by Whitley Cox
Austin shook his head. “But Hunter is so intimidating.”
“She is? How so?” Juney cocked her head to the side.
Austin’s lip twisted, and he looked back out over the ski hill. “Well, she’s fucking beautiful, for one. A millionaire. Men probably line up to date her. Would I simply be joining the queue? Annnd . . . ” His gloved hands knitted together only for him to pull them apart in a dramatic exhale. He glanced back up to Juney. “I haven’t been with a lot of women. If you haven’t already figured it out, I’m a socially awkward nerd. My nickname for years has been Sheldon. Can you guess why?”
“Because you’re a super genius, socially awkward nerd?” Juney said with a chuckle. A slash of pink raced across her high cheekbones from the sudden gust of icy wind that swept over them and made the chairlift sway.
Austin lifted both eyebrows and nodded. “Bingo. Besides being a mechanical engineer instead of an astrophysicist, The Big Bang Theory is my life. Well, kind of. I don’t have nearly as many friends as Sheldon. But I can pretty much guarantee you that Hunter has way more experience than me. I’d be this giant disappointment. Plus, she’s into kink. I’ve never even spanked a woman, let alone tied her up or blindfolded her.”
It was therapeutic, getting these things off his chest. And Juney was an easy person to talk to. Aside from being beautiful, she was also very sweet. Sapphire-blue eyes, big and bright with mile-long lashes, dark hair that fell down around her shoulders in elegant waves, and nice, albeit older angles to her face. Even though she was only seven years older than Austin, she held a quiet wisdom, intelligence that went beyond her years. Motherly and caring, she had a calming presence that made you want to tell her all your problems—and your secrets! Like a big sister. Austin’s own sister was nearly twelve years younger than him—a “beautiful whoops” as his mother called her—and although he adored Madeline more than anything, the two were not close. She was only three when he left for college, and he hadn’t lived at home since. So, although they saw one another most weekends when he went over to his parents’ for Sunday dinner, she was only fifteen, and he couldn’t very well talk to her about this kind of thing.
“And what makes you think that’s a make or break thing with Hunter?”
He gave her a sardonic side-eye. “She told us her side business. How can she sell the stuff without knowing about it? Without enjoying it herself? You don’t see too many Audi car salesmen driving Chevys.”
“Well, are you curious? Perhaps she would be willing to teach you. You’re assuming a lot right now and ruining your chances with a pretty great girl, from what I’ve seen so far.”
He let out another long and loud sigh. “I heard her saying she’s thinking about leaving.”
“Mhmm.”
“I just . . . I don’t even know how to make a move. I’ve been with three women in my entire life, and that was a few years ago. And each and every time, the women threw themselves at me. They were grad students or co-op students who thought I was hot, invited me over for dinner to discuss ‘work,’ and then the next thing I know I’m naked on my back being ridden like an unbridled, unbroken pony, with no idea what’s going on, no idea what to do, but not exactly hating the way things feel.”
Juney tossed her head back and burst out laughing. “If the engineering thing doesn’t work out, you could certainly try your hand at writing. You have a gift for painting a pretty hilarious picture.” Her body continued to shake slightly as her laugher slowly subsided. “It’s not that hard. Especially in this situation where you know the girl already likes you. Talk to her, the way you’re talking to me. Ask questions. Get to know her. Date, so to speak.”
“Yeah, but I can talk to you because you’re more like a sister and she’s . . . well, she’s . . . ”
Juney’s eyebrows flew up beneath her toque.
“Oh, fuck! Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You’re hot too. You’re just, well . . . I just don’t look at you like that. I can talk to you because, fuck . . . shit . . . Now you hate me too, right?”
Juney rolled her eyes and patted his shoulder with her gloved hand. They were nearing the top and needed to get ready to slide off the lift. “I get it. And for the record, I don’t look at you that way, either. But you’re going to need to talk to her eventually if you want something to happen.”
The bar on the chair started to rise, and snow replaced air beneath their feet. They both slipped off and down the small incline, making their way to the precipice to wait their turn.
