something that we’d figure out together, like Channing had done for Wyatt. I wanted to be the one to up and move—put all this on hold—in order to support my girl in her dreams, like Emmett had done for Ally.
I was done fucking around. Literally. I wanted the goddamn sappy shit for once in my life—I wanted a relationship to last.
Yeah, Shawn was my friend, but I was turning thirty-one next year. I wasn’t looking for hot hook-ups. I wasn’t looking for a temporary fuck. I wanted something real—something that everyone around me seemed to have. Everyone who, not for nothing, had been a giant dick to get it.
Case-and-point: I flicked open my Sparks app to the last conversation I’d started with a girl I’d matched with. There were the initial pleasantries followed by her asking if I wanted to come over to her apartment. I said sure—I didn’t claim to be a fucking saint, no matter what everyone else thought—but I asked if we could grab dinner first to talk and get to know each other.
That was three days ago.
Radio silence ever since.
A
nd that was just the latest in a long line of failed attempts to find something lasting. They talk about finding a needle in a haystack… I should’ve found so many damn needles by now I could’ve stocked the fucking hospital.
“Hey there, sweet thing.” I cringed, hearing a deep drunken drawl from behind me. The worst part was, I knew the low, slurring voice wasn’t even directed at me. I pitied the real recipient of Mack’s attentions.
Mack Evans was a local drunk, pioneer of being a sleazy fucking tool and champion of instigating bar-fights. Most of them he would’ve won because of his washed-out football player size if he wasn’t either too drunk to be toppled or too busy being arrested to be able to do some real damage.
I couldn’t stop myself. My head turned to the conversation happening a few chairs down that for some reason, I was now tuned in to.
“You must be new ‘round here. Name’s Mack and here’s your welcome drink.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” a richer, velvet-clad voice replied.
Mack was an idiot, which is why he would miss how that velvet was wrapped around steel.
My attention was momentarily distracted when Jimmy set the drinks I’d ordered down with an apology for being so busy and taking so long. I nodded but my feet stayed rooted in place, immediately going back to the situation next to me that had the hair on the back of my neck prickling.
“C’mon there, sugar. Just tryin’ to be friendly,” the drunk garbled and I watched the back of his huge upper body lean closer.
My blood began to pump faster. Chivalry was hard-coded into my genome and the passed-over ‘no’ was like a bat-signal, bringing every inch of me to attention.
I was going to have to step in and make him step away.
I couldn’t even see the woman on the other side of him, that’s how huge he was, and no matter her size, she’d be no match to put Mack in his place when he was in this state—and when he was determined to get what he wanted.
“Well, I’m not interested in your drink or the side of friendly that comes with it.” There was her voice again—indifference cloaking strength. I tried to imagine the woman it was coming from and for some reason, the idea of Joan of Arc came to mind. Warrior. Saint. Martyr.
“Oh, I think a taste of the Mack could change your mind,” he returned confidently.
I snorted, wondering if that fucking shit ever worked.
The cups in my hand went back onto the bar when Mack’s whole body moved closer to his prey. Letting out a resigned sigh, I flexed my fists, prepared to put Mack in his place by whatever means necessary. But when I turned, I was stopped in my tracks by beautiful teal eyes that were clearer than the fucking Caribbean.
Her turquoise eyes were the kind of clear that lured you into assuming their shallowness, expertly masking their real depths below—depths that hid far more secrets than the pristine surface let on.
From sea-green eyes framed with smoky make-up, to her snow-white skin, to her midnight-black short hair, she was beauty in the extreme. The kind of exotic beauty you couldn’t picture if you tried, but when you saw it, you knew there was nothing else like it on the whole fucking planet.
I should be moving. I should be reaching and yanking the fucking shithead away from her since he clearly wasn’t respecting the fact he was being turned down. You’d think a one-syllable-word like ‘no’ would be easy for his microscopic brain to understand.
Not only that, he was no longer even respecting her personal space as he buried his face in her neck, garbling God only knew what in her ear.
But I was frozen in that stare, my body alive for a whole different reason.
And then she blinked and set me free.
One arm shot out, stopping just an inch from grabbing his shoulder when I was arrested by her smile—her plump, pouty lips spreading wide to reveal a straight white line of calm.
How the hell was she calm? This fucker was practically molesting her.
And then I saw her hands curling into the collar of his shirt, pulling him even tighter to her into the side of her neck.
“Yeah, all the ladies love Mack…” I heard him slur against skin and my stomach revolted against the confines of my abdomen.
My arm fell as I drew back.
What. The. Fuck.
Maybe that shit really did work. But she’d said no. My brain was a battlefield of missed connections wondering if she was okay, wondering if I should step in, or wondering if maybe she knew him and this was all a game. Maybe I was looking for something where there was nothing and should return to my own business.
Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed someone so captivating would be grossed out by Mack’s drunken advances.
