I’m irritated. Pissed, as Adam would say. Though I don’t have any desire to pee my pants, though at least that would be warm. For a few minutes. Until it turned cold.
I turn and walk back towards the house. She can choose to follow me if she likes or she can let me walk back on my own. I’ll make sure not to let her out of my eyesight. With relief, I hear her footsteps crunching in the snow behind me, but I don’t wait for her to catch up. The cold is taking over all my thoughts right now, and they aren’t pleasant ones. No one deserves to be around me when I’m this miserable.
“Wil, hold on a minute!”
I keep walking and I keep my mouth shut, desperate to get to warmth. By the time we’re back on the doorstep, I wait just long enough to hold the door open for her but no longer. I can barely tolerate another second in this temperature and almost leap through the threshold to get inside. I’d bust down the door like a gorilla if I had to. Fortunately, the front door is unlocked, and that’s unnecessary.
We take off our boots in silence, and I’m headed for our room, dying to jump into the shower but unwilling to do it before her.
With a sigh and a low, resigned tone to her voice, Jenna insists I shower first. “I have the fireplace, and I’m not as bothered by the cold as you are. Must be my Balkan blood.”
I don’t say anything beyond thank you and promptly warm up with a scalding shower and soft, warm clothes to change into. I’d rather be alone, but since I’m still feeling cold, I make us both hot chocolates in the kitchen.
However, as I sit by the fire waiting for her, she doesn’t leave the bathroom until the hot chocolate can no longer be called that anymore. Now it’s just room-temperature chocolate.
For fear of making anything worse, I leave the bedroom and grab my sketch pad from where I left it. Jenna eventually emerges from our room, but I’m so engrossed in my work that I barely pay attention to when or if she found the room-temperature chocolate I’d left for her.
Chapter 23
Katya
I had an early-morning skiing lesson for the second day in a row after which, the instructor warned me not to do any of the resort’s blue runs. “Just work on the green circle slopes this season and you’ll be set. Green runs here are like blue, or even black, at some of those resorts in Southern California.”
Here was one of my fellow countrymen taking the opportunity to exert Canadian superiority over my newly-adopted home. He had no clue I’d been born and raised in Vancity. I sure as heck didn’t look like a California girl, though. I may work and live in SoCal but I was a Vancouverite down to the bone—bones that I hoped to keep intact throughout this current marital conundrum I found myself in.
Despite the instructor’s warnings, I felt confident that I could at least make it down one of the intermediate runs in one piece. And today, I had the time to get some more practice.
I wasn’t above noticing that Lucas was finding time to slip away, likely to get some practice on his own. But also to work, which was worrying. I didn’t want to end up like Mia, who was constantly trying to manage Adam’s workaholic tendencies by forcibly infusing balance—like renting an entire getaway villa for the two of them and all of their closest friends, for example.
Lucas had some online conferences with work colleagues, and he seemed to be really unhappy with whatever was going on at work. He most likely wouldn’t take kindly to me expressing my sympathies, much as I would have liked to. Despite being married and deeply in love, neither of us had fully shed that competitive streak that ran through the baseline of our relationship. And for me to express sympathy might be interpreted as gloating.
And I didn’t want to gloat. I just didn’t know how to tell him I wasn’t gloating.
So instead, I let him deal with his stuff and asked no questions and waited for him to volunteer any info he wanted to share.
Whatever Lucas had wandered off to this afternoon to do, I took advantage of the block of time to grab my ski equipment and head to the singles line on the lifts. I’d read a tip that the lift lines moved faster by opting to share a lift chair with a random stranger. And that would give me more time to get extra runs in before Lucas would even notice I was gone.
I could try one of the simpler advanced runs just to assess how I might do. I could always go down from there.
It seemed like a good plan.
But that plan didn’t take into account how scary the advanced slope looked from the top of the chairlift, looking down. When I was supposed to slip effortlessly off the chair like all the rest of the ski bums and slope junkies, I balked.
When I got to the top of that black diamond run, I wouldn’t budge. My butt remained firmly glued to the chair, riding it right back down to the hill again. If I’d gotten off at the top, the only way down was on the skis. And I definitely wasn’t ready for that.
I made a complete loop—and sheepishly avoided the liftie’s eyes as I slumped off the chair in shame. In reality, the idea of me doing a black diamond run was ludicrous—even for practice. I wanted my pretty little neck intact as long as possible, thankyouverymuch.
Once I’d taken that—totally planned—aerial survey of what a black diamond slope actually looked like, I was more than relieved that this stupid-ass race would be on a blue line instead.
Easy, right? Sure, sure, I could do this. I made my way to the appropriate lift for what appeared to be a much easier blue run and got into the singles line.
However, this time, instead of a woman on the other side of the chair, as had been the case on the previous ride, some dude fell in right next to me. A chatty dude—and from the looks of him, a park rat. He really liked to talk. About himself. And about how much he could shred, and rip up the slopes. I glanced around, seeing a bunch of other guys my age and older in the line-up. Most of them were eyeing the women. My particular yakkity yakker had zeroed in on me the moment I’d stepped in line. It’s almost like they’d read some kind of shortcut from the same tired book on how to pick up women.
