Page 44 of Bachelor
Cassandra fell face-first into the snow, and the lift had to stop until I was able to drag her out of the way of the other riders exiting behind us.
“That was fun!” she beamed, trying to stand up. “Let’s ride down and do that again!”
“That’s the whole point,” I pointed out, trying to hide my annoyance. She struggled to get into her bindings, and I just stood there, looking for a way out of this.
My saving grace came in the form of a group of Gatlington professors who had obviously never been on skis before. The group tumbled off the chairlift, and when their presence was noticed by Cassandra, she immediately became distracted enough to not realize I’d slipped away.
I snapped my bindings in place and got the hell out there, knowing full well I could ride down to the second lift and get a ride up to the top of the mountain, a place where Cassandra could not, and would not, dare to ride.
I was free, momentarily, and I set my sights on finding Whitney and taking her up on the challenge she’d alluded to earlier.
But as it turned out, I spent three hours alone, doing runs that made me sweat and my legs ache but filled me with adrenaline I hadn’t felt in years.
It felt good, and for a moment, those painful feelings I felt whenever I was in Whitney’s presence faded away, replaced by snow and ice, trees I had to dodge, and jumps I just had to launch myself off of.
Eventually, I sat down at the edge of a drop off and looked out over the mountain and the ski town below. It was so peaceful up here, so quiet.
But then a spray of white powdery snow coated me, and someone’s skis skidded as they quickly adjusted course after purposefully white-washing the hell out of me when I was vulnerable. I wiped the snow from my googles just in time to see Whitney coast away, a smirk on her lips.
And I felt that smirk deep in my chest.
So we were playing games now, were we?
Chapter Fifteen
Whitney
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IPULLED OFF MY HATand set it on the chair next to me. The day lodge was full of people stopping to eat lunch and split pitchers of beer. My back was to an enormous stone fireplace, and I glanced over at my sweat-soaked hat, chuckling as I noticed the steam coming off of it. I’d worked up a sweat, that was for sure. I hadn’t felt that free in years.
I was going to be sore, I knew that much, and I was going to starve to death if I didn’t eat soon.
Jessica placed a basket of fries, fried shrimp, fried chicken, and burger sliders in the center of the table. Tyler came up behind her with two pictures of cheap beer and a stack of plastic cups that were likely manufactured in the early nineties. I’d never seen a finer meal.
“Damn, I’m starving,” I groaned, reaching for a handful of fries and popping them in my mouth. They were hot enough to burn my tongue but tasted fresh and salty and delicious.
