Page 7 of Stuck on the Slopes

His piss-poor attitude was the last thing I needed after the rough flight here, which I was still trying to brush off with minimal success. Between the flight and my skin adjusting to minimal humidity, my skin was so dry my cuticles cracked, and I could see the lines on my nails, even after moisturizing. Not to mention the can of soda the flight attendant handed me was half-frozen solid—a horrible predicament when stuck in a pressurized cabin 30,000 feet in the air. The soda had erupted like a poorly made (or well made, depending on perspective) science fair project before the tab was even fully open, which caused the fizz to spill on my lap and the carpet beneath my feet. My bag, which now sat empty in the den’s corner, still had a damp spot on it.

At least the gorgeous view outside made up for it. Western Colorado was about as different from Florida as I could get, swapping flat beaches and palm trees for mountainous, snowy landscapes and tall pines that stood firm in their roots. I’d barely sweated since I came here, a welcome reprieve from the never-ending summer. While I understood why people loved visiting Florida, I’d grown tired of the heat and in desperate need of a change of scenery. The snow captivated me; the closest we got to this in Florida was a hailstorm during hurricane season, so it was easy for me to get lost in a trance as if nature itself was hypnotizing me. The holiday songs I’d heard one too many times over department store stereos weren’t lying: there was a magic in the air, a still calm in the way the flakes fell and sparkled if the sun hit them right.

Not reaching for my phone every second to check the company socials was already proving to be invaluable to my mental health. Whenever I’d lament in the past about the strain my job had on me, the first piece of advice everyone always gave me was to take some time off. But I’d tried that. Using my PTO didn’t stop my managers from blowing up my phone. Not even Shabbat stopped them from trying. I took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of my milk tea as I remembered that wasn’t my problem anymore.

Juniper might have an abrasive personality, but at least I knew he wouldn’t try to stab my back with a smile on his face. Partially because I wasn’t sure he could even smile, but with people like him, at least there was no guessing if they actually meant what they said or wondering when the other shoe would drop.

It didn’t stop me from worrying all the same. Perhaps it was because I was so used to my old boss being a stuffy, unapproachable suit-and-tie, but I felt on edge around Juniper. Abba sent me an article he found on LinkedIn about how some people exhibit symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder after a job which prompted me to order some ashwagandha gummy vitamins online. I figured they couldn’t hurt.

Even though the suite wasn’t that large, I still felt lost as I got up to wander about. The front door opened to the living room space which was more like a large den with a couch, coffee table, and television set on a stand. Taking a left brought me to the kitchen and dining room as well as a patio that overlooked the grounds behind me. The patio stretched out to the right side of the suite where my bedroom was. I sat on the patio for a while, enjoying the feel of the snow and cold on my face despite my dry hands, but quickly realized how much of a baby I was with the cold. While the bite in the air felt refreshing on my face, I also desperately needed more layers.

I’d adapt eventually. The way I saw it, I’d have to.

As I stepped inside, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I checked my smart watch before grabbing it and saw Michaela texted in the group chat we had with Ariana, who’d replied before I could even read Michaela’s message on my watch. Whatever these two were up to, it couldn’t be good, so I took my phone from my pocket.

[Michaela: Saw this recommended on Kindle Unlimited. Figured it could help you prepare for your new life!]

She’d sent a link to some hockey erotica series. When I was a freshman and new to the sorority, Michaela took me under her sophomore wing and we bonded over cringey romance novels. That bonding eventually led to her becoming my Big Sister. The cover of this one featured a shirtless buff man, likely a stock image, with a powerful font that just barely covered his nipples and a hockey stick draped over his shoulders.

Ariana:I know what I’m reading next!

Michaela:I figured with Rachel’s new boss being some hot athlete, it would only be appropriate for us to add to our TBRs.

Ariana:Dying for Rachel to reply. Is he hot?

For the record, Juniper is an ex-snowboarder, not a hockey player. Not sure how a hockey romance will help me train for my new job, but I’ll let you know if it helps me get my rocks off anyway.

Ariana:You didn’t answer the question, though!

I sighed.

There is not a man on this earth who could hold a candle to Juniper Hart. He’s not exactly warm and fuzzy, but his dog is, so I guess that makes up for it.

Michaela:HE HAS A DOG?!?!

Ariana replied with a GIF of Iron Man standing in front of an explosion with one word overlaid: “ovaries.”

Sasquatch is his service dog. Brown Newfoundland

Michaela:SASQUATCH!!!

Another GIF from Ariana: this time, one of Taylor Swift saying, “I died dead.”

Ariana:I downloaded that hockey erotica. It’s only like 70 pages. Highlights to come. Dramatic reading, perhaps?

Michaela:I dare you lmao

Unable to fight my smile, I replied with the prayer hands emoji while I waited for the inevitable voice memo from Ariana to come through. Once it did, I hit play, and through laughter, Ariana recounted a scene where the hockey player uses the stick instead of a sex toy.

Michaela:Hope you’re taking notes, Rach! Just replace hockey stick with snowboard and you’re good.

I don’t even want to imagine how that is anatomically possible. Also, he’s my boss.

Michaela:Bold of you to assume that’s ever stopped anybody.

Michaela was right, but I wasn’t about to give her that satisfaction. Juniper was gorgeous. That much was obvious to anybody with at least one partially functioning eyeball. But I was a professional through and through, and just because I was here on a mission to cure my burnout did not mean I could throw all my inhibitions to the wind.

When I woke the next morning, ready for the grand tour with Juniper, a sparkling blanket of white from yesterday’s snow coated the ground. Even the air smelled crisp and sharp, a scent many candles tried to recreate—and now, I knew they had failed. Nothing beat the real deal.

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