Jordan shrugs. “And if I wanted to date a little girl, I’d be in jail,” he says, keeping most of that under his breath.
I growl, hating that he always dares to go there, just because I don’t want a face full of bush, or extra fiber in my diet. “Oh, that’s rich.” I gesture towards him. “This from the guy who shaves his body hair more than any girl I’ve ever dated. Legs, underarms or otherwise.” He has absolutely no hair anywhere on him. Not on his chest, underarms, and probably not under his board shorts either.
“Hey. What can I say? The housewives I serve like a soft body pillow to go with their herb,” he says.
I roll my eyes at him and his growing business practices. Some are handled legally behind a dispensary counter. Others in the back doors and bedroom windows of a secretive, private elite.
“Whatever. As long as you make the money, I got nothing to say.” Especially when you contributed the equivalent of the golden goose egg to our little “fund,” I think, savoring the last few drops of my chilled drink. I close my eyes, enjoying the malted, slightly-perfumed notes in this whiskey.
But my ability to savor anything — the rest of my drink, or my relaxing time in the hot tub — comes to and end with a splash and a curse from Paul.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” he says, finishing his beer like he’s sharpening a knife. “You really enjoy killing everything I’m starting to enjoy, don’t you?” Before I can get a grasp on what’s going on, my brother storms out of the hot tub saying, “I’m done here. Classy, this place with classy clientele.”
Paul wraps a towel around himself and makes a beeline for the door before I can see more than a blur of women. Grabbing clumsily to the side of the hot tub, I jump out after him.
“Paul, where are you going, bro?” He doesn’t answer. “What happened, man?”
But it’s Jordan, not him, who answers me. He springs out of the hot tub, turning his eyes toward the apocalypse. I follow his gaze. It’s Darla, and she’s practically sucking the face off some poor bastard looking like California’s poster boy.
Fuck me. I haul in a breath. Trust her to fucking show up. Jordan hangs onto me like a drunk chick in swim trunks. She’s like a nun at a strip club. She has to ruin everyone’s fun. Jordan wobbles, sloppily trying to keep his balance. “Oh shit,” he whispers, as I drag him with me out the doors of the spa/swimming area and follow Paul’s retreating form. “Fucking hell, that’s Darla.” Jordan laughs a little, but again he’s the only one laughing. “It’s Darla, Alex! She’s here with us, dude.”
“I’m not blind.” I keep walking, hoping to cut Paul off before he shuts the door.
Luckily, we’re there just as he swipes his way into the room.
“Great. Just fucking great,” he says, throwing himself on an overstuffed leather couch. The biggest piece of furniture in the room. “Just what I needed.”
Tell me about it, I think, watching him sink deeper into the cushy leather. This is the last thing I need — we need — after everything we did to get him here. To set all this up.
“Nice fucking surprise! On Christmas and my birthday, too!”
After shutting the door, I quickly move to sit down next to him. If I want him in good enough spirits to enjoy everything else I have in store for him, I’ve got to do some damage control
“Forget about her, bro.” I try to keep my tone light. Supportive, even when he growls. “I’m serious, bro,” I continue, “so she’s here. So what?” I lay a hand on his moist back, ignoring the chills I’m feeling on mine. “The point of being here is to move on. To forget about her. What better way to show her she means nothing to you than to ignore all of that…” I struggle with the correct words to use.
After struggling for a few awkward moments, I decide to be blunt about it. “She’s way too skinny.” I communicate this by holding up my pointer finger. When he doesn’t seem to get the message, I decide on more bluntness. “You can do better than that cheating bitch.”
“For sure!” Jordan chimes in, awkwardly hovering between sitting down, and checking out some of the other gadgets in the room. He pauses, the words awkward and sloppy in his mouth. “Is it just me, or does your ex look skinnier than she did when she was with you?” He burps, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was more than that in his mouth. “I’m surprised the guy she’s with can get off to all that bone showing.” He snickers. “But then again, a boner’s a boner, right?” Weakly, he pantomimes like he’s the boyfriend fucking Paul’s ex, laughing until he’s out of breath.