“Start slow. Ask her how her day was today. Ask her where she’s been boarding before, what her favorite restaurant in Seattle is.” Juney set herself straight and dug her poles into the snow to stabilize, preparing to push off and head down. “You don’t have to start talking about kinky sex and the fact that she’s a millionaire right off the bat. Most dates don’t.”
Austin’s lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke. “Yeah, but this setup isn’t like most dates. You and Rowan have already slept together.”
She shook her head with a smile. “Some dates end that way, but not all of them.” With a wink, she drew her goggles down over her eyes, pushed off on her ski poles and headed down the hill, leaving Austin standing up at the top with his board, more confused than ever.
Rowan spied Juney’s dark hair cascading down over her white coat as she and Austin rode the chair lift. It was easy to spot, while the red bottom of Austin’s board appeared like a ketchup-colored beacon among the eggshell landscape. He and Amber passed Will and Hunter as well. They were calling it a day and heading to the lodge to grab coffee. How did Amber feel about that? It was weird how they’d all paired off. It’d happened organically, but it made Rowan wonder if they’d paired off that way for a reason?
Naw. Juney’s mine, no doubt about it.
Shaking his head at the asinine notion that Juney might be paired with Austin, Rowan chuckled inwardly and turned to Amber, determined to take his mind off the fact that Juney might be snuggled up tight next to Austin at that very moment. “So, you and the hot doctor man didn’t get your freak on last night because he passed out?” he asked with an amused chuckle as he and Amber waited in line for the chair lift.
The little redhead nodded reluctantly. “Yes.”
“But were you guys going to do it?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, so it’s not like he’s lost interest or anything?”
She shot him a “what the fuck?” look. “Well, I fucking hope not. Jesus, filter much of those thoughts there, man?”
Rowan glanced down at his feet, struggling not to grin. “Sorry. Sometimes it turns off on its own.”
Amber snorted. “It’s okay.” She jutted out her lower lip and huffed warm breath up into the chilly mountain air. “At least I think he still is. The way he behaved last night told me he was interested. I just think he was really tired. I mean he is a doctor, and they work long-ass shifts.”
Rowan nodded, feeling a tad shamefaced for lacking tact in his earlier comment. He needed to make amends and lay on the charm. “Super long-ass shifts. And why wouldn’t he be interested in you? You’re beautiful. There aren’t too many women out there who run their own contracting and construction company. That’s pretty hot.”
She gave him a light punch in the shoulder, unable to hide the small half-smile on her lips. “Nice apology.”
Rowan’s grin was big. “Thanks.”
“What about you and the New York Times best-seller? Seems Stella got her groove back before the week even started. You two were all sickly sweet and making googly fucky eyes over the breakfast table. I nearly barfed up those delicious, super fluffy pancakes Juney made.”
Rowan shot her a look. She smiled sassily at him. He deserved that jab. It’d been a tie on whose pancakes were fluffier, and he had to admit it, his woman—holy shit, did he just think of Juney as his woman? —made some pretty mean and mighty fluffy flapjacks. He didn’t have the balls to admit it, maybe one day he would, but he a
ctually preferred hers over his. When no one was paying attention, he took an extra two from the platter heaped with her pile and flipped them on to his plate, dousing them quickly in maple syrup and fresh whipped cream before anyone could notice.
He shook his head, and his chest jerked as he snorted. “Well, you’re certainly the hearts and flowers sentimental type, aren’t you? You got a heart in there, Tin Man, or is it just an extra oil can for when you get rusty from working out in the Seattle rain all day?”
Amber stopped short and didn’t move with the line, her playful grin vanishing as fast as it’d come. Tin Man, or more accurately Tin Woman, was the nickname the men on the job site had given her behind her back. They didn’t know she’d overheard them talking about her. One had called her an emotionless robot, while the other said she was Tin Woman. Everyone laughed and agreed Tin Woman suited Amber just right. Because she was all business, and they weren’t sure there was even a heart beating inside her chest, let alone an emotion besides “fierce.”
