For The Holidays (Gaming The System Book 9)

by Brenna Aubrey

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Lucas’s mention of the black diamond ski runs when we left the helicopter. As I sat sipping my tea and wondering where the hell he’d vanished to, I pondered that. I’ve never actually skied on a black diamond run.

  The truth was I’d been mediocre at best. I’d go up to the mountains with friends on weekends—usually Grouse Mountain or Cypress, which were much cheaper and closer to the city but not nearly as sophisticated and chic as Whistler.

  Whistler was land of the double black diamond sure-death runs. And I’d be racing my husband on one of them. WTF had I been thinking, again?

  I hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. I’d let a silly joke go too far, and then my ego and pride took over.

  And it was almost certain that I’d lose to my husband, the man who’d skied all over the world. Now I had to come up with a plan to save both my pretty little neck and my pride.

  That meant no black diamond runs. There was no way I could feasibly do it and survive. Compromise was in order, and since Colonel Sanders himself had brought up doing a blue slope instead of a black one, I could pin the change on him. Whoever smelt it, dealt it, and all that.

  It had been his idea. I’d just be magnanimous as to allow him that gimme. I was generous like that. And he’d be ever so grateful, which he could express by providing me with numerous and mind-blowing orgasms.

  My husband was very talented with his tongue. Lucky me. But since oral wasn’t something to be enjoyed while encased in a full body cast, this whole black diamond scheme had to change and fast.

  “Lucas suggested to me that it might be better for everyone to be able to watch us if we race on a blue slope instead of a black one. The black diamonds are much higher and don’t really have many spectator opportunities.”

  That might have been a complete lie. It probably was, since the friggin’ Winter Olympic alpine ski competitions had been staged here. But as long as nobody called me out on it, and so far, Mia wasn’t, then I’d just let that sit.

  She pushed her brows together and nodded. “Well, that seems logical. As long as it doesn’t seem like a bore and too easy for either of you… why not?”

  I sighed and inspected my nails—short and chipped as they were—and then gave a shrug. “Oh, it won’t be boring. It’s so beautiful out on the slope that I might as well enjoy the scenery while handing my husband his ass, right?”

  She snorted again, this time louder.

  So, just like that, I’d got us down to racing on an intermediate run. Thank God. Had I not nipped this in the bud, who knew where it might have progressed by the end of the week? Knowing Jordan, he might have gotten this ratcheted up to some crazy off-piste helicopter extreme skiing off vertical cliffs.

  Thank goodness, I’d been badass enough to take control of this stupid-ass thing and make it my own. So no Raptor’s Ride, Racer Alley or Catskinner for us. The alternatives sounded so much nicer—Crystal Glide, Cruiser, Crabapple.

  Next, I had to face the hard reality that I needed refresher lessons as soon as possible. While my husband was obsessing over whatever the work situation was while trying to hide from me that he was stressing over work, I’d use his preoccupation to my advantage.

  I’d secretly and discreetly schedule lessons with a private ski instructor.

  “So are you in on my complex betting pool?” Jordan had the nerve to approach me a short while later, phone and stylus in hand as if waiting with bated breath to add me to his list.

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Depends. What odds are you giving me?”

  He squinted at his screen. “I haven’t seen you in action, so no odds yet. I’m going out with your hubby later, so…” He shrugged and shot me a wicked grin.

  Butthead. Sometimes I could just smack his face, but April would probably never forgive me for marring her pretty beast, so I’d better not.

  “Are you in? And all bets are in real money, by the way.”

  I made a face at him. “Real money? As opposed to what, Bitcoin?”

  He shook his head with a wicked gleam in his eye that I should have recognized before he opened his fat mouth. “Real money as opposed to Canadian dollars. Never trust money that colorful.”

  I shot him the bird. Sometimes that was the best way to deal with Jordan. Short, to the point, and it didn’t elicit any more response from his big blabbermouth.

  Besides, I had to get on my next step in the plan of managing this upcoming slope humiliation.