My brother and I ignore him. “She is skinnier, and it makes me sick to see it,” Paul finally says. But it’s more to himself.
“Hey,” Jordan says when he realizes no one but him finds any of this funny. “I was just trying to make light of it, man. Just trying to get your mind off it.”
“Whatever.” My brother folds his hands. Walls himself up. “She can do what she wants. I’m here to do what I want.” He goes silent for a moment, and in that moment, I’m not sure what he’s thinking. About his ex, or about something else. “I need a girl with meat on her. Some substance, you know? Not fat, but so I’m grabbing something more than skin and bones.”
“I know what you mean,” I say, giving him a playful shove. He’s had enough Darla for a lifetime. “Don’t worry. We’ll find the perfect one for you.”
“Yeah, man.” Jordan finally takes a seat on the other side of Paul, but only after turning on the TV and the gaming system he picked out this room specifically for. “All you have to do is hang out by the restaurant or buffet or whatever and see which snow bunny enjoys a few good bites of steak, and you’ll have your lady.”
He’s got two controllers. One for himself and one for my brother. “No big deal.”
I watch Jordan as he deftly gets himself past the startup menus, and into a game. If gaming consoles could be women, he wouldn’t be single. “Sorry, Alex. You’ll have to wait for your turn to play me. Heartbroken bachelors first.”
“I think I’ll live,” I say, getting up and exploring the mini fridge. I find what I want: a can of orange cream soda. “Whatever’ll keep me from hearing any more of your half-baked romance advice.”
We share a laugh before my brother and Jordan become too competitive for any intelligent conversation. Which is fine by me. It gives me time to fantasize. And to run through the plan in my head one more time before tomorrow night.
Chapter 7
Jane
December 24
After an hour or two in the car, there’s one thing I always like to do the minute I get to the ski lodge. I make a beeline their in-house gift shop/clothing boutique, for some new gear and clothing. Whether I need it or not.
But, luckily, this isn’t just about me this time. It’s about Mariah too, which gives me a reason to spend twice as much, before offering any kind of apology to my dad.
I chuckle, watching Mariah wander helplessly through the tables and racks of clothing. She’s definitely out of her element here, and it shows. If there aren’t any books around, she doesn’t know where to look or where put her hands. But she tries hard. And that’s what I love about her.
“So,” she says, fingering a fuzzy green sweater, “how was your date last night with Kyle?” I stiffen, remembering I had promised to tell her all about it. I also bragged to her about what Kyle and I would do. How good it was all going to be, and none of that happened.
I’m also not as much of an expert as I led her to believe. By my sides, my hands begin to sweat, even though they should still be cold from being outside. I can’t let her know I’m not the experienced one. Especially not when I know she’s looking to me for advice and guidance on those kinds of things.
Mariah turns to me expectantly. Probably to see why I haven’t answered her. I’m usually a lot more forthcoming and vocal.
“Was it good?” she asks quietly, walking toward me. There’s a twinkle in her eyes as she nears. “Was Kyle a stud or what? Did he tie you up and spank you raw?”
I don’t meet her eyes and busy myself with the rack of clothes nearest to me.
This one has thinner, more form-fitting sweaters in a lot of beautiful colors. Pink and blue, some silver/gray, and black. I finger through the individual pieces, searching for Mariah’s size. Mostly so I don’t have to look right at her right away.
“Well, Kyle was…” I pluck out a size small in baby blue and hand it to her. I try not to meet her gaze, but I can’t help it. She has such big doe eyes, I can’t avoid them. “He definitely wasn’t a stud,” I say, deciding that’s a safe thing to be honest about. “No experience or common sense to speak of.” I return my eyes to the sweater rack and pick out a pink and black in the same size.
As I hand them to her, she gives me a pitiful look and says, “Oh, no! That sucks!”
