Enjoy the Ride (Winter Games Book 3)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

First, I kept the sessions in the huge gym thinking more people and less nudity would be involved compared to the pool. I hadn’t thought about the fact that sweat dripped just the same as water off every cut of his muscles. I hadn’t thought that the crowd of people only made my wanting him even more forbidden and hence even more potent. I hadn’t thought about the fact that the room was lined with mirrors that now seemed to be there for the sole purpose of making sure that no matter where my gaze tried to escape from him, it would still always find him. That, for the entire hour, his image was literally reflected back to me from every angle.

  It was torture.

  I contemplated moving back to emphasizing Hydroworx exercises, but the way my mind replayed the sexy snapshot of the past few times in the pool room made it crystal clear that that was not a good idea for me. I already found my way back to those images every night this week.

  It was all his fault.

  The road before Ally’s street was poorly paved from all the snowfall and salt trauma to it. It had been this way for eight years and I doubted they’d done anything to try and patch it. Each bump was not entirely muted by the suspension in my truck, instead rolling through the familiar melodic beat to the song of anticipation strumming through me; I felt this every time I made this drive. My body hadn’t yet realized that I wasn’t in high school anymore and that Chance wasn’t going to be waiting for me when I finally got there.

  Bummer.

  I rubbed my thighs together because, down there, it was more than a bummer. But up here, in my head, I drowned out the whining from my lower parts and focused on the anger that I still felt over the fact that he’d missed his appointment with me without so much as a text.

  It angered me indescribably—not because of the insult to me (ok, maybe partially that)—but because he was treating his future this way. Carelessly. A future that I’d broken both of our hearts to try to preserve.

  Hitting the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel, I called Ally for the distraction. “Hey, Jess! What’s up?”

  “Hey—“ I broke off hearing her giggle in the background. Oh God. “Please tell me you did not answer the phone in the middle of having sex with, Emmett.”

  She gasped, “Of course not!” And then laughed. “But I can’t make any promises if you don’t talk quickly.”

  She was teasing—I think. I hope.

  “Just wanted to let you know that I’m on my way over to your house with my stuff, I guess just confirming that it’s still ok for me to crash at your house for the time being.”

  “Of course! Do you seriously think I would take that back?”

  “No,” I sighed, “I guess I’m just wondering if you ran it by your other siblings.”

  “Well, I met Chan for coffee earlier and told her. I haven’t talked to Chance lately though, but I mean, you could have said something to him… you probably see him more frequently than I do right now.”

  “Yeah…” If the asshole would show up for his appointment, maybe I would have.

  “Did you not tell him this week? I mean, I can give him a call, but it’s not like he’s living there. I can’t fathom why he would care.”

  Well, maybe because he hates me and is out to make my life miserable.

  Oh, and maybe because it’s his house, too!

  Just. A. Thought.

  “No. I didn’t. I didn’t think I was the right person for that to come from.” I paused debating for a second about saying what inevitably rolled off of my tongue next, “I actually didn’t see him today.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine; he didn’t show up for his appointment.”

  “Emmett,” I heard her yell, “have you heard from Chance today?” Unfortunately, I couldn’t hear his response, so I waited. “What do you mean?” Still no clue what Ally was hearing or asking about. I licked my very chapped lips and drove in silence through the trees that looked like they were just losing the last bit of snow.

  “Sorry,” she apologized, coming back on the line, “I don’t know what’s going on. I think something is going on, but Emmett doesn’t seem to want to tell me right now.” And then her voice lowered conspiratorially, “I’m going to find out and then give you a call or text and let you know. But I think something happened with Frost—not to him, necessarily, but yeah.”

  “Ok, thanks. Talk to you soon.”

  My mind began turning faster than the gears in my V8 pick-up, contemplating just what was going on with Mr. Nick Frost—the coldest man on the mountain.