This dude-bro beside me was wasting no time.
And my wedding ring was buried under what felt like miles of leather glove, damn it. There was no easier way to scare off a dude on the prowl by flashing a little gold and diamond on the left hand.
“Hey there, I’m Robert. What’s your name?”
“Persy,” I said without batting an eye or even hesitating. It was a shortened version of my favorite gamer name, Persephone, so it wasn’t exactly a lie. Why on earth would I give some rando my real name? I was married, for heaven’s sake. Very married. Very happily married and sexually-satisfied, for that matter. I was only in this damn singles line because it was half as long as the other one. But for some reason, these dudes seem to think it was a fair hunting ground for hookups apres-ski.
I mean…talk about captive audience. Chat a girl up on the chairlift when the only way she could get away from you was to drop off the chairlift dozens or even hundreds of feet in the air. I threw him major side-eye while he boasted about his prowess on the slopes and how he was taking a rest on the blue slope.
With a sigh, I realized that, even during my single days, if I’d come up here to find a boyfriend, I would have just been stuck with one loser after the other. Well tick that box off on my list of things I’ll never regret not doing.
“So, Persy, you come here often? Are you a big skier?”
“I guess you could say I come here every once in a while. I am from PoCo, after all. So it’s close.” Sometimes in touristy joints like this, a guy is hitting on a girl for a holiday hookup, so knowing they are a local really turns them off.
Well, apparently not so for Robert. He asked for my number before we were even halfway up. I told him we could work that out once we were off the lift. Then, when he slid off the chair to make his way over to the side, I proceeded to ride the right back down the hill once again.
No need to give poor Robert the wrong idea, right?
I actually ended up doing more riding on the chair than ac
tually skiing down the mountain. If nothing else, it gave me a great overview of the resort.
With each ride, yet more guys, more obnoxious than the previous one, would try to pick me up. Finally I got the brilliant idea of pretending that I didn’t speak any English, and instead mumbled some gibberish that might have passed for Norwegian or Swedish instead. I suppose I could have produced some broken French, but since we were in Canada, the odds of finding another French-speaker were too high for that stunt.
I mimed a few things and smiled and nodded and was spared still more cheesy pickup lines and bro boasting.
Okay, I skied down a few times, slowly and haltingly, and the instructor was probably spot on gauging me for a green circle slope instead of an intermediate one. But I was now confident that I wouldn’t humiliate myself, even if Lucas did make me eat his powder.
He’d most likely win, and that was fine with me. Perhaps he’d be more likely to fulfill my sexual desires that night in order to celebrate his victory. He’d all but brushed me off last night, groaning like an old man with a hernia and refusing to change his clothes in my presence, for whatever reason. And he was as grumpy as a geezer, to boot. He could use the stress relief, too!
I was tired from all that chair-riding, so I hit the bar for a hot toddy with extra whiskey. And French fries to go with it, of course—with nary a cheese curd or drop of gravy in sight! I people-watched and reflected over the day’s events, the missed rides, the deflected flirtations and crazy pickup lines.
Apparently, even though I could flash my wedding ring prominently here, it didn’t make me immune from still more unwanted male attention.
Dudes didn’t care. I got a couple drinks sent to me—which I turned down. A couple guys took the stool next to me—despite me setting my bag there as a deterrent. It got to the point where the minute a guy sat there, the first thing out of my mouth would be, “I’m happily married. Thanks, but no thanks.”
These dudes seriously needed to up their game if they wanted quality companionship the likes of me, anyway. But it wasn’t going to be me.
I already had my grump-for-life. And he was sexy and hot and everything these guys were not.
I’d just have to figure out a way to get him to put out tonight.
I cursed this damn race and my big mouth. If I’d been honest from the start, we would have been sitting in this bar together and laughing at the idjits as they tried to pick up the girls and got shot down, while drinking and flirting with each other.
I mean who really cared about beating him at skiing? I kicked his ass regularly at what counted—video games—and that was more than satisfying. Who cared if he was the better skier?
I heaved a big sigh and cursed my own stupid big mouth for getting me into this mess.
Chapter 24
Lucas
My wife was nowhere to be found. This was a big mansion, but that’s ridiculous. Her ski outfit and jacket weren’t in the closet, either, so clearly she’d hit the slopes. What she wasn’t doing was replying to text messages, damn it all.
We were here on the perfect ski holiday with close friends and had hardly spent any time together at all. Instead, I was stuck in this beautiful mansion without her, dealing with stupid employees who were out to make the other one look bad.
I was dealing with avoiding one friend—who was also one of the bosses. He kept referring to me as his lame racehorse who was going to lose him money. Like he’d miss one hundred bucks. He was a billionaire. I was about ready to cram a Benjamin down his throat myself, so he’d shut up.
I was avoiding the other boss because I didn’t want him to get wind of my work struggles. Or the truth about my skiing prowess.
The only good thing going for me right now was that I’d found the perfect place in this mansion to avoid just about everyone—the third-floor library, with a full three-story picture window view of Blackcomb Peak.