She hugs her sweaters to her chest and follows me as I move to another rack. This one actually has ski gear on it. Particularly ones for women, which are designed with a little bit more fur and flair than those for men. The kind of winter coats we’ll need on the slopes.
“Yeah, well, I’m glad I found out now rather than six months down the road,” I say, plucking out a white ski jacket with black faux fur lining the hood, sleeves, and interior. It’s big enough to fit over Mariah’s body even in a sweater. I hand it to her. “At least now I won’t waste my time.”
Mariah frowns, taking the coat from me and drapes it over the sweaters I’ve picked out for her.
“Still. I’m so sorry your date was a bust.”
On a nearby table, I find a matching pair of ski gloves. White with black fur trim. I hand those to her and go in search of a matching pair of ski pants. I don’t have to look far. The matching ski boots are under the table with the ski pants, so I grab her size.
“It’s fine,” I say with a shrug and hand her the boots and pants.
Momentarily, Mariah struggles to hold all the clothes, but she quickly manages to balance the growing pile. As I walked past her toward another row of tables with non-ski clothing, I add, “I handled myself when I got home, so I’m not starving if you know what I mean.”
From another table, I grab a cute hoodie sweater. One for each of us, in two different colors. One blue the other pink. “But” — I snatch up a few more cute shirts, mostly polo and baseball style, and get one of each in our respective sizes — “if a man happened to offer me a good meal and happen to know how to cook that meal without looking to me for direction, I could be hungry.” Unconsciously, I pick out a few more pieces of clothing for myself. Mostly to soothe my exasperation.
“Well,” says Mariah, coming around to face me, “like you always say, you just gotta keep your eye out. And your options open.” She smiles, and I hand her the other items I’ve picked out for her.
I hug my shirts close stroking them for comfort.
“Maybe you can use this trip to put him out of your mind.” Mariah’s eyes are serious yet kind. Far more kind than I feel like I deserve. Especially when I’ve often made snarky references to her virginity, and her reluctance to lose it. “Who knows? You could find some hot ski instructor who knows more than just snow trails.” A blush colors her cheeks. “And then he could feed you that well-cooked meal you’re after.” She playfully sticks her tongue out at me. “I really need to develop your sophisticated palate when it comes to those meals,” she whispers then giggles. “My tastes tend to veer towards the blandest thing on the menu.”
I do my best to lighten my voice. “Sure,” I say, though I’ve given up finding a guy who’s worth my time. “But let’s just focus on you first, ‘kay?”
Because, even if you don’t find anyone to press all your buttons in the right way, you can just live vicariously through your friend, right? I let this thought darken my mind for a moment, but I soon shake it away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a guy strolling around the store. Even from the side profile, he’s gorgeous, sexy even. Boyishly handsome like a Roman demigod, but strong-featured too. Just as turns his head and notices me staring at him, I quickly look away and turn my attention to Mariah.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and I know the demigod is staring at me. I resist the temptation to look at him and shove Mariah toward the dressing rooms.
“Okay, you! Time for you to go in the dressing room and try all of that on.”
Mariah protests, but I just keep on shoving and walking.
“You’re gonna go in there, and find a few things you like and want, or everything,” I say. “I don’t care. My dad’s paying for it.”
Mariah continues her protesting, but I ignore her and open one of the dressing rooms. I shove her inside and hold the door closed until it locks.
“And no looking at the tags!” I warn, stepping away from the dressing rooms and back toward the ski gear.
Right when I’m about to make it back to the table with the coats and snow pants, Mr. Greek Demigod cuts across my path. Sure, he tries to make it look natural, but we both know he’s done it on purpose. He actually bumps in to me a little bit. Shivers dance up and down my spine, and I wonder what would happen if his entire body bumped up against mine. My nipples like that idea and harden at the thought.
“Oh,” he says, bending down to pick up one of the polo shirts I’d dropped, “I’m so sorry.” He laughs nervously. Part and act, part actuality. “My coordination off the slopes sucks. Take me off the snow, and I’m helpless!”
