Page 41 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

She tilts her head back to look up at it until her hood brushes the seat. “That thing looks unfinished.”

“Just unmerciful,” I correct. “Two-hundred-and-twelve-foot first drop, top speed ninety-five miles per hour.”

She turns slowly. “You bring all your dates here?”

“Just you.”

Her breath catches as she locks those olive-green eyes on me. “I?—”

“Come on.” I pop open my door and get out. The cold air hits, clean and cutting. Whatever she was about to say, there was weight to it. I’m not ready for that. I don’t think she is either.

The maintenance manager—mustache frosted, hands in orange gloves—has the train idling on the transfer track, heaters keeping hydraulics supple in the cold. He offers padded headsets and a clipboard of waivers.

Tabitha scans the paperwork, eyes widening. “It literally says ‘warning—risk of cardiac episode.’”

“Lawyers.” I sign both lines, and hand her a pen. “Always skittish.”

“Comforting,” she says flatly. She scribbles her name, shivering more from adrenaline than cold, I suspect.

We climb frosted steps to the loading platform. Overhead, floodlights turn snow flurries into swirling confetti. The train looks theatrical—ruby-red cars like Christmas baubles strung along steel. I choose the front row, always.

Tabi captures my arm. “The front?”

“Best view.” I pull down her lap bar, tug my own until it clicks. “Remember, breathe on the climb, scream on the drop, laugh at the bottom.”

She clutches the handle. “If I pass out, sprinkle coffee on me. It’s the only way to bring me back to life.”

“I’m sure I can figure out a more fun way to do that.”

The operator gives a thumbs-up, and we’re off. The hydraulic hiss makes me grin, then the train glides forward, chain catching withclack-clack-clackinevitability. In the back of my mind, it’s “Carol of the Bells” again. Relentless, rhythmic. The forest line drops away until even the villa’s roof could hide in a pine needle.

Halfway up, I hear Tabitha’s abrupt inhale. The wind knifes through my jacket but the tightness in my chest isn’t chill—it’s confession-level nerves.

“You really want to know what scares me?” I shout over the ratchet.

She turns, face pale. “Yes!”

“You.” The word leaves my mouth like a punch. I can’t stop it. I’m too hyped to lie, too stupid to think when it comes to Tabi. “I can free-solo a cliff, but one judgmental look from you last night when DeRossi sneered—and I panicked.”

For a second, she forgets the height. Her eyes widen, shocked warmth. “I makeyoupanic?”

I nod, heart hammering harder than any pre-jump. “Because you matter to me. And that’s scarier than gravity.”

Her expression softens, tension easing in her shoulders. She exhales, reaches across the safety bar, and laces her fingers through mine just as the train crests the hill.

The whole world stalls. We hang in weightless twilight. A whisper of snow, a hush before thunder.

Then the track vanishes beneath us.

We plummet—negative G-force yanking my guts to my throat. The wind roars, and tears streak my temples from the dry air. Tabitha screams a note that morphs from terror to feral delight. Her grip crushes my hand, and the shared adrenaline floods me with a chemical joy no wingsuit ever matched.

We bottom out, whip through the first over-banked turn, and climb again into a zero-G roll. The sky flips, the earth reappears, frost glitter explodes in the air. She’s laughing now—loud and unselfconscious—and each sound spike jacks my pulse higher.

Midway through the double corkscrew, she risks a glance. Eyes shining, cheeks flushed, mouth open in a wild grin, wisps of hair trailing from her messy bun. That image slams into my chest harder than G-force ever could.

The ride rockets into the final drop, brake fins hiss, and we slam to a stop under a snowfall of vapor. She’s panting, hair static-starred, still clutching my hand.

I laugh, breathless. “Better?”

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