The Winter Games

by Sharp, Dr. Rebecca

  “Oh… Um… Right,” I murmured, continuing to stare like a complete fool. It was like I’d never seen a hot guy before.

  I had, I swear.

  But him…

  Let’s just say that the terms ‘Perfect,’ ‘Frontside grab,’ and ‘Lipslide’ had been redefined for me. They were no longer names of tricks that I did with a snowboard; they were now the very dirty things I wanted to do with him.

  I prayed that Ally’s makeup was doing its job to hide the rising blush on my face and that my underwear was holding out against the rush of desire that I couldn’t seem to control.

  “I don’t think any of them are damaged, but if they are I’ll be happy to pay to repair them,” I said, turning back to my car to grab the papers and Chance’s license. “I’m so sorry again, but I have to go—I’m running so late.”

  His rich, brown eyes just stared into mine as though he were absorbing every last piece of me. For the first time, I was glad that I looked a little bit like a female—the makeup, the sweater - because I wanted his eyes on me. And they were.

  Truth—I wanted more than his eyes on me.

  Every cell tingled under that gaze. I never cared about dressing pretty, let alone sexy because who was it for? Certainly not any of the people I saw on a regular basis. What was I going to do? Dress up only to put on five layers of outerwear and then cover my face with a neck-warmer, goggles, and a helmet? No, I wasn’t one of those girls.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I wanted a guy to look at me the way Mr. Range Rover was looking at me right now. And with a look like that, who the hell would ever need Under Armor ColdGear to keep them warm?

  My breath quickened.

  Tick tock.

  I broke the stare and began to walk by him, heading for the reception area until a large warm hand on my arm stopped me in my tracks.

  “Are you going to tell me your name?” My eyes went immediately to his hand resting gently on my arm, the warmth of it seeping through Ally’s sweater. But when he asked my name, my gaze returned to his. “So I can at least know who had the pleasure of taking out all my boards.”

  Duh, of course I needed to give him my name.

  “Channing,” I replied softly. “Channing Ryder. I’m sorry, I really have to go.” I turned and walked away, my arm easily leaving his grasp.

  Truthfully, it was a miracle I was walking. For a second, I could have sworn that the number of butterflies in my stomach was enough to let me take flight.

  “I’m so sorry,” I gasped as I ran up to the desk. It was two minutes after five and I said every prayer that I knew with the hope that they would have a little mercy on me. “I know I’m late and I’m so sorry, but there was an incident in the parking lot and—”

  “Ma’am,” the woman behind the table interjected. “You’re not late. We’re here until five-thirty today.”

  Oh, thank God.

  “Oh…” It was all I could say as I caught my breath—and my wits.

  This was just what I needed—the lucidity of my brain weakened by my body’s distraction with Mr. Range Rover.

  “The women’s registration is over at that table though.” The woman—Pat, her nametag said—instructed me. I swallowed over the lump in my throat and looked down at the documents in my hand.

  Focus, Channing.

  When I looked up, I tried to imagine myself as Ally—a warm, friendly smile spreading over my face as I acted as girly and un-snowboarder like as possible.

  “Oh, thank you so much. I’m actually not here to register myself.” I paused and threw in a cute laugh. Or what I hoped was a cute laugh. “That would surely be a sight for national television.” I cleared my throat and ran my hand along the side of my non-existent hair, wishing I had Ally’s long locks that I could play with. Because that’s what girls did, right? “I’m registering my brother, Chance Ryder. I have his paperwork and license here. He’s recovering from a minor injury and had to be at a doctor’s appointment, so he sent me instead.”

  I refused to break her gaze even though I wondered if I’d said too much, too quickly.

  Pat took the papers from my hand, glancing down at them and then back up at me. Down at them, back at me. She must have done it at least ten times and each time my heart stopped, wondering if my ruse was going to end right then and there.

  “I don’t know if I would trust her, Patty.”

  Son of a biscuit.