Still, her eyes held mine, dragging down over me like she was stripping me naked, while letting Mack slobber all over her.
Christ.
See, this was the type of shit that happened to me.
I find a girl that fucking captivates the shit out of me and she’s either with Mack or just fucking psycho.
When her stare returned, the small pink tip of her tongue darted out over the expanse of her lower lip and—Mack’s or not, psycho or not—my dick shot to attention wanting that tongue on it, wanting those full-fucking lips wrapped around it.
Yeah, I needed to get the hell away from this shit-show.
I began to turn when I heard her say, “Three.”
She couldn’t be talking to me. My brow furrowed as my eyes flicked back. She was looking at me.
“Two.” Yeah, she was definitely talking to me.
Her fingers tightened on Mack’s collar until her knuckles blanched white. Wait… was she pulling him closer or was she…
“One.”
Her smile invaded her face as Mack slumped forward, all of his weight collapsing onto her as he passed out. As calmly as though she were taking off a jacket, she turned and slid the giant drunk over until he was slumped onto the bar.
Holy fucking shit.
She’d just choked him out. In the middle of a crowded bar.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I rasped, sliding my gaze from Mack back to her.
If her face had stopped my breath, the rest of her tempted my heart to do the same. Flat black boots led to black leather clad legs. Her oversized, short sweater hung close to the edges of her shoulders, giving a wide view of her collarbones and slender neck.
I’d never been so hard at the sight of such an innocuous expanse of moonlit skin.
“Excuse me?” she asked calmly as she sat with her legs crossed on the barstool, reaching over the counter to grab a napkin and wipe her neck, presumably from where Mack had put his mouth on her.
“Did you—” I stepped closer, realizing my eyes hadn’t deceived me at all about what I’d seen. “Did you just fucking choke him out?”
I couldn’t fucking believe it. I didn’t fucking believe it. But it was the truth. I’d watched enough UFC, even gone to a few jiu-jitsu classes with a buddy of mine to know that that was exactly what she’d done.
She’d let him lean into her, pretending to enjoy it while crossing her arms and working them under the collar of his shirt. He thought she was pulling him closer when she was really tightening the fabric against his carotid arteries and cutting off blood to his brain until he knocked out.
“He’ll wake up in a few minutes,” she replied with a quirk of her lips. “Once blood makes it back to that pea-sized brain of his.”
Miss Joan of Arc calmly shrugged and finished the last sip of her drink—not the one he’d ordered her.
“You could have killed him,” I ground out, not like he didn’t deserve it.
Her eyes glinted. “I was careful. Plus, not like I could do much more damage to a brain that doesn’t understand the word ‘no.’”
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to just stand there and take it all in for another second.
And hell if I didn’t want to fuck her.
I’d fallen for her eyes even though I knew they were deceiving. I’d fallen for the
picture that was as old as time—the one where the beautiful girl gets hit on by the drunken dick at the bar, and I’d been about to step in as the hero who enforces her honor.
But that was all shallow waters.
The woman in front of me, though fit, was by no means large enough to defend herself against Mack. And yet she’d gone and taken the fucker down without causing a scene. Hell, without anyone but me even taking notice.
This girl was deep—so fucking deep that one wrong step and I’d be so far out of my depth.
“Not every girl is looking for a hero,” she said with a hard smirk as she stood, lengthening her strong, curved form. “But thanks.”
Honestly, she looked like she wasn’t looking for anything. Which was exactly what I didn’t want—exactly what I swore I wasn’t interested in.
Then again, she might not need a hero, but somewhere beneath the crystal façade, there was the flicker of a woman who’d appreciated my gesture just as much as she’d been surprised by it. Just as much as she tried to pretend it didn’t faze her.
“I see that,” I said hoarsely, flashing her a quick smile as I drank in one last sight of her. “Well, then, I’ll leave you to it.”
I didn’t want to walk away—not when I felt drawn to her like this. But her tone made it clear she wasn’t interested—not even in my help.
Picking up my drinks that were sufficiently watered down by now, I forced myself to turn away from her—and forced my dick to chill the fuck out until I got home later and could indulge in far too many fantasies that were really fucking hard to ignore right now.
“I am looking for a ride though, if you happen to have one of those.”
I froze, the soft, confident steel of her voice dragging like the cool blade of a knife down the back of my neck.
I half-turned and caught the flash of desire toying with the teal of her eyes.
Say yes, my dick screamed. Hell, my whole body screamed it.
My head tilted trying to make sense of this woman. She’d just knocked out a man without actually harming him, saying she didn’t need a hero, and now she was asking me for a ride. There was something about her that played to my chivalry, but not in the damsel in distress way—that was too easy. Something about her was screaming for a kind of help she didn’t know she needed… the kind that had you asking a stranger you felt you could trust to keep you safe for a ride home.
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