by Piper Rayne
Cold As Ice
Piper Rayne
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2018 by Piper Rayne
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
* * *
Cover design: RBA Designs
Line Editor: Love N Books
Proof Reader: Shawna Gavas, Behind The Writer
Contents
Free Download
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
ICED OUT
Cockamamie Unicorn Ramblings
About the Author
Also by Piper Rayne
Free Download
Join our newsletter and receive Jailbait, a 11k prequel to Real Deal for FREE
* * *
Dedication
To Ellie and Shawna.
Thank you for being faster than the Bedroom Games gang snowboarding down a mountain.
* * *
Note to Readers: We used Winter Classics instead of the trademarked names Winter Games and/or Olympics. We did take a few creative liberties as well.
Chapter One
The crisp air whirls around the illuminated halfpipe that's glowing like a beacon out of the surrounding darkness. My board slides down to the starting position and I drop in the halfpipe. Music pounds in my ears and the snow crunches under the weight of my body. All the nerves and anxiety coursing through my veins disappear and my body shifts to autopilot. Blasting off the edge, I gain more height than my earlier practices. Cameras flash and the crowd's roars softly mingle with Eminem's “‘Till I Collapse.” Hitting my landing, I slide up the other side, flipping and circling in the air until my board hits the landing and then I do it again.
The camera flashes and cheers from the crowd grow distant, as does the music in my ears until I achieve the state I’m always grasping for—the centered feeling of being in the moment and completely focused on my goal. Eventually, I hit the end of the halfpipe, and fist pump in the air as I carve out my stop. Sending a small thank you upstairs for not slamming, I lift my goggles and high five a few fans lingering around the oval edge.
Unclipping my boots from my board, I stand in the designated spot, my gaze locked on the screen posting the scores. Was my run hard enough to gain me that qualifier to the Winter Classics? The hill packed with spectators grows quiet and the more the seconds tick by, the more I second guess whether my run was as good as it felt. Finally, my score lights up on the screen and the crowd roars louder than my heart did at the top of the slope.
My buddies and fellow snowboarders, Dax and Beckett, run out from the sidelines, wrestling me with their congratulations until I fall back into the snow.
“You did it!” Dax shakes me and then grabs my jacket and pulls me back up to my feet.
With his arm around my neck and big grins on our faces, we leave the area, so the next rider can make his run, but we're stopped by a reporter as soon as we clear the inflatable gates. A microphone is jammed in my face, and Dax and Beckett laugh.
“You're officially on the roster to head to Korea, Grady, how does it feel?” Nik, the boarder turned reporter since the last Winter Classics almost four years ago, smiles.
I smile in return and Dax punches my arm before him and Beckett head off. Hopefully they're standing where I am tomorrow. “It feels good,” I say. “Luck was on my side.”
It’s the same questions every time for the past six years.
“I'm not sure many would call it luck. You rode flawlessly and you seem to top your tricks every run.”
“As you know, Nik, a lot of practice in the offseason.”
He pats my back. “Well, all those long hours paid off. Go rest up.”
“I'll be sticking around for the night.”
“No doubt to see how Matt Peterson does?” he asks with a raised brow.
Over the past year, reporters have loved to put the pressure on me over this new up-and-comer who just got off his mom's tit. He doesn't have the sponsors I do. A halfpipe wasn't carved out for him to practice on exclusively for the last year. Maybe next year will be his after I'm retired and out of the scene, but as long as I'm in it, he won't see center stage. Mark my words.
“Always have to check out my competitors.” I give a laugh I hope sounds somewhat genuine. “Can't fall behind.”
Nik laughs and shakes his head. “Don't forget the women are coming up in an hour. Curious about Mia Salter, she's being referred to as the woman version of you.”
My stomach churns. “She's a hard trainer, I would expect nothing else.”
“Many say she's here to defend her family name.”
My jaw clenches and my eyes bore into Nik's. What the hell is he trying to do?
“Every boarder has their own motivations, I suppose. Nice talking to you, Nik. See you around.”
I walk away, Dax and Beckett now scowling in Nik's direction. He was one of us. He was around when it all went down.
“There you have it ladies, the famous Grady Kale is the first to grab a spot on the Winter Classics team on the first qualifying event—the halfpipe. No one would argue that they didn't believe that was going to happen tonight. Now back to you, Barb.”
The camera falls off the shoulder of the man filming and Nik's boots are crunching the snow seconds before he appears at my side. “Hey Rogue,” he says, using my nickname. “You gotta know I have to make a spot for myself,” he says.
I inhale a deep breath, and nod.
“I mean after the last Winter Classics, and Mia being Brandon's sister…”
I nod.