  Even though I loved the mountain, I still searched for warmth and sunshine in the people around me. The energy that radiated from Nick Frost was so painfully cold—the kind that is so cold that it burns—that it could bring you to your knees. Anger and rage bubbled inside Nick, underneath the chiseled, shimmering, and beautiful sculpture of ice that everyone was too dazzled by on the outside.

  I didn’t really know Nick until Chance started pursuing me. Rephrase: I knew of Nick Frost, because, well, who didn’t? He’d become popular in high school because his parents were rich—always funding any and everything. Then he’d become infamous once the rumors began to start and the Winter Games were in full session.

  Rumor had it that Nick Frost had walked in on his mom screwing another man and in retaliation, he’d decided to act out in every and any way possible. They also said his mother blamed him, claiming that his actions were what had caused his father’s untimely death. His version? That the man his mother married less than a year after the death had been responsible.

  Pulling up Ally’s driveway was just another turn down memory lane, my body on autopilot as my thoughts took me back to high school. When Nick’s dad died and his mom was with that Stone guy, even before they were married, that’s when he’d gotten bad. The Winter Games had become a pre-game for the parties that Nick would throw at his house afterward while his parents were gone. And then, after a few days of recovering from the effects of the alcohol (and other things), he would inevitably walk into school one day with a black eye or a broken wrist. Snowboarding accident. More like a Stone-battling accident.

  I only knew this because of Chance, though.

  Hauling the cardboard box into my arms, the strong scents of vanilla and lavender and lilac wafted through the cold air. Candles and La Croix may have been my weaknesses. And my Cards. And Chance.

  I guess I had a thing for C’s.

  Except cleanliness. Definitely not cleanliness.

  I managed to punch in the key-code to the door to the garage and shuffle inside without too much difficulty.

  “Shit.” I groaned as my elbow slammed into the doorknob trying to push the door to the house open without having the full use of my hands.

  The box made several clunking noises as I set it down on the coffee table, running my hands through my hair and pulling it up in a top-knot. The few boxes I’d brought over earlier in the week still sat by the steps, some opened and partially unpacked.

  I flicked on the lights and walked into the kitchen, opening up the fridge that I’d stocked earlier with a case of my lime-flavored sparkling water. The fresh fizz in my mouth did nothing to liven the emptiness of the space.

  Empty. Alone.

  I hadn’t quite thought this through: no Tammy and a larger space.

  The past few days, I’d just been too tired to notice. But today, without so much energy being spent keeping my urge to screw a certain SnowmassHole under wraps, I was wide awake to the reality that I was coming home to.

  It’s just temporary, I tried to reassure myself.

  The air felt stale as it climbed down my throat and into my lungs; the few days spent of me ‘living’ (aka sleeping) in it hadn’t managed to get rid of the effusive scent of emptiness, its vacuity hanging in the air like a thick fog, accentuated by all the dust I’d kicked up just by moving in and around the space.

  My phone dinged.

  ALLY

  E says he’s not sure. Says Chance has kept him at ar
m’s length. He thinks it’s because of him and me. I think Chance is too much in his own head. *eye roll emoji*

  I laughed because I could totally picture her face making that exact expression. I was so happy for her. And Emmett. They’d both been through so much—lost so much—but haven’t we all? Happily-ever-afters were falling all around me like snow, except I was the only one left cold out in the storm—my heart tied to the man I’d broken.

  The one man too proud to ever forgive me for it either.

  I strummed my fingers on the granite countertop, staring blankly at them. And then, I saw those same fingers gripping that same countertop, holding my body steady as Chance fucked me from behind. Flashbacks of my body that felt like it had been overheating—still wearing all my snowclothes from the mountain. My pants barely pulled down to my thighs; Chance’s barely undone in the front before he’d bent me over and slammed into me. I gripped onto the countertop because it was the only cool anchor for my body that had exploded with heat.

  I jerked my hand back—away from the reminder and back into the loneliness.

  Arms over my chest, I wondered how much more difficult living here was going to be. Pulling out my phone, I considered for a brief second calling and begging Tammy to take me back. Paying for a live-in maid would be worth the expense, right? The price for keeping my sanity.

