“You’re seriously going to make me drink this?” Allie said, sniffing the cup and making a gagging noise.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, nodding at his umbrella monster drink. She laughed.
“Oh, you’re going to drink that. And I’m going to take a picture.” She whipped out her phone and snapped a quick shot. “And I am going to post it everywhere.”
“Of course you are.” Beck shook his head.
The two of them drank: Allie a tiny sip of the fiery tequila and Beck a big gulp of much-too-sugary blech. It was more like a slushie than an actual drink. In the standing-room-only bar, a high table opened, and Beck nodded to it. “Shall we?”
On their way, a college-aged kid brushed past Beck.
“Hey...aren’t you...?” Recognition dawned on the college boy’s face. Recognition and reverence. “Aren’t you Liam Beck?”
Beck glanced at the kid who looked suddenly starstruck.
“Two-time silver medalist at men’s snowboarding cross? That Liam Beck?” The boy glanced at the fruity drink in Beck’s hand and looked momentarily baffled.
“Nah, that’s not me,” he lied.
Allie flashed him a brief look of pity. Beck shrugged. The Olympics were a long, long time ago. He’d long since had his fifteen minutes of fame.
“No, you’re definitely Beck, man. I’d know your face anywhere.”
This time, Beck didn’t argue. But he wished the kid would stop gushing. It always made him uncomfortable.
“You’re my hero, dude. The way you shredded that course! Like...amaze-ing. I—I mean I learned to snowboard because of you!”
Nothing like a young punk to make him feel ancient.
Beck and Allie settled into the high top. “We’d like to finish our drinks, okay?”
“Oh, yeah, man. Sorry... Just... I mean, you’re my hero!” He held up his hand for a high five and Beck reluctantly slapped it. As the boy slid away, Beck shook his head.
“Still don’t like fans?”
“It’s not that.” Beck shrugged. How could he tell her it all felt undeserved? “I didn’t do it for the fame. I did it to prove something to myself. The fame is just kind of an annoying side effect.”
“The same fame that helped you launch your business, though,” Allie pointed out.
“Yeah,” Beck said. “And Willis wants to use my name to open a few more adventure tours in other cities.”
“Can you afford it?” Allie asked, concern wrinkling her brow.
“Not sure.” Beck needed to look over those papers.
Allie studied him a minute. “Okay, next dare, then. I dare you to...tell me something you’ve never told me about the Olympics.”
“What?” Now Beck felt on high alert. This game was supposed to be about putting Allie on the spot, not him. “I thought this was a game of double dare you, not truth or dare.”
“A dare’s a dare.” Allie took another sip of her tiny shot of tequila and then coughed, patting her chest.
“You’re supposed to slug that.”
“You didn’t say that in the dare,” Allie pointed out. “So I’m going to sip this one. It tastes awful.” She wrinkled her nose. “So? Go on. The Olympics. Tell me about it.”
What was there to tell? His father had promised to go, and Beck had even sent him a ticket, but he’d gotten too high and missed his flight. By the time he arrived in Turin, Beck’s event was over. His mother had just had another baby with the new family she’d created far from him in Florida and didn’t feel like she could make the trip. By the time Vancouver rolled around, he hadn’t bothered to invite anyone. It had been better that way.
“Not much to tell,” he said. “I didn’t do it for the fame. I did it to prove I could because everyone told me I couldn’t. Just went there and skied hard. And wished I’d gotten gold both times.” That was the short answer, the textbook answer, and she knew it. She knew all that already.
“Was your family there?” she asked him.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Beck stared at her. “Why all the questions all of a sudden? And how many questions do you get to ask with one dare?”
“As many as I want,” she countered. “This is my game. And you haven’t told me anything I don’t already know about the Olympics. Tell me one thing I don’t know.”
Beck sighed. “I don’t like talking about it because I wanted to win gold and didn’t, and now I won’t have another chance.” Beck shrugged. “I don’t want to think that my best accomplishment is in the past, but it might be.”
Allie studied him a beat. “Being a medalist doesn’t define you.”