“Fucking sell out,” Dax adds and Nik's attention turns to him.
“Stay out of it, Soups.” Nik’s gaze returns to mine. “I didn't mean to pick at any old wounds. The station wanted me to ask. You know it’ll be a big story this year with you and Mia on the same team.”
“Don't sweat it. It's no big deal.” I clap him on the shoulder and feign a smile.
He nods and joins his cameraman to set up their next shot while I head to the sidelines with my friends, and prepare to watch Matt Peterson try to steal my spot.
The crowd screams their encouragement and kids hold carved out pictures of Matt as he makes his way down to the starting point.
“He's got nothing on you,” Beckett says from where he stands next to me.
The fact that Dax and Beckett seem to always feel the need reassure me annoys the shit out of me. It implies that I need reassuring. The kid has guts and in this business, that's the difference between earning weight around your neck or not. But he's not seasoned. He's not ready yet.
Matt drops in the halfpipe and I don’t see him as a whole—a snowboarder soaring down the wall, I see every small movement of his body. How he leans, where he tucks, his shoulder placement, how he shifts his weight, the grip on his board, his landings. The kid is choppy, and I'm not saying that because he's been in my re
arview mirror all season. He flies up the south wall and all the hands in the crowd are raised from the amount of air he grabs.
“Shit, what's the kid thinking?” Dax asks next to me. All three of us are poised to see if he'll ever stop spinning so he can actually land.
“Fuck!” Beckett says.
I wince, unable to watch as his limp body falls down to the center of the pipe. He lays down for what seems like a lifetime, but thankfully, he sits up after a few seconds. He grabs his helmet off his head and throws it. It spins like a top all the way down to the end of the pipe as trainers and medical staff run out to him. He shrugs off any assistance, unhooking himself from his board, he doesn't look to the crowd. Instead, his head is low and although I can't hear him, I guarantee the movement of his lips are him swearing at himself.
“The kid needs to try those tricks with a foam pit.” Beckett shakes his head.
“But if he lands it...” Dex raises his eyebrows in my direction.
I'll need to be using my own air pillow to master that trick and stay one ahead of him.
The scores come up and he doesn't even look. Sucks, but that's what separates him from me. Keep the crazy shit for practice and never do a trick unless you've mastered it and know for certain you can land it.
“I need a drink.” I grab my board and head through the crowd.
Fans and friends all stop to congratulate me. Dex and Beckett find their way to each of my sides.
“You’re buying.” Dex's hand lands on my shoulder.
“Aren’t I always?” I deadpan.
I don’t mind this time because with his competition tomorrow night, I know I'll be let off easy.
The announcer's voice crackles through the speakers, “Next up. Women’s snowboarding halfpipe. My money is on Mia Salter.”
“I think the whole place would agree with you on that one,” the second announcer agrees.
A picture of her flashes on the electronic board in front of me. I take a quick glance and then focus on the bar up ahead.
The queasy feeling in my stomach that sets in whenever I see or hear the Salter name makes its usual appearance. It’s familiar by now, more than four years later.
Where’s that damn drink?
Chapter Two
I crack my neck, staring up at the snow hill littered with too many damn novice snow lovers vying for space. Preparing for the Classics jumbles my mind as all the different sides of myself push to the forefront. The responsible one that knows I’m here to do a job. The technical one that’s looking at all the dips and curves of the slope and calculating the best route down. And the kid inside who’s eager for a chance to mess around in the powder.
The grueling hours of training will continue after this pit stop, but I need to recharge and remember why I love this sport. There’s nothing better than alone time on the slopes for that, except maybe veering off to backcountry to discover a new favorite spot.
“There you are!” Candice, my sports agent screams. Her blonde hair flies in front of her eyes from a burst of cold wind and one foot flies up in the air, her fall to the ground not far behind.
I reach out and grab her arm, unable to keep her from hitting the ground completely, but at least her head didn’t meet ice.
“This is all a sign that I should only have summer athletes as my clients.” She laughs at herself, standing up and brushing the snow off her ass.
Candice is bundled up like we're spending the day in Canada. Wait until she has to follow me there for events. I see a soft leather chair in the lodge in her future.
“So, where're the cameras?” I ask.
“We're heading to the back side of the mountain. They've closed off a run for two hours. Make sure you don’t fall and get it right the first time.”
She swings her arm through mine. Probably for her safety. At least that’s what I’m telling myself because when my Hollywood agent cousin, Jagger, recommended Candice be my agent, he immediately followed up with the advice on not to mix business with pleasure.
We’re making small talk when a snowmobile pulls up beside us. The guy introduces himself, grabs my board, strapping it to the machine, then holds the keys out to me.