“No worries,” I say, sweetly. “Thank you.” I take the sweater, and I can’t help but smile when I see him swallow hard. It’s as if he’s trying to swallow down his nerves.
Mr. Demigod clears his throat. “Doing some shopping before heading to the slopes?”
“A girl’s gotta look the part, right?”
“Well, if you wear any of that while you’re skiing, I’m sure you’ll be the star of the mountain,” he says, edging closer. “Those colors really accentuate your eyes…and hair.”
It’s obvious he’s being polite. Dodging what he really wants to say, but I think it’s cute. Kinda dorky, but cute. And genuine, unlike most guys I’ve had the misfortune of spending time with.
“Do you flirt with all the girls in the gift shop?” I ask him playfully.
He blushes a delightful shade of red. “Just the ridiculously beautiful and fun ones,” he says. There’s something on the word “fun” that peaks my interest and dampens my pussy.
“Well, you’re good at it,” I inform him, suddenly very hungry.
He blushes again. Kinda odd for a guy, but again, kinda cute. Hot, actually. “So…” He clears his throat again, scratching the back of his neck. “I overheard something about you being hungry…”
I almost drop the pile of clothes clutched in my hands. Oh my God! Did he hear our conversation?
Before I can go into a full-on panic about what he might have and might not have heard, he says, “If you’re looking for a recommendation for a place to eat, may I recommend the café in the upstairs of the lodge?” He grins, seeming proud of himself.
Obviously, he doesn’t know that I’m a regular here, but I don’t care. The gesture’s a sweet one, and I’m enjoying flirting with him.
“Haven’t had a chance to eat there myself, but everyone tells me it’s ridiculous.” A pause. In his eyes, I see him debating whether to ask me to come join him or perhaps he’s thinking about something else entirely—like sating my hunger. A girl can hope. “If you’d like I can take you over there. Maybe even grab a…”
Right on cue, as if Mariah’s spirit can sense the pickup job happening outside the dressing room, she calls for me. “Jane,” she calls and then grunts. “Jane! I… need some help…in here… with this…”
“Coming, Mariah!” I say. Turning back to Mr. Greek Demigod. “Thank you so, so much for the offer, but I gotta get back to my friend…” I jab haphazardly behind me with a thumb.
For a moment he looks surprised. Confused, but then understanding. But definitely more than a little disapp
ointed at being turned down. “No worries.” He puts on a ridiculously cute smile for me. One that highlights a mysterious glow in his golden-brown eyes. Not quite wildcat, not quite precious gem. “I get it.” He jams his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Well, maybe we’ll see each other around?”
“Jane!” Mariah really sounds like she’s about to suffocate in ski gear.
I glance back toward the dressing rooms. “Sure,” I say, “that’d be great.”
Mr. Greek Demigod chuckles. The most delicious chuckle in the history of the universe. “Great,” he says and backs up. “Looking forward to bumping into you again!”
I want to say you can bump anything into me anytime, but instead, I say, “You too.” I quickly turn on my heels and make for Mariah’s dressing room.
It’s only when I reach the door and ask how Mariah’s is doing, that realize I didn’t ask that bit of magnificence his name.
Oh, fuck me, I think, helping unstick the lock on the door, and he was as sexy as heck too.
Chapter 8
Jane
After helping Mariah finish trying on her clothes, convincing her to let me to pay for all her new outfits, and getting us both out onto the slopes, all I can think about is my mystery man. My Greek God descended into the boutique from on high, and how stupid I was not to have gotten any information about him.
In between all these thoughts, Mariah and I manage to have a conversation. Mostly about how much fun she’s having, and how she’s sorry for all the reasons she gave on why she couldn’t — or shouldn’t — come. Of course, I bring up her desire for adventure and ask if she’s willing to finally be adventurous enough to lose her virginity. It’s easier for me to focus on her still intact virginity than it is mine.
After a few good runs, we trudge through the snow toward the lodge, and my thoughts return to the guy. I want to kick myself. I wish I’d accepted his invitation to escort me to the café. I hope and pray we actually do see each other again.
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