“Doesn’t it, though?” Wasn’t that why people flocked to his adventure tours. Or looked at him twice when he went into a bar?
“Only if you let it.” God, he missed her so much. Missed how she managed to cut through all the noise and make him feel seen. Few people had that skill and even fewer people could snap him out of a pity party. “And, by the way, thank you. For warning me about Taylor.”
The gratitude took him by surprise. “You’re welcome.”
A woman walked past their table then on the way to the bathroom. She eyed Allie with some disdain and then sent a long, knowing look to Beck, who realized he knew her, vaguely. They’d had a night together maybe two or three years ago. Her name started with a K. Kayla. Kaylee. Something like that. “Hey, you,” she murmured in a much-too-familiar way as she passed him. Then she leaned over as if to whisper something in his ear. “Why don’t you drop by my place later?”
The petite blonde in the too-tight leggings and too-low-cut sweater glanced over her shoulder as she passed, seeming not to care that he was sitting across from Allie.
“What did she say?” Allie’s voice sounded hard. Jealous.
“She wants me to come over.”
“Will you?” Allie bit her lip.
“No.” Beck shook his head. What he remembered was that she’d taken a selfie of herself in his bed. He didn’t want to know what she’d done with it.
“She was one of your marks, though.”
“More like, I was her mark.” Beck shuddered a bit. No way was he remotely interested in taking her home again. He felt like she’d probably steal things from his condo for souvenirs, or take selfies in his closet next to his medals and his Olympic jackets.
“Mmm-hmm.” Allie looked at him, that old disapproval on her face. Before the weekend at the lodge, she’d teased him relentlessly about the women who rotated through his bedroom. Only she could make him feel moderately ashamed and more than a little bit shallow for simply doing what came naturally.
“Look, as much as you love talking about what a dick I am, can we just focus here? I dare you to...” He looked at Allie’s big green eyes, attentive and watchful, and suddenly just wanted her to come back to his condo, so that it could just be the two of them, where he could hold her. She broke his gaze and he realized she was staring at Kayla/Kaylee’s back. The girl had on a too-short tight sweater and her lower back was completely bare. There was a tattoo there, Olympic rings. Of course there would be.
Allie held up a finger. “Wait a second,” she said, and then she downed the entire shot of tequila. He hadn’t expected that. Then she grabbed a passing waiter and ordered another.
“You sure that’s wise? Tequila doesn’t agree with you.”
“I’m sure I’m going to need it to get through this next dare.”
“I dare you to...”
Meanwhile, from the corner of Beck’s eye, he saw the starstruck kid come back, carrying shots of tequila and slices of lime.
“Hey, man, just wanted to buy you these,” he said, beaming like a little boy who’d managed to tie his shoelaces for the first time. “It’s an honor to share a drink with you, Liam Beck, and you, uh...” He glanced at Allie,
unsure.
“Allie Connor,” she said and happily grabbed the shot glass. She took it a bit too quickly and it sloshed on the table.
“Allie, careful,” Beck cautioned, but it was too late—she was already glugging it down. Since when did Allie shotgun tequila? She had the tolerance of a fly. Two drinks and she was buzzed. Three and she was on her way to hammered. And tequila took her there twice as fast.
The boy held up his shot glass, and she took that, too.
“Allie, give that back,” Beck said, but she was in no mood to oblige him. She held on to it.
“Here, take mine,” Beck offered the kid. He took it and drank.
“You’re just the coolest ever, man. I’ll go buy you another,” he offered. Before Beck could argue, he was hurrying back to the bar. Beck refocused his attention on Allie.
“What the hell are you doing? Tequila makes you sick. Remember Cinco de Mayo? I only dared you to drink one shot.”
“Well, this is the new Allie.” Her eyes had already taken on a glassy sheen. Not a good sign. She pushed back her chair. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Her mood had soured, and it had everything to do with Kayla/Kaylee and tequila. Beck knew it. This was why he was no good for her. He just brought a bundle of drama to her life that she simply didn’t need. He couldn’t help it if women approached him, but she seemed to take every single woman he’d ever slept with as a personal affront. How could they ever really have a go at a relationship if she let every woman who glanced at him twice get into her head? This was why Allie was better off without him.