  A shiver ran up my spine as that molasses-smooth voice rolled over my body again. I didn’t have a chance to turn around before Mr. Range Rover’s broad chest came into my peripheral view. I managed to keep my eyes focused on the woman in front of me though—the woman whose face lit up on seeing this man.

  “Mr. Olsen!”

  I don’t know what else she said because as soon as I heard his name, all those butterflies in my stomach fled back into their cocoons and begged to return into caterpillars. My pulse rocketed and I glanced down to make sure they couldn’t see my heart beating out of my chest.

  Olsen. Wyatt Olsen. The Canadian, six-time golden, X games winner who also took gold in the Olympics two years ago. He didn’t come to compete. He came to win because that’s all he ever did.

  He was the best which is why he won everything—and made himself a tidy fortune in the process. He was everywhere in the snowboarding world; the best snowboarder that had been seen in years. For all intents and purposes, he was the King of the mountain. Everyone wanted to be his sponsor, everyone wanted him. What else? I wracked my brain trying to remember everything that I’d heard about the man. He mostly trained in Canada, so aside from competition season, he practically dropped off the media radar. My brain was on fire and all I truly knew about Wyatt Olsen was that he was good at one thing: winning. Every. Single. Thing.

  And that meant that he was Chance’s biggest rival in the X Games.

  Which really meant that he was mine.

  How had I not recognized him? Maybe because the most I saw of him was when he was in snow gear? Or maybe because I was so rushed and flustered over the boards and missing my chance at this hair-brained idea that I’d missed the forest for the trees.

  I begrudgingly turned my eyes over to see the woman embrace him. It was no wonder she knew him so well; he’d competed in every X Games for the past ten years or more. And he took gold every time.

  Son. Of. A. Freaking. Biscuit.

  He was a snowboarder. No wonder I was attracted to him.

  If only that realization made me feel better about myself…

  “Sorry about that, Miss… Ryder.” Pat sighed and looked over at Olsen again. “Normally, the registrant needs to be here in person…” No, no, no, no. “However, since Mr. Olsen here is vouching for you, I’ll go ahead and mark your brother as registered. If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll get together his welcome packet, lift pass, and all of the information as far as practice times, trail closings, competition information, etc.”

  I already had access to all of that since I worked at the resort, but I wasn’t going to tell her that—mostly because I didn’t want Wyatt-Freaking-Olsen to know.

  “Fancy seeing you again so soon, Miss Ryder.” He flashed that seductive smile at me again and I would have sworn that my nipples could have cut through ice.

  “I thought the desk closed at five and I promised my brother I would handle this so he didn’t have to worry,” I repeated nervously, unsure of just how much he had overheard. His presence dulled my faux persona. I couldn’t focus on being a girly-girl because every part of me was too busy feeling like a woman.

  “Ahh. I see.” He crossed his arms over that broad chest of his. Gulp. “Well, I’m glad you were wrong or I would be out of the competition as well. My flight was delayed this morning, so I was afraid that I wasn’t going to make it either. But, it looks like I made it just in the nick of time to come to register and save the day.” He nodded over to Pat who was busy collecting all of the necessary papers.

  I blushed. “Yes, thank you. I…
My brother would be crushed if they’d refused to let me register him. He’s been training really hard…” I trailed off before my voice was in danger of breaking.

  “Chance Ryder’s sister,” he mused and I couldn’t help but let my eyes return to the warmth of his. “You snowboard, too, if I remember correctly? You won Slopestyle at the Open last year?”

  “The year before,” I answered quietly. Last year… Well, I tried not to think about last year.

  He nodded. “Who’s better?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Who’s better—you or Chance?” He clarified. “And don’t tell me you don’t know. I have a brother. Everything is a competition.”

  “I wasn’t going to. Obviously, I’m the better rider,” I replied confidently, yet in jest.

  He knew and he smiled. “I’ll have to let him know that you said that.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. I remind him all the time.”

  “I can imagine.” He laughed. “So, I guess that’s good news for me then—that I’ll have a chance at beating snowboarding’s hottest young gun?”

