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 of 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 to me, 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 to me. “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 bit of 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 disappointed 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 starts backing 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 of 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 as to 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.
As if the Gods of Sexy have decided to take pity on me, a male voice cuts in on our conversation just as we’re discussing Mariah’s options for getting laid.
“‘Out there and available’ huh?”
Twirling around, Mariah and I both get an eyeful of what’s coming our way. A pack of gorgeousness, that’s what. And my mystery man from the boutique is part of that pack. My heart throbs along with my clit, and goosebumps dot my skin. I decide I need this man like I need air to breathe.
But it’s not him who’s addressed us. The owner of the voice is a taller, strong-shouldered man. Where Mr. Greek Demigod’s eyes are like a kitten’s, the taller man (probably his older brother, by the shared eye and hair color), has eyes like a jungle cat. A hungry jungle cat on the prowl.
Something I know Mariah is into with every part of her heart and soul. Beside me, I sense every muscle in her body go on high alert.
He saunters up and says, “Well, ladies, we’re out here, and available for some fun, if you’d like to have it.”
He quickly locks his eyes and attention on a flustered Mariah, but I’m not offended. I’m busy watching the other two. Particularly Demigod. The other guy he has with him is of absolutely no interest to me. Backwards baseball cap tells me everything I need to know about him. Frat boy. Game addict. Woman eater, but without any taste or class.
Not interested, I sing in my head. I get enough of your type at college. I don’t need to get any more on this vacation. I glance at Demigod, hoping he’s looking at me, he is. But not in the same carefree way Baseball Cap is.
He’s not making any move to come say hi. Why? He’s just watching, waiting, observing. It’s as if he’s waiting for something not just watching for entertainment, but what is he waiting for?
Why doesn’t he come up and say something to me? I straighten my posture, determined not to show him any anxiety or confusion. Does he not remember we talked earlier? I study his face. No, I decide, he recognizes me. So, what the hell? Why doesn’t he join in on the back and forth banter or flirt like he did earlier? He was so brave and forward before, why is he just hanging in the background?
On the other side of my frustrated and confused thoughts, I hear the other guy flirting with Mariah say, “Oh, so this isn’t your first time, then?”
For a moment, my heartbeat skyrockets. My temperature spikes, thinking I’ve missed the guy directly asking to get in her pants. I’m about to go off on him, but Mariah doesn’t look offended. If anything, she looks happy. Embarrassed, but pleased. “No,” she says, obviously a little taken aback by the “first time” comment as well, but it’s not about skin. It’s about skis, as I find out in her next words. So, I force myself to back off.
“Oh?” The guy’s eyes travel boldly down the sexy white and black ski ensemble I bought Mariah. “Why’s that?”
I’m not usually one to get irritated by such obvious flirting. But I am, and I know why. It’s because Mr. Greek Demigod, is still just holding back.
“Studying,” I say. I pause, hitting Mariah’s admirer with a bit of attitude, and shooting a little attitude toward my object of interest as well. “I was lucky to even get her out this far. Usually she won’t do anything, unless it has to do with the class.”
As I let these words fall from my mouth, I see Demigod grin. And that’s when it hits me. Oh my God, Jane! You’re such an idiot, I think, watching him choose that exact moment to saunter up. He licks his lips thoughtfully. Patiently. Studiously. That’s what he was doing. He was holding back and studying the situation.
He wasn’t ignoring me. My cheeks heat and I realize I had almost put him in the same bin with the other guys. Guys who talk a good game, but pussy out in the end. He was giving his brother room to work. That’s why he didn’t jump right in. My heart pounds all the way down to my pussy and I feel like I’m on the edge of climaxing. He was making sure he didn’t mess things up for his brother.
I sigh internally with relief.
“Well, then maybe the two of you would be interested in some fun with us before getting back to your studies.” Demigod locks eyes with me for a moment. He gives me something like a wink, but not quite. I’m not sure how to describe it, other than to say it’s playful. Dorky, but he was a little that way with me earlier, so it’s not surprising.
I’m just about to hit him with one of my signature smiles and a twirl of my blonde hair when frat boy jumps right in. Right into my personal space and pushes his cap further back.
“Yeah, a couple of hot babes like yourselves could really go for some good food and drink after all that shredding, right?”
I wrinkle my nose at him. Making it obvious I’m not hungry for whatever food or drink he might try to serve me. Not after last night’s disaster. No! Absolutely not! He even sounds like Kyle, and I bet he’s just as clueless. I cross my arms hoping he gets the hint.