Today must be my lucky day.
I hop on and just as I'm about to rev up the engine and hightail it where I need to go, Candice tiptoes over on her boots, careful not to slip. She slips on behind me, her thighs pressed to mine, her arms tight around my middle while her cheek is pressed against my back. “Be gentle with me,” she says above the noise of the engine.
It doesn't take long before we're on the other side of the mountain. Cameras are lined up and down the hill, sure to cover every angle of my descent and the sponsor’s logo has been freshly painted into the snow.
I cut the engine and Candice is off and walking with a little more confidence now since the ground isn’t slick from all the traffic of a busy ski day. She talks with Hal, the Creative Director of Gasoline Energy Drinks, for a moment and then the two of them make their way over to me while I wait for my instructions.
“Grady.” Hal sticks out his hand between us. “Congratulations on making the team.”
“Thanks, man.” I take his offering and shake. “Great to be here.”
He nods. We have a good working relationship. I do what he says and try to make his life easy. He, in turn, reports back that I’m easy to work with and that the company should continue to sponsor me.
“I was just telling Candice the other skier is already up there. The two of you will board down the hill at an equal pace, skid to a stop at the bottom. Take off your goggles and say, “We're going to be on fire in Korea thanks to Gasoline Energy Drinks.”
I nod, committing my line to memory. “No back trails today?”
He laughs. “Nope. After you win gold, we'll do one.” He winks, knowing I can't take the chance of injuring myself this close to the Classics, but damn if last year’s promo in backcountry where we helicoptered in isn't fresh on my mind.
“Okay,” Hal says when a guy about my age comes over, hops on the snowmobile and revs it. “Ollie will take you up to your starting point. Try to stay even with the other skier.”
I sit down on the snowmobile, position my goggles over my eyes. “Who's the other boarder?” I ask over the engine.
Candice looks at Hal and Hal to her.
Fuck me.
“Never mind.” I turn to Ollie. “Go.”
He speeds up the hill, a knot stacking on top of a knot for every inch we grow closer to the top. Because I know who’s going to be up there and I know there will be only hatred written all over her face. There always is.
We haven't said more than hi in the years since the…incident...and that's only when other people are present. She loathes me and I don't blame her, but it's been four years. Time for her to act like an adult and the professional athlete she wants to be.
Mia's strapping herself to her board when we pull up, her ass up in the air, front and center and hard not to appreciate. Damn, she's grown. There’s no trace of the lanky body that was once under the curves she boasts now.
She straightens at the sound of the snowmobile approaching, turning to look over her shoulder with eyes so cold that it wouldn’t surprise me to feel a gust of bone-chilling wind from her direction.
“Congrats on making the team,” I say stiffly, stepping off the snowmobile and then bending down to strap my feet to my board.
“You as well.”
Our words are stilted and formal, as if we’re a pair of Englishmen preparing for a game of croquet.
“Let's shred this then.” I place my goggles over my eyes, eager to get this show on the road. Nothing good can come from Mia and I having to be in each other’s presence alone for any length of time. I turn toward the hill and wait for someone to give me the signal that we’re ready to roll.
She says nothing else, but when I steal a glance her way, her posture speaks more than if she outright yelled at me. Her back is ramrod straight, her hands
clenched into fists.
“Mia,” Ollie approaches her, tapping her on the shoulder. “I need you two to face one another.”
Well, hello sweetheart. I can’t help but wonder what she looks like under all those layers.
Ollie gives us each a thumbs-up. “I'm going to count to three. Try to stay on pace, okay? They want you stopping at the same time.”
We both nod.
His fingers go up in the air. One. Two. Three.
I leave the platform first, but she catches up to me right away. Our pace is consistent, weaving back and forth down the hill. Nothing crazy, no tricks. Just a leisurely lap down the mountain as if we have all the time in the world. I'm not sure I've done this since I was five.
Mia's the first one to hop over a mound and grab some air. I follow suit because this is boring as fuck and the hell if she'll show off and I won't. I fly up another mound and turn in the air.
I catch sight of Mia studying me under her goggles and I can only imagine she's pissed. Her competitive nature has only grown stronger over the years and I may not be close to her family anymore, but she never could take it when her brother and I left her in our dust down the mountain. She winds through the trees to her right, her body ducking and rising through the obstacles the woods present. Gutsy for a girl who just claimed her spot in the Winter Classics.
I should stay on course. Do a couple lame maneuvers I mastered at the age of ten, but... fuck that. My board follows her path and soon I weave by another tree and gain traction on her. We both fly off a shelf and flip, her air probably as high as mine. Even when Mia Salter is being crazy, she keeps it somewhat safe and cautious.