  “Unlikely. I’ll make sure to teach him a trick or two to beat you.” I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out at the easy banter between us. On the one hand, it was like my conversations with Emmett and Nick, relaxed, funny, refreshing—on the other hand, I wished we were having the conversation naked, which was definitely not like the kind of conversations that I had with my friends.

  “So, then maybe taking out all of my boards wasn’t an accident…” His tone was suddenly very serious and I was immediately on alert.

  “Of course it was!” I jumped in, my hand flying up to my chest and grabbing the edge of Ally’s sweater, appalled that he would intimate such a thing. “I would never… Unbelievable. I would never do such a thing.” I then noticed that I was ridiculously waving my other hand at him, scolding him for the thought.

  “Not only that,” I continued, crossing my arms over my chest to stop my wayward hands from making any more embarrassing gestures, “but, I didn’t even know who you were out there. I didn’t recognize you. I thought you were—“ I broke off, biting my lip before any more of those thoughts slipped out. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t know it was you and I’m still very sorry about knocking them down, but really, they are fine.” I sucked in a long breath after my emphatic defense, the pause giving me a moment to take in his reaction.

  He was laughing. The drop-dead gorgeous man was laughing at me. Again.

  I just glared at him, only now realizing that he’d been joking about the whole thing and I—I’d defended myself to my last breath. Literally.

  “Alright, dear. Here’s the information for your brother and his mountain pass so that he has access to the lifts for practice once we close them off to the public at the beginning of next week.

  “Thank you so much.” I gave her my most grateful smile before turning back to the man that I desperately wanted to scold.

  Except, without him, ‘Chance’ might have never gotten into the competition.

  “Mr. Olsen.” I, instead, gave him my most demure, feminine smile.

  I had no clue what that was, but I’d seen Ally do it enough times to know that it was a polite parting for someone that you weren’t particularly fond of.

  “Will I see you out on the mountain? Or around to cheer on your brother?” His voice called after me.

  I couldn’t help myself. I turned back and replied, “Why? Worried I’ll try and sabotage your chances of winning again?”

  You’re playing with fire, Channing.

  “Of course not. I’d just like to see you again.” My knees went weak. And then that devastating smile of his reappeared.

  I’d ignored it before, but now there was no question that my panties were soaking wet. There was definitely one part of me that was all for his suggestion.

  Why did I have to want this man? Of all men? Of all the men in the world, why the one that I was secretly competing against?

  “I’ll be around, but not to cheer Chance on,” I admitted cryptically before spinning and walking out of the hall before he had the opportunity to stop me again.

  I had to get to work. Breakers was opening in thirty and I still hadn’t eaten anything for dinner.

  “CHANNING, WHERE THE FUCK HAVE you been all afternoon?” I heard Emmett’s voice ring through Breakers loud and clear and I cringed to myself.

  Dick.

  Not that I didn’t like when my friends came to visit me at work, but this was the most upscale bar at the resort and when they came, well, they tended to say things like that. And usually do things far worse. When I’d worked at Big Louie’s it hadn’t been as big a deal since that place tended to be a local dive—plus everyone there knew the SnowmassHoles and what to expect. But here, there were mostly tourists and guests… here, there were limits.

  Thankfully, the place wasn’t too crowded at the moment. I really liked working at Breakers compared to some of the other bars that I’d tended over the years. It was a relatively new space that used to be a piano bar, but was remodeled just a little over two years ago.

  The bar was the main feature in the middle of the room with a column in the center that rose to the ceiling and had expensive liquor bottles decoratively adorning it. The bar itself went in a complete circle around that center column and could maybe seat about twenty people. The menu here was small—mostly made up of meats and cheeses with a few foodie variations on comfort food. Around the bar there were maybe eight tables for people to sit and a few booths along the walls.

  All in all, it was a nice spot with good, overpriced cocktails where mostly the wealthier resort guests came to drink - which was another reason why I liked working here because it meant good tips and not a lot of drunken messes.