Thankfully, before I can get even more demoralized by skater-boy-at-a-ski-lodge and his offer, Mr. Greek Demigod comes to my rescue.
He steps back in, practically knocking over my nightmare in sneakers and a backwards baseball cap.
“What my friend here means to say, is that we would love to have you join us for dinner. Food and drinks are on us, if you’d like to come.” He gestures a thumb towards himself. “I’m Alex” — he then points back to the friend he interrupted — “that’s Jordan, and he is—”
Mariah’s knight in a ski jacket, gently lifts her fingers and after kissing her hand, he says, “I’m Paul.”
But I don’t care what his name is, or what the name of the third wheel is. I’ve gotten the name of my mystery man, and that’s all I can think about.
At least until Alex leans in while Mariah is introducing herself. “And who do I have the pleasure of bumping into for the second time on this beautiful Christmas Eve?” His words are silky. Deep, strong and cool like ice. Like hot chocolate poured over mint ice cream.
“Jane,” I answer, shyly and then bit my bottom lip.
“Jane.” The way he muses over my name soaks my panties and weakens my knees. “Nice to meet you officially,” he says, putting on a bit more charm.
He’s making me squirm and I do my best not to show him how much. I don’t answer him. Instead, I turn my attention to Maria, and to the man she’s attracted.
“So,” Paul says, “would you and your friend care to join me — us — for a little dinner, drinks and fun?”
These guys need a little tough love, I think, looking at all of them. They need to be given something to work for. Something that isn’t a “done deal.” Which — I look over at Mariah, realizing she’s about to say yes to their offer, and get these guys too hopped up on their own sexy — is not gonna happen, if I leave Mariah to do it herself.
I roll back my shoulders and step in. “No thank you.”
As I expect, everyone — especially Mariah and her maybe-boyfriend — look shocked. I continue on effortlessly, “Mariah and I were planning to go down one more slope before they close enough for the night, so we can’t go.” A total lie. We were done for the day and weren’t planning to ski anymore. Mariah’s mouth gapes opens in protest, but this is for her own good. She’ll thank me later. If they want us, they’re going to have to work to get us.
If Paul looks upset, Alex looks positively tortured. Like, “How can f
ate be so beautiful and cruel?”
I don’t listen to whatever Paul is saying or watch as Jordan the jackass makes his way back up the porch. The only one I’m watching is Alex. He hangs back, as his comrades fall back toward the lodge.
He approaches us quietly and hands Mariah a small business card. “If you change your mind, this is where we’ll be. The Exchange.” I watch her take the card and thank him. He gives me a little grin, though it’s nowhere near as bright or warm as the one before. “It’s gonna be quite the party,” he says, and walks away.
The moment we’re alone, Mariah lets me have it.
“What the hell was that?” she asks. She’s pissed, and is ready to cry, or hit me. “They seemed nice. And Paul, he was super sexy. And you just send him, them, packing? You’d better have a good reason. Like you knew they were serial killers or something.”
I don’t answer right away. Partly because I want to make sure the men are well and truly gone, but also because I do feel bad for dangling man candy in front of her and then taking it away.
I smile, briefly imagining her in a collar and leash begging for that candy.
“What?” she asks, sounding equal parts angry and confused. “What are you smiling for?” She glares at me, jabbing her poles into the snow. “You were the one who wanted me to lose my virginity on this trip.” Her voice lowers around “virginity” but doesn’t lose its heat. “And Paul, well, he seemed like a good candidate for me.”
I laugh, unable to get over how adorable she looks and sounds right now. “Relax, babe. I wasn’t cock blocking you.”
All I get is a glare.
“I’m serious,” I say, pulling her away from the side of the lodge, and toward the slopes. When we’ve taken a few good skates toward the more difficult slopes, I whisper, “you have to do that with guys like that. You have to make them think you’re not interested, to get them more interested.” I speak to her the same way I would speak to a guy begging for my bits. Softly, but with enough fire on it to melt them. “You didn’t see what I saw, Mariah.” I pause, as we get in line for the ski lift. “When I told them no, the other two guys — they looked intrigued. Maybe your tall-dark-and-handsome didn’t, but the other two did. And that’s what we want.” The line moves, and we move up with it. Just in time to be scooped into a ski lift seat. “That way, when we do show up, they’ll be that much happier to see us.”
Sold at the Ski Resort Page 4