  Groaning, I set my phone on the counter and walked over to the box that I’d just brought in. Candles. I needed candles.

  Honestly, how had I survived the past few days without them?

  Digging through the slew of various vanilla-scented options, I pulled out a new one that I’d bought a few weeks ago—Magical Frosted Forest. Popping the top off I took a good whiff, the scent immediately bringing a smile to my face and the feeling of home to my heart.

  Opening the small drawer on the end table, I found a lighter inside and lit the wick.

  Time to unpack.

  Another glance at the open emptiness whispered that a glass of wine would best accompany the endeavor—especially after today. Reaching into the same box as the candles, I pulled out the bottle of Riesling that I’d brought from Tammy’s—a gift from Ally when I’d passed my licensing exam.

  Bottle opener—one of the few things I had brought with me to Tam’s and now, here. Wine glasses were too fancy for the occasion, so into a coffee mug went an overly-zealous pour of the semi-sweet white wine.

  Opening up Spotify, I tapped on Tristan Prettyman’s album from a few years ago; I wasn’t feeling nostalgic though, I swear. Lingering downstairs for as long as I could, swaying to the beat of the music, I began unpacking the rest of my minimal kitchen possessions—the majority of which were still at my old place—and random other belongings (aka candles).

  Cedar. Pine Needles. Eucalyptus. Crushed pineapple. Raspberry ice.

  The scent burning in the living room spread potently through the space, making the house smell like winter warmth. It was everything about this place—the drive here on bumpy roads lined with snow-topped trees accented by the few flakes that drifted to the ground with the wind. It was the house that looked like a mansion yet managed to feel like a cozy cabin, sitting at the top of a not-incredibly-short driveway. It was the homey rustic décor, plaid blankets, leather couches, a stone fireplace, and huge windows that gave just a glimpse at the winter wonderland outside of them as the sun began to set. It smelled like home. It smelled like the mountain.

  I lost myself in the aroma of nostalgia, trying my very best to organize my belongings in some semblance of neatness that Tammy would find marginally acceptable. I also lost myself in about three-quarters of the bottle of wine knowing that I didn’t have work tomorrow; instead I would be unpacking more memories.

  Tonight, I didn’t beat myself up about them. There was no one here to judge. My mind flitted through the various spots in the kitchen where Chance had kissed me… touched me… where he’d taught me everything about losing my mind in pleasure.

  At some point, I wandered over to the couch, my fingers gripping into the soft leather evoking another anthology of memories. Sitting and studying while Chance watched TV; my face buried in one book or another eventually turned to Chance’s face being buried between my legs.

  Chance’s parents were great people and loving parents, but if they weren’t involved with something at the school for Ally since she was the youngest, they regularly worked late during the winter, assuming Chance and Channing were out on the mountain. Some days they were. Others, Chance was here. With me.

  We were young—and yet somehow, our relationship with all of its fire and spontaneity managed to become something far too deep and far too strong for what it should have been.

  Like when you watch America’s Got Talent or Little Big Shots… inevitably, some five-year-old gets up on that stage and belts out Beyoncé better than the queen herself. Inexplicable how something so beautiful, so perfect, erupts with a seemingly unpracticed ease. That was Chance and me.

  That was us.

  Tears slipped down my face but I didn’t bother to wipe them. I let them flow. I needed this. For too long, I’d tried to hold back remembering just how happy and in love I’d been because I didn’t want to want it—I didn’t want to need it.

  I cried because I would never stop wanting it. No matter what happened now with Chance, I would never stop wishing that things could have been different, but knowing that I wouldn’t change what I’d done even if I could.

  Hours later and still no word—let alone explanation—from Chance. Why I insisted of thinking about it in those terms annoyed me; I needed to go to bed—it had been a long day.

  With a sigh and nothing left to accomplish, I set my empty cup in the sink, grabbed as many boxes and bags that I needed to go upstairs and trudged into the darkness. The sunshine of Ally’s room brought a smile to my face.