  It also meant that I didn’t really see any of the people who would be out on the slopes with me during the day. I preferred to keep separate those two parts of my life: the part that I enjoyed and the part that I had to do. Unfortunately, or fortunately, that separation didn’t always happen and sometimes my friends did venture up to the land of the fancy to harass me at work; it was more common now that Chance was gone and they weren’t at Big Louie’s. Before he left, they’d usually all go out and do something at night when I worked—and by something, I mean go out and pick up chicks. Sometimes I’d tag along, but my presence tended to diminish their chances of success and guilt puts a damper on an otherwise enjoyable night out.

  I’d been standing at the right side of the bar, just as it wrapped around to the back of the room when I’d heard Emmett. Holding cocktail shaker in my hands, I walked towards the front of the bar to greet him and Nick, shaking the metal container vigorously until my arms started to hurt and my fingers went numb.

  Emmett ‘King’ Jameson and Nick ‘Frost’ Frost strolled through the bar like they owned the place—their entitlement stemming not from the fact that I worked there but from their title as the SnowmassHoles of Aspen. They were the best local rides—you might call them local heroes if you didn’t actually know them. Their SnowmassHole perspective said that everything belonged to them in this town and especially on this mountain.

  I could tell you all the stories—all the reasons why they were given this name. All the rules they’d broken on the mountain—riding after dark, stealing keys to the lifts, terrorizing skiers by stealing one ski and forcing them to walk down to the bottom of the mountain to retrieve it. Out of all of them, they were most famous for their Winter Night Games.

  For about a year and a half in high school, they’d held weekly nighttime competitions in the park—where riders competed for money, weed, or women. They were held when the mountain was supposed to be closed. Chance organized everything, Frost paid off workers for access to lights and lifts, and Emmett threatened anyone who got in their way. The Games were brutal, most riders trying tricks of their own; injuries were numerous. Ironically, the Games didn’t end because they got caught. They ended because Chance and N
ick fought over a girl. But that was a long time ago and high school was ending anyway.

  The Games no longer existed, but the SnowmassHoles survived.

  Chance had become a professional boarder although currently MIA. Emmett, had started his own custom snowboard fabrication business after one year of engineering in college and quickly became famous and wealthy—not that he showed that to anyone. And Nick, who was currently finishing his degree in design and marketing and still seemed content to live at his parent’s mansion and off of their support, showed up to class ten percent of the time, and spent the other ninety percent high—either on the mountain or with a woman. Or women.

  They were flawed—there was no doubt about it. But they were my crew.

  Unlike Mr. Olsen, these two were prime examples of your classic snowboarder; Emmett had red hair—like bright red—which is why he hadn’t let it grow out since probably the second grade. I didn’t know him in the second grade, he was three—or was it four—years older than Chance and I. Regardless, from the time I met him, he’d always kept it in a tight buzz—not enough to look completely bald, but close. The effect was this reddish halo that always seemed to be surrounding his head; if only there were little red horns growing from it to complete the look.

  And then there was Nick with his dark, short hair pushed disastrously away from his face. Neither of them had the styled cut that Wyatt did. Their off-duty snowboarder attire of loose, dark jeans, a long sleeve tee, and skate sneakers was a distinct contrast to the business casual that Wyatt wore. I honestly couldn’t ever remember seeing either of my friends, or my own brother, ever wearing something as put-together.

  If I had to think about it—and if I had to admit to it—I would say that both Emmett and Nick were pretty good looking. Ok, if I had to be one-hundred-percent, ‘cross my heart hope to die’ honest—most girls considered them panty-dropping hot—which is how they got away with being assholes. Emmett was completely toned thanks to hours on the mountain and hours in the gym. That combined with his hard jawline, ginger buzz cut, and jet-black eyes was a heart-stopping combination. Then add on the fact that he was a blatant dick most of the time and well, for most women, that was the icing on the sculpted, Emmett-sized cake—the undeniable asshole attraction. Nick, on the other hand, was just as muscular but quieter, only obnoxious when around Emmett or Chance, and preferred to let the two of them race through the female population of Aspen, staying comfortably in the background. At times you could tell that he had a dark streak that was longer and harder than Emmett’s and Chance’s combined, but for the most part, he hid it well.