Page 5 of The Christmas Playbook
I set my stuff down out of the way. It’s a leftover habit from my parents’ house. They hated when the kids would come inside and immediately drop their shoes, bags, whatever. The constant,Put it in your room, Rhys!got old by the time I turned seventeen.
After I move my luggage and ski bag to the far wall, by the dresser, I hurry to the drapes pulled across what Ihopeis a sliding glass door.
It is.
And there, in prime condition, is a hot tub.
“Halle-fucking-lujah.”
I’m not messing around. I pluck one of the towels from the bathroom and strip out of my clothes. I could go for a beer or something, too. That might make this even better. But I am too excited to test out the tub. I wrap the towel around my waist and step outside, closing the drapes and then the sliding door behind me.
They had it closed, and I can only imagine it’s to keep the chill out. Besides, enough light is filtering into the cabin through the windows. And the fire is doing a great job of making it cozy inside.
Anyway.
I push the lid off the tub and start the bubbles, barely suppressing my gleeful cackle. Just beyond the wooden railing is one of the trails, and even as I watch, a few snowboarders fly past.
Nice.
That’ll be us tomorrow, crushing the slopes.
When the coast is clear, I shed the towel—folding it neatly and dropping it on one of the chairs—and hop into the tub.
Hot water immediately encases me, and I let out a groan. Perfection.
Fucking perfection.
The cold air makes the water seem even hotter, and I run my hands through the bubbles. I position myself with a view of the people coming down around the corner on the slopes, immediately locking on to a couple that seems to be struggling. They’re flailing, a mess of ski poles and limbs.
I snicker.
It’s wrong, yeah, but if they were seriously hurt, I would definitely get out and help them. I’d just, you know, take some pictures first.
Ah, hell. I left my phone inside.
I debate for a moment, then shrug. I don’t need it. We’re here to disconnect, and I should content myself with people-watching. The jets at my back are doing a great job loosening the tension there.
I already told my parents I had arrived.
Shit, no, I didn’t.
Okay, it’s fine, another hour or so won’t kill them or me. I close my eyes, sinking lower until my chin brushes the water.
This is relaxation, this is peace.
This is…
Boring.
Boring!
Do people really just sit here andchill?
I don’t know how long I last, but it’s probably not long. I grimace and climb out, forgoing the towel to just sprint back inside, grab my phone, and return to the delicious water.
I jerk open the sliding door and whip aside the drapes. Water droplets roll off me, and I don’t notice the open front door until I’m four steps inside.
Someone hauls a suitcase inside, their back to me, and I freeze. It’s a girl.