Was fierce even an emotion?
At kickboxing class that night, she’d nearly incapacitated her sparring partner with all her pent-up anger. Fortunately, the guy she was sparring with was nearly twice her size and, in the end, he’d pinned her to the ground, sat on top of her and told her to “Calm the fuck down.” She did, apologized to Dwayne, then the two went and grabbed a beer. Dwayne wanted to talk about Amber’s snap, but she called him a “pussy” and told him to drop it. Instead she switched gears and asked him how he and his partner, Leif’s, adoption process was coming along. Fortunately, Dwayne took the hint and backed off. Amber did not talk about her feelings. Not ever.
Growing up with three older brothers and the profession she was in did not allow for emotions and feelings to be on the surface or expressed with more than passing excitement over the Seahawks making the playoffs.
There were rarely any tears, any malaise expressed in Amber’s world. Hell, she had gotten so good at tossing on the mask that she was becoming indifferent toward practically everything, even the happy parts of life.
Was she Tin Woman?
“Whoa, where’d you go?” Rowan asked, having to give her a light shove in the shoulder so they were no longer holding up the line.
Amber shook her head and swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Uh . . . nowhere. Sorry, I spaced out for a second.”
“You sure? You don’t want to sit this run out? Go find Hunter and Will and grab a coffee?”
She shook her head again. “No, no, I’m fine. What were you saying?”
Rowan snickered and motioned for them to move forward in the line again. “I was more or less asking who pissed all over your notion of forever? Why so cynical about romance and love and all that ‘googly fucky eye’ stuff? Isn’t that why we’re all up here? To take part in Daisy’s cockamamie algorithm Christmas matchmaking?”
They were next on the lift, and a part of Amber dreaded having to ride all the way up to the top with Rowan and his stupid grin. Sure, he was happy. He got laid last night. He’d found his match. He could express his feelings and not be called an “emotional woman,” “crazy bitch,” or be asked if it was his “time of the month.” He could be whatever emotion he wanted to be, feel whatever he wanted to feel, and he wouldn’t be labeled for it based on his gender by the people he worked with or his asshat brothers.
Yes, over the years Amber’s brothers had softened toward women after they started having girlfriends and eventually married, but growing up with them had been brutal. She hadn’t even started having her period when they’d toss the “Aunt Flo” remark her way whenever she shed a tear or expressed a feeling. She had learned pretty quickly, once “Aunt Flo” finally showed up, how to hide her feelings. It also helped that by the time she was sixteen, despite her size, she could drop-kick every one of her six-foot-one brothers without breaking a sweat. They may not have let her roughhouse with them when they were younger, but joining the wrestling team and kickboxing after school had made her tough as nails and a worthy adversary.
She gnashed her molars together until a flash of pain ran up her jaw. She liked the pain. It was a distraction from the pain in her heart. “I’m just a cynic, I suppose. I’m not sure I believe in forever. Not sure I believe in happily ever after. Isn’t it the Buddhist thing to say we are all just suffering? Is happiness really even a thing?”
His eyes flared wide. “Are your parents still together?”
They got ready for the next chair, did a little simultaneous hop up onto the seat as it swept up under their legs and settled in as the bar came down over their thighs.
“Yes, and all three of my brothers are happily married.”
Rowan scratched his chin. “Why are you so cynical, then? Bad past relationships?”
Amber scanned the ski hill. The mountain was alive with skiers and snowboarders. Everyone careened and moguled around one another and the setup flags like ants wearing brightly colored jackets. “I’ve had a few crappy relationships in my life, but nothing too traumatic. No violent exes or harsh breakups. Just your run-of-the-mill dating, I guess.”