My solitude only lasted about an hour—well physical solitude, anyway. Heath sauntered in and settled on a couch at the other side of the room. But as he had his earbuds in and phone in hand, he left me in peace, staying focused on his phone for almost an hour after that.
So once I was done, I drifted to the window and looked out over the gorgeous view. I pulled out my own phone and texted Kat to find out where she was. The afternoon was growing late, and I was bored silly sitting here on my own.
Heath started humming and nodding his head to something he was listening to. I cocked my head to glance at his phone and see he was on TikTok.
“This is amazing,” he said almost to himself.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Sea shanty.”
A what?
He pulled out his earbuds and hit play to demonstrate—a catchy maritime tune sung a capella that sounded almost like pirates singing in perfect harmony. He tapped his foot in time to the music, and I found myself nodding along as well.
“It’s addictive.” Heath grinned. “Kinda sounds a bit like some of the Irish songs Connor used to sing. That man has such a singing voice…”
I frowned, struck by the wistful tone in Heath’s voice. I’d never met Connor, but Kat had informed me that he was Heath’s former boyfriend who now lived in Ireland. Kat told me that he hadn’t really been the same after their breakup last year.
I sank down on the couch beside Heath and he scrolled through TikTok and played a few more versions of the song, and before we knew it we were both singing about Wellermen and whaling along with the video.
“Addictive, right?” Heath mock elbowed me.
“Yeah.” We glanced at each other and burst out laughing at the same time. It seemed so weird and random, really.
“You were sitting here listening to music from the nineteenth century. And here I thought you were sitting there playing Among Us and ruthlessly assassinating randos.”
Heath laughed. “Well, that’s also held a lot of appeal, too. Great way to vent frustrations. Maybe the sea shanties will overtake the Among Us addiction.”
I shrugged. “Might be a healthier addiction. At least the sea shanties make you want to get off your ass and move instead of playing a game on your phone. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“We’re all hardcore gamers here, no one’s going to think there’s anything wrong with that.” Heath grinned and then hit replay on the jaunty song, humming along to it, then letting his head fall back on the couch to look up at the ceiling.
“Damn, I still miss him.”
“Well you know what they say about the best way to get over someone…”
Heath laughed and nodded. “Getting under someone else, yeah. Been there, done that probably a couple dozen times by now.”
“Then what’s another one? That concierge’s assistant wasn’t subtle about his interest in you…”
Heath shot me side-eye. “So not my type. Anyway, I think I’m done with the casual bullshit. I’ve never been good at it anyway.”
I swallowed, trying to think of what to say. The mood in here had thickened, and I sensed that Heath really did want advice. I was no good at this shit—as most people who knew me knew. And until recently, with regards to romantic relationships at all, I’d been a very diehard and unbelieving cynic.
“Relationships are hard.” It was all I could muster in my own lame way. It was true, after all. I was currently on marriage number two—and the one that was going to go the distance if anything was. But still, number two meant I’d gotten it wrong the first time—so very wrong.
Heath quirked a brow at me. “That’s not something I’d expect to hear from someone who fell madly in love with the wife I fakely married him to last year. Should I be concerned?”
I laughed. I’d worry about being overheard, but no one was anywhere close to us and Heath had kept our secret faithfully. Kat and I might be a real married couple now—and truly in love—but it hadn’t started out that way. And it hadn’t been that way for at least the first six months of our marriage.
“No, I’m speaking generally. Nothing to worry about here, except maybe this crazy ski competition. I guess we didn’t really say ‘until death do us part’ in our vows. Still, I sure as hell hope that means beyond tomorrow.”
Heath grimaced. “If you’re worried, maybe talk to her?”
I shrugged. “She seems to have her heart set on making me eat her powder.”
He waggled his brows suggestively. “I think she’d be much happier if you ate something else. And it wouldn’t be life-threatening.”
I blew out a laugh. “You’re absolutely right.”
“Seriously, why don’t you just tell her you’re having second thoughts about the race?”
I blinked. I suppose I could. Why was I letting my ego get in the way of some frank marital honesty?
“For what it’s worth, I’ve got fifty bucks on you, because I never ever heard her talk about skiing the entire time she was my roomie. Maybe she’d be relieved if you were the one to stand down first.”
I thought about that for a while—since it was almost a couple hours before I did see her again. She had to tell me about how she’d gone up the black diamond lift a few times just to get the kinks out for tomorrow.
She seemed so enthusiastic about beating me, I didn’t have the heart to back out now. Kat would have her win, and I’d get my own reward via a very enthusiastic and victorious wife in bed that night.
Sigh. Come white-out or wipeout, I guess we were doing this thing.
Chapter 25
Mia
Five days into our week-long trip, and I was beginning to suspect that Adam, indeed, was suffering from an aneurysm. Or deeply stressed out about something. Maybe it was genuine withdrawal symptoms from his personal electronics? Should I offer him his phone back? Or should we start looking into 12-step programs for him?
For The Holidays (Gaming The System Book 9) Page 13