She stumbled a bit getting off her chair. The tequila was working its black magic and fast. He steadied her, but she was determined to get away. What had caused this? Was it Kayla/Kaylee?
“So, I’m taking you home now.”
“I don’t need your shelp,” she slurred. The shots took hold fast.
“You do need me. Or you’d fall down.”
“Is that a dare? You daring me to fall down?” Allie asked, unsteady on her feet as she reached for the women’s restroom door. Her eyes were having the slightest bit of trouble focusing on him. She’d had way too much to drink in a short amount of time.
“That would hardly be a dare. You’re going to do that all by yourself,” he said.
“Well, then, what are you going to dare me to do?” Allie asked, blinking fast.
“I...” But before he could get another word out, she’d grabbed him by the shirt.
“Too slow. My turn.” Before he knew what happened, she’d arched on her tiptoes and planted her lips against his.
CHAPTER SIX
ALLIE HAD NO idea what she was doing. Her body was on autopilot, and she had her tongue in Beck’s mouth before it even registered that she was kissing him. Again. For the second night in a row. Her brain was awash in tequila, and the room had already begun to spin a little. Was that the tequila buzz or Beck’s mouth? She wasn’t sure, but what she did know was that her body, even dulled with alcohol, felt the pulse of heat between them and the promise of more pleasure to come. It took her a moment to notice that Beck remained entirely still. For a heartrending second, she thought Beck might not kiss her back, but then his lips were on hers once more, his hands at the small of her back. Yes, kiss me. I want you. I’ve missed you.
The thoughts ran unheeded through her brain, and she suddenly forgot why she’d decided to kiss him in the first place. She was proving what exactly? That she was better than that blonde with the tattoo? That she could somehow compete? That she even wanted to compete? Why did she even care who Beck slept with? He wasn’t hers, would never be hers.
Her head spun, literally spun, as their lips met. She felt they were both twirling in a fast circle.
Then, as abruptly as the kiss began, it ended. Beck pulled away first, chest heaving, his big strong hands on her arms.
“You’re drunk,” he said, his eyes telling her it took more than a little willpower for him to keep her at arm’s length.
“Yes, I am,” she conceded and hiccuped. Not that it mattered. She’d feel the same about Beck if she were sober. She felt wild, impulsive, and realized that being with Beck made her feel out of control, reckless. And she liked it. That was the problem.
“I’m going to take you home,” Beck said. She wondered if he planned to stay the night in her bed. In her current state, she wouldn’t tell him no.
“I don’t need your help,” she said, defiant. The room took another spin then, and she knew it had nothing to do with Beck’s hands on her and everything to do with the tequila she’d hastily downed. Her stomach roiled, suddenly in revolt. She realized she was about to lose the last tequila shot she’d drunk and more, as she spun and ran into the bathroom, barely making it to the first stall before she lost the contents of her stomach. Beck must’ve heard the commotion outside because he rushed in, steadying her by the toilet as another wave of nausea hit her.
“What was that about not needing my help?” he asked her, holding her hair back, as she retched again.
* * *
Allie woke the next morning feeling like her head was a delicate soft-boiled egg, its shell cracked in a dozen places. Her hands flew to her temples as she groaned, the bright light on the other side of her closed eyelids like daggers to her brain. She didn’t even want to open her eyes, afraid the sunlight would send more shards of pain pulsing through her head. What on earth had happened last night? She groaned as bits of the night came back to her...too many shots, the dares...that blonde at the bar and the way she was eyeing Beck, and then...how Allie had reacted like a scorned girlfriend and drowned her sorrows in tequila. What was wrong with her?