“So then, why so cynical?” He asked that last part like Heath Ledger as the Joker in the Dark Knight says, “Why so serious?” and Amber caught herself smiling. No tact and no filter but Rowan was fun, and he definitely got Amber thinking and talking. And the guy wasn’t bad to look at either, like a fit and chiseled California beach bum. Big dimples, unruly blond hair and a cheeky grin she was sure got him out of a lot of jams and into a lot of women’s beds. But even though he was attractive—she most certainly would have swiped right if he’d popped up on a dating app, and would have probably agreed to a second date—he was no Will Colson. Rowan was your typical boy band good-looking. Straight white teeth, probably a six-pack under that ski jacket and the softest light brown eyes that any warm-blooded woman could get lost in. He was what teeny boppers decorated their bedroom walls with. But Will, Will had a raw animal magnetism that ignited a visceral urge inside of Amber, set her body to bubbling hot and made her want to rip off his clothes and tackle all six-foot-three of him to the floor.
“How many women are in the kitchen at your restaurant?” she asked.
“Well, zero, but I don’t work in a kitchen anymore, remember. I quit. I’m officially unemployed.”
She let out an impatient sigh. “Work with me here, you dork.”
He smiled and wrinkled his nose. “I dunno, maybe five. A dishwasher, one on desserts, one on cold-side, another sous-chef who was below me, and one of our expediters is also a woman. Why?”
“Because I work with zero women. I’m the only one. I oversee twenty men, some almost twice my age, and I’m their boss. I took over the family business. I’m exactly like my dad. ‘Roths don’t show emotions. Emotions are what make you weak. Roths aren’t weak,’ ” she said in a deep and booming voice to mimic her father. “I’ve developed the family chip on my shoulder and the art of tossing on a mask, putting my head down and getting shit done. All without the annoyance and interference of emotions. They just get in the way and make the situation cloudy.”
Rowan’s eyebrows met his hairline. “But you don’t work twenty-four seven. Can’t you be happy or sad and angry once you’re off the job? I’m all for professionalism, but we all need an outlet. Me, my outlet is running . . . and reading. I get lost in Juney’s books, lost in another world where the character’s problems seem far more dire than my own.”
Her temper left her on a sigh. “I kick box.”
“Well, there you go. But what else? What makes you happy?”
“Can we not talk about this anymore? Please?” she asked through gritted teeth. The top of the ski hill came into view, and suddenly she was itching to jump off the chairlift. Rowan was nice, but he asked too many questions.
He shrugged. “Whatever, but I think you need to relax. Let the magic of Christmas and the bizarre setup that nutty Canadian got us into sweep you off your feet and open up your heart.” They were
almost at the top, and Rowan pulled his ski goggles back down over his eyes. “It’s not every day someone finds you your match, presents them to you on a silver platter and then gives you a week, uninterrupted, to see if there’s any chemistry. I’m not saying you’re not up for the challenge or that Will isn’t interested in you. I’m saying, be fucking happy about it, and lighten the fuck up. Smile, cry, laugh, scream. Do whatever you gotta do, but it’s fucking Christmas. You’re allowed to have some feelings.”
The bar came up off their thighs, and thanks to what Amber could only assume was a poignant look behind Rowan’s masked eyes, she was forced to stare at her own reflection. She was scowling. He gave her a curt nod and a friendly slap on the thigh before taking off down the small incline and off toward the run.
Amber glared after him.
Asshole.
But, damn, that asshole was right. She needed to lighten up. She loved Christmas, loved every part of it, but she wasn’t sure a single person in the world knew it. Not even her family.
Rowan groaned as he stretched both arms above his head and let one fall around Juney’s shoulders. They’d all headed into the ski lodge, after a couple more runs, to join Hunter and Will. Achy muscles, rosy cheeks and bright eyes met around the well-worn wooden table of the ski lodge restaurant while hands cradled Baileys-spiked coffees and everyone chatted animatedly about their afternoon.
“Hey, look,” Juney said, pointing at a flyer on the wall just beside the mounted deer head. “It says they’re having a big Boxing Day party next door at the pub. I didn’t think Americans celebrated Boxing Day the way we do.”
“We don’t,” Rowan answered, rubbing her thigh affectionately with his other hand. “To us it is literally a day where you box up all your Christmas presents and gorge yourself on turkey leftovers. But it’s not a holiday. Back to the grind and usually hung over from too much eggnog.”