  Within a half hour, I’d connected with our handy dandy concierge, Anna. Thankfully, on the phone via text. Whenever she was around in person, she seemed totally and utterly preoccupied with Jordan. Clearly she was just drawn in by his looks and hadn’t spent enough time around him to realize how utterly annoying he was.

  I can make a few calls and see what’s available, but it will be difficult to find an instructor. At this time of year, there’s a big demand, since they are also available to the general public.

  I frowned at the phone. What the hell kind of answer was that? Weren’t concierges here to get us special service? Wasn’t that what they were paid for?

  Plus I needed this, dammit. I wasn’t going to let some woman who openly flirted with obviously-committed billionaires ruin my plan. I clenched my jaw and channeled the most obnoxious Real Housewives caricature I could muster and tapped back furiously.

  Isn’t this service supposed to be high-end access at a high-end resort? And aren’t you a high-end concierge who specializes in high-end experiences here?

  I never did shit like this, and I kinda hated myself, even if it was someone currently stepping on my friend’s toes. I was incensed on April’s behalf. So why not lay the attitude on thick? It might be the only way to get results from a person like her, who probably only thought pleasing the primary guests—Adam and Mia—were her priority.

  Oh, yes, of course. There are some instructors who will have openings. What I was going to say is they might be at less than convenient times, like late afternoon or dinnertime in order to fit you in.

  I frowned at my phone screen. Late afternoon? Dinner time? Skiing at dusk? A little bit beyond my skillset but doable in a pinch. I guess I could improve my skills in a baptism by fire.

  Okay. Please set me up for something during any of those times. I’m just very eager to fit a few lessons in as soon as possible, starting tomorrow.

  About a half hour later, she got back to me with a time. Being bitchy to a bitch got results, apparently. The appointment was set for early morning, as it turned out, the very next day. With a long sigh, I figured I’d just grit my teeth and do it. Then I could practice what I’d picked up in the lesson on the slopes later in the day.

  Since I had a small window this afternoon, I decided to get started immediately, in my own element. Our fancy retreat mansion came fully equipped with practically every console system known to gamer-kind—PlayStation, Xbox, Occulus, Vive, Nintendo Switch, the works. With a state-of-the-art TV, sound system, and all the bells and whistles to complete the package.

  I logged into my PlaysStation Network account and immediately downloaded Steep, the downhill skiing game.

  I was good at it, too. Well, I was good at almost any video game you put into my hands after minimal time learning how to work it. So sure, it wasn’t the same thing as actually skiing—not even close. But it would get me in the mood and help me hone my reflexes for tomorrow’s effort at the real thing. Doing this now was better than just doing nothing.

  “Oh my gosh,” Mia snorted as she sank down beside me on the couch. “You aren’t seriously practicing your race against your hubby on a game console, are you?”

  I pasted on my best appalled face, like I couldn’t even believe she’d just suggested that. My eyes widened to form a big O, my jaw dropped. If I’d had a hand free, I may have placed it, spread-fingered, in the middle of my chest at the preposterousness of her suggestion. My thumbs were busy maneuvering the R3 and L3 toggles on the controller instead.


  “Jeez, Mia. I can’t even believe you’d suggest that. I mean—Come on. You’re a gamer girl. You understand that sometimes a girl’s gotta blow off some steam. That’s all this is. It has nothing to do with that BS race. How could you even suggest that?”

  Mia looked startled as if she was truly shocked that she made me angry. Good. I’d thrown her off the scent by making her think she’d wronged me terribly. It worked every time. Especially with Mia.

  She proceeded to fumble all over herself apologizing. “I was just joking around. I’m—I’m so sorry—”

  “It’s okay. It’s okay. No harm done,” I offered magnanimously. Time to change the subject and get the focus back on her. The minute I wiped out, I paused the game. “So how’s Adam? Still acting weird? Maybe it’s a genius thing. I hear that they have to pay for all that brainpower somehow.”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but the front door opened, and some of the guys were spilling in. They had been down in the open game room at our resort playing a game of billiards and getting some beers. But apparently, they were finished.

