Page 23 of The Snowflake Effect

KOLTON

“You have a race today?” Shay smiles at the young girl between us on the chairlift as if we didn’t just fuck like rabbits in the trees thirty minutes ago.

“No, just training. Season’s pretty much over.” The girl hunches forward, her tight racing suit pulling at her shoulders.

I don’t participate in the conversation. My mind is still on Shay’s ass in the air, her hands wrapped around that tree, my body covering hers. It’s a good thing this kid’s between us.

Shay sighs as if caught on a memory. “I hated that part—knowing dry-land training was all I’d have to look forward to over the summer, itching for it to snow again.”

The girl tilts her head in Shay’s direction, sunlight glinting off her helmet. “You raced?”

“Yep.”

My ears prick up. The way Shay skis, I’m not surprised she raced. We just don’t spend much time talking. Arguing, yes. Groping, fuck yeah. Talking, limited.

I’ve glimpsed easygoing Shay. When we had to ride the lift with a couple of ski-school kids, she was sweet and charming and chatted with them the whole way. When our crew of six went out last night, she joked with Raven and Lily, her quick wit and raspy laugh infectious. But with me, the second she relaxes and lets me in, I say or do something wrong. Then she bites and I bark, and we can’t grope each other fast enough.

Dynamite is less explosive.

The girl between us laughs. “I’m totally the same. Hate the summer. Love the winter. Wrenched my knee recently, so I’m just doing basics now. Lots of physio.”

Shay winces. “I had a bad knee injury the year before I won the Whistler Cup.” She nudges the girl’s arm with her elbow. “Maybe next year will be your year.”

I can’t take my eyes off Shay now. Ski racer. Whistler Cup winner.

Who is this woman?

Instead of picturing my dick sinking inside her, I imagine her barreling down a racecourse, skis chattering in ruts as she holds her line into her next turn. I want to know more, ask more, but I don’t want to shut her down. Asking also invites reciprocal questions.

It’s been refreshing not sharing about my traumatic past. With her, I’m not a widower and an exhausted single dad. I’m just me.

The two of them talk racing the rest of the ride, and I listen, riveted. We push off at the top, the area almost empty. Last chair of the day, last run. I’m about to ask Shay where she wants to head when my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket and frown at Nico’s text.

Nico: Hate to do this, but I gotta get home. Shit’s going down with Josh. Again. I’m flying out in an hour. We’ll connect in Van. Best to Shay.

“Nico’s flying home,” I say.

“Seriously? Why?”

By the time I pocket my phone and look up, she’s glaring at me like I just split on her. “He has some family stuff going on. Needs to get back.”

Still, she levels me with a scowl. “What about Raven?”

I shrug. “Don’t ask me.” Nico’s brother is always getting into trouble, the two of them like night and day. Nico going home means whatever Josh did was bad, and Nico’s going to rake him over the coals.

She curls her lip in annoyance. “Men are oblivious. I think she really liked him.”

“I’m not oblivious. I know for a fact you like me.”

Her eyes practically roll to the back of her head. “I can tolerate certain parts of your body.”

Personally, I’d like to tolerate a whole lot more of Shay. I’ve seen so little of her skin. We’re always so harried and frantic, it’s all we can do to get naked enough so I can push into her. Jesus, do I want to see her, though: laid out under me on a bed, her curls fanned over a pillow.

Aaaaaaand now I’ll have to ski with a hard-on.

But riling her up is too much fun. “Which parts, exactly?”

Her gaze drifts down my body, skirting the bulge in my ski pants. “You might have a hot ass.”