Then she remembered that she’d been sick. She remembered throwing up at the bar and...the game of dare. With Beck. What had happened? She couldn’t remember. She moaned and pulled the covers up over her head, shielding herself from the memories of the night before and the morning’s sunlight. Her head throbbed and all she wanted to do was stay in this warm, snuggly goodness forever. It was only then that she realized the blankets over her were heavier than her own. They had the feel of weighty down instead of the loftier, lighter cotton fill of her own comforter beneath her white eyelet duvet cover. The realization slowly came: these weren’t her sheets. If they weren’t hers, then whose were they?
She pushed her head out of the covers and opened one eye. The first thing she saw was the blue-and-white-checkered scarf she’d traded with Taylor the night before. One of her first dares. Oh, no. Did she go home with...Taylor? No. She didn’t like him. He was married, the jerk. She remembered. And then Beck had arrived and... She sat up then and glanced around, realizing quickly this was not a stranger’s room. It was far worse than that. She knew this bedroom.
Allie was in the middle of Beck’s king-sized bed, the thick goose-down comforter with the navy blue cover tucked around her soundly. She knew the room from the dozens of times he’d invited her to parties at his place, big sprawling affairs with dozens of locals. In a panic, she glanced down and saw she wasn’t wearing her clothes from the night before. They’d been replaced with one of Beck’s long-sleeved T-shirts with his adventure tour logo emblazoned on the front. She reached down and was mortified to discover she had no pants on.
What had happened? She racked her brain trying to remember, but no more memories came. She was at the bar, she got sick, Beck was there and...what? Well, clearly he brought her home. Had they...? Good Lord, did they...? Allie pressed her hands against her body and was glad to find that she still had her bra and low-cut bikini on, her pink-laced ones. Okay, if they’d...gone there, then she probably would be completely naked beneath Beck’s shirt. The worst part was that she couldn’t figure out if she was relieved...or disappointed. What the hell was wrong with her? Falling into bed with Beck would be the worst thing she could do.
She scanned the room. More important, where was Beck? That was wh
en she heard rattling in the kitchen. She heard the sound of a pan coming out of the cabinet, and the high-pitched squeal of hot water through coffee grounds in his single-serve coffee maker. The aroma of freshly brewed dark roast drifted into the bedroom and she suddenly badly wanted some. Her uneasy stomach cried for coffee. The sizzle of freshly cracked eggs on a buttered pan hit her ears as she swung her bare legs over the side of Beck’s massive bed. Her head revolted, almost sending her back to the sheets, but she knew coffee and food were her best ways out of this hangover. Her stomach felt dangerously empty, and she needed to fill it with grease and fast.
She glanced at the bedside table and saw her phone and her glasses there. Beck had left them in reach, which seemed sweet. She put on her glasses and headed to the door. The fact that she’d have to face Beck didn’t occur to her until she’d cracked open his bedroom door and saw the man—shirtless—frying up eggs at his stovetop. He turned and saw her, grinning from ear to ear.
“Well, she’s alive,” he said and shook his head slowly, the crook of his lopsided grin telling her he was going to enjoy having fun at her expense. “It was touch and go for a while.”
Embarrassment burned her face and she wished she’d checked her reflection in his bedroom mirror before coming out. Too late now. “Was it that bad?”
Beck cocked a blond eyebrow. She tried very hard not to look at his smooth bare chest, the ripples of his muscles beneath his rib cage. The man was the only one she knew who actually carried a real six-pack. She remembered running her finger along those ridges that weekend at the lodge. How he would laugh and tell her he was ticklish. “You don’t remember?”
Allie glanced at her bare toes, the green nail polish beginning to flake off. “Uh, no. Last thing I remember was being at the bar with you. Even that is spotty, but I think I...” She swallowed, recalling the humiliating trip to the bathroom. “Uh, I think I got sick in the bathroom.”
She glanced up once more but found all that bare skin of his distracting. The man ought to put on a shirt, but she didn’t want him to think his half nakedness was bothering her at all. He wore only a pair of mesh gym shorts, the ridges of a V pointing down beneath his waistband. She looked away, to his stark apartment, noticing that there weren’t any Christmas decorations. He never decorated for Christmas. Not even a tree, for as long as she’d known him. Not even when he’d had a Christmas party here for half of Aspen two years ago.
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