  I didn’t kill the game fast enough, unfortunately. Damn, the gamer’s reflexes were already rusty. Of course, once the fools caught wind that I was playing Steep, they had to chime in with their dumbass comments.

  The best one came from Adam when I decided to restart the game—since they’d already seen what I was playing—and redo the downhill run on a timer. Maybe the route looked suspiciously like the K12 run that Lane Myer had to race down on one ski in the movie Better Off Dead.

  In his best imitation of Johnny the paper boy, Adam mimicked, “I want my two dollars. Two dollars! Ahhhhhh.”

  I guess if anyone was going to make a joke involving a movie from the 80s, it would be Adam, Mr. 80s-obsessed himself.

  I had to wonder who I was fooling by skiing in a video game. But it gave me just a teeny modicum of control over the situation. At least I’d gotten us downgraded from a suicidal black diamond to an intermediate run, so there was that.

  I could see the headline now: Local girl decides to one-up her husband, breaks neck on mountain, makes him a widower after just nine and a half months. Read all about it.

  Of course, that assumed that I would be the one breaking my neck. Maybe I was heading into a situation where I’d become a widow at the ripe old age of almost twenty-seven. Damn it. At one time in the past, maybe I wouldn’t have minded putting my now-husband, then just my annoying co-worker, in grave danger, but not anymore! I needed him to see to my sexual needs at the very least. Plus he was good to have around for other reasons.

  Okay, okay, so I loved the dude. But I’d never counted on us being pitted against each other.

  How the heck had we gotten into this situation again?

  Chapter 16

  Lucas

  I wish my sister was here to give me some pointers. Julia was quite the accomplished downhill skier and always had been. Growing up, I’d let that be her accomplishment and stuck to my own strengths instead. Get me into a skiff with an oar in my hands and I’d out-row anybody. But skiing? Not really my thing.

  And racing my wife down a mountain? Definitely not my thing. The only place I wanted to race her was to the bed. While naked. The more bouncing from her, the better.

  I looked down the mountain from where I stood at the top of the run and sighed. Even though the race was being downgraded to an intermediate blue run, Jordan had coaxed me on this more complex run as a way to get back into the game. We stood off to the side, having just descended the chairlift where I was psyching myself up to try this insanity. I could probably count on one or two hands the number of times I’d attempted a black diamond run before—and this was a double black diamond. Jordan and April beside me appeared ready and raring to go, and equally annoyed by my delay.

  Jordan had been egging me all day to get off my ass and practice. Apparently he had money riding on this race and I was his prize horse.

  Well better a prize horse than a jackass, which is what he currently was.

  “Come on, man. We’ve been standing here for almost fifteen minutes already. Let’s get going,” Jordan huffed, slapping his shiny snowboard down onto the snow and hooking his foot into the bindings. April stood beside him, the picture of a perfect slope bunny. Teal jacket and ski pants, hot pink gloves and hat. Expensive goggles, skis, poles, and boots to match. She stood poised to push herself down the mountain at any moment. From the bits and pieces I put together over the years of socializing with them, I’d been given the impression that April had been raised with money, too, and was therefore probably not a stranger to the slopes. I was likely about to disappoint both of them with my own skills.

  “Why are you betting on a horse that refuses to run?” April said to her boyfriend with a laugh in her voice. Then she gave me an apologetic, almost sympathetic smile.

  I frowned. “I ain’t no thoroughbred. And why are we on this advanced run when we’ve already agreed to an intermediate one?”

  Jordan made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Boooooring. Live a little, bro. So the race is going to be on one of the blue baby runs, but if you practice on this double black diamond, you’ll be all the more prepared to kick her ass.”

  “I have zero interest in kicking my own wife’s ass, thank you. She has an amazing ass. The last thing I’d want to do to that ass is kick it. “

  Jordan leaned in, as if explaining himself to a child. “But you don’t want to be stuck kissing that ass for the rest of your life either, am I right?”