  Almost ten-thirty, according to the alarm clock on her nightstand.

  Shit. My phone was still downstairs. With a sigh, I decided that going back down was far too much work; I’d just set the alarm on Ally’s clock.

  Stripping down and throwing on a light pink silk PJ set, I found my essential bathroom possessions—toothbrush and face wash—and made quick work of using them.

  I think I was asleep before my head even hit the pillow.

  Someone was here.

  I sat up in bed with a start, my heart pounding out of my chest.

  Where was here?

  Swallowing thickly, it took me a second to realize that I was at Ally’s house. Not my apartment. Not in Tammy’s apartment. But alone in Ally’s family’s giant home.

  Thud.

  Someone was definitely here. Reaching for my phone, I remembered that Genius Jessa had left it downstairs because why would I need my phone in the middle of the night?

  Oh, you know, only to call the police when someone is breaking into the house you literally just moved into a mere five hours earlier.

  Who the hell robs a house at eleven-thirty? At least wait until after midnight, moron.

  Tiptoeing over to the door, I cracked it open and light streamed inside; I’d turned off all the lights before coming upstairs. Ok, Plan A: get to the kitchen, get a knife… or a pan… get something to hit someone.

  Peering over the edge of the railing and down the staircase, I couldn’t see anyone—or anything missing. Only the hall-light was on, the kitchen still mostly in darkness, and the only noticeable difference was that the basement door was open, giving some more light into the space.

  This must be the worst thief ever.

  Great, now I was judging robbers.

  Quietly and quickly moving down the staircase, I slipped around the corner into the kitchen. I swung my hand out right into the island, biting back a curse because it was hard to see what I was doing. Opening the first drawer along the island, I gingerly reached inside. Looked like I wasn’t going to have time to search for the best weapon—thuds on the basement stairs made the decision for me.

  The next f
ew seconds felt like a freakin’ slo-mo, my heartbeats mingling with the steps on the stairs.

  Just swing, Jessa.

  The basement door shut as the steps came closer to the kitchen, and my arms moved up ready to strike.

  For a second, I only saw a shadow. The kitchen light flicked on. A body rounded the corner and I swung like I was Babe-fucking-Ruth.

  Thud. “What. The. Living. Fuck.” At the familiar voice, one of my eyes peered open—I must have closed them when I made my move. My mouth dropped to see Chance standing in front of me.

  I blinked a few times making sure I was really seeing this. Chance looked like a god, but not just any god. He’d be Dionysus—chaotic, dangerous, and unexpected; he was everything that escaped my reasoning and everything that was found in my feelings and my fate.

  Bloodshot eyes and whiskey on his breath, he stood with his entire half-naked body flexed and prepared for battle. Statues should be carved of this man’s chest. Then again, was there a blade sharp enough to make such defined cuts? Debatable.

  “What are you doing in my house?” He looked up at his hand that had blocked my attack. “And why the hell would you pick a fucking rolling pin to hit me with?”

  Gulp.

  Forcing my mouth to stay shut, my arm fell to my side leaving him holding the rolling pin with a grasp that looked like he was about to splinter. All my strength and adrenaline rushed from my body now that my nervous system realized there was no threat.

  And then his burning blue gaze left mine, trailing down my body and making my nipples harden visibly against the silk of my jammies and my sex clench with a new kind of anticipation.

  My nervous system needed a reality check. Worse than an intruder, Chance was a threat to every piece of me that I’d fought to build and keep strong. He was the thief that would steal from me everything that I wanted to give him, but shouldn’t.

  8 years ago

  I PULLED MY MOUTH OFF of her, looking up at the quivering skin of her stomach as her body radiated with that last orgasm. My girl’s face was streaked with tears, crying from the painful pleasure that I’d inflicted on her. Eighteenth birthday. My gift to her? Delivering on the promise I’d whispered in her ear that I was going to make her come for each candle that she blew out simultaneously on her birthday cake.