  “I wouldn’t mind it if you kissed my ass a little more once in a while.” April quipped to her boyfriend as she adjusted her scarf where it was tucked inside her jacket. “Are we going to get going anytime soon? We’re burning daylight, here, and it’s getting cold.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, just give me a minute.” I turned the end of my skis toward the top of the slope. There, fearless skiers and snowboarders were slipping effortlessly off their chairlift and moving straight onto the piste.

  “Alright! Here goes nothin’.” Jordan had finally lost his patience and pushed off to get momentum as he hit the lip and made his effortless way down the dizzyingly steep slope before us. April, with a sigh of delight, pushed herself forward with her poles and followed suit. With a sizable gulp, an adjustment of my goggles, a grip and regrip of my ski poles, I haltingly slid down after April.

  I didn’t make it far before trouble arose. Maybe I hit a patch of ice or a rock—who knows, it might have just been a puff of air that didn’t agree with me. Down I went, sliding sideways on my thigh and ass until I hit a flat part and slowed to a stop.

  Ouch. Snow looks much softer down in the valley or anywhere but a gazillion feet up on the side of a cliff. Luckily, I was well-practiced at getting up from a prone position on my skis, so I pushed up on my right pole, as I’d learned, and dug into the slope with the edge of my skies. It wasn’t elegant by any means. I probably resembled a tortoise on its back trying to right itself.

  Once Jordan and April noticed that I wasn’t directly behind them anymore, they skidded to a stop and waited until I could catch up with them. I had a sinking feeling that this was going to be a pattern for the rest of my way down, and it was going to take a lot longer than either of my companions would like. I suggested they go on ahead and I’d catch up, but of course, Jordan was having none of it.

  “Dude, are you really that rusty?”

  No, I’m faking it, I wanted to bite out, glaring at him from behind my goggles, which I’m sure he missed. “Rusty is one word for it, I guess.”

  He shook his head.

  Maybe if he hadn’t insisted on a fucking double black diamond run to force my return to the slopes, I’d be doing better.

  “Go on ahead,” I repeated.

  “We’ll go on a bit and find a good stopping place to make sure you haven’t broken your neck.”

  Wonderful thought, fuckyouverymuch.

  The next section of the run went about the s
ame. But after that, they told me to go first. This allowed them witness to my humiliation in real time. Halfway down this next segment of the trail, I hit whatever mystical puff of air I’d hit before, lost my balance, and ended up sliding down the mountain the rest of the way—this time on my other side. At least I’d end up having an equal distribution of bruises across my body after all was said and done. By the time I’d made it down to the bottom—hopefully in this century—I’d end up looking a lot more like a popsicle than I cared to.

  “Are you alright?” April pulled up her goggles to peer at me. Her deep blue eyes squinted at me in the bright light off the brilliant sunlit slope.

  Jordan made a careless waving motion with his hand. “He’s okay. Come on bro, get up. Let’s get this going. You’re warmed up now. No more falls. No broken bones, right?”

  “I’m fine,” I all but growled at him. Mercifully, he held out a hand to pull me up. Two more segments of the trail proceeded similarly. The falls seemed to be happening at random spots with no rhyme or reason. Sometimes I’d only make it a few feet before falling. Other times, I’d make it nearly the entire way to the next stopping point in the trail.

  None of this boded well for the big race. Had I not been in waterproof ski clothing, I’d have been soaked and icy from head to toe.

  At one point, Jordan declared me hopeless. “I’m getting tired of stopping and you’re not letting me enjoy my ride and these amazing slopes,” he grumbled. “We don’t have anything like this in California.”

  “Tahoe has a lot of great runs,” April amended.

  Jordan still had his gaze on me, his mouth working. “Maybe you should concede now and save your neck while it’s still intact.”

  “Maybe you should just go about your day and leave me the fuck alone,” I snarled back.

  “Down boy,” he said, holding his gloved hands up as if in surrender. “Easy there.”

  Getting up once more, I brushed off the snow as best I could and refortified myself, steadying on my poles.

  “You could just try and talk her out of this. If she’s not game, sweeten the deal by agreeing to be her willing sex slave for the whole of next year.” Jordan shrugged. “But that option loses me money, so I’m not in favor of it.”