Crazy Over You (Love with Altitude #2)

by Daisy Prescott

  With a shake of his head, he tucks me under his arm. I fit perfectly beneath his armpit and I’m grateful he’s a believer in deodorant. His warm, pheromone-laden scent envelops me. I may rub my nose along his bicep, inhaling him like a bouquet of roses. Which I hate. Roses. Not a delicious smelling man. I don’t want a man to be typical. Geoffrey brings me a single rose wrapped in cellophane I know he buys at the gas station or CVS.

  Poor, sweet Geoffrey. He’s asked me out three times and I keep saying no.

  Shouldn’t there be a strikes rule for propositioning someone?

  I’d like Jesse to proposition me.

  “You feeling okay enough to go back inside?”

  I twist around to face the door and the crowd currently screaming for another girl dancing on the bar. “Not really.”

  “Want me to go find your friend for you?”

  “She’s a big girl.” I laugh at my own pun. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

  Your place.

  My condo.

  “Only things open now are clubs and bars.”

  “What about your place?”

  “I live down valley. It’s kind of a trek for a drink.”

  “Okay.”

  “What are you agreeing to?”

  I’m not really sure. “How does this normally work?”

  “Huh?”

  “You pick up a woman and then what?”

  He stares at me blankly.

  “Are you asking for a timeline?”

  “I’m not naïve.”

  “First, you’re the one who jumped into my arms and started kissing me.”

  “True.”

  “Second, why do you think I do this on a regular basis?”

  My snort is neither ladylike nor quiet.

  “You don’t even know me.” A thin slice of defensiveness coats his words. Either the dude doth protest too much or I’ve hit a sore spot with my snort.

  “I’m sorry. I made assumptions based on your tongue in my mouth and your hands on my ass within minutes of meeting.”

  “Again, most of that was you. I could be an innocent man who found himself in the wrong place.”

  A dimple in his left cheek pops out when he tries not to smile.

  “Or a lucky guy who was in the right place at the right time,” he says as his grin breaks free.

  I want to sleep with him.

  I’m beyond horny and all this talk, no action, is ruining my buzz … and my courage.

  Picking up a guy for sex is new for me, but when in Aspen …

  “We could go back to my condo.” I point at the crowd inside the bar. “We’ll have it to ourselves. At least until the bars close.”

  He gives me a lazy smile and lets his eyes sweep over me from hair to heels.

  “Okay. Someone should make sure you get home safely.”

  “Or we could go dancing.” If he’s only going to escort me to condo, I need more time to convince him I’m irresistible.

  “I don’t really dance.”

  “That’s nonsense. Everyone can dance.”

  “I didn’t say can’t. I said don’t. There’s a big difference.”

  I scrunch up my face and boink him on the nose. “Quit with your double-speak and let’s go.”

  Softly, so I barely hear him, he mumbles, “Looks like someone got her second wind.”

  “One hundred percent. I have amazing rebound skills.”

  I leave the double-meaning hanging between us.

  “Is that what this is all about? Are you on the rebound? Some guy back home break your heart?”

  “Last year’s news.”

  “So you’re single?”

  “As the old Beyoncé song.” I hold up my left hand and wiggle my bare fingers. “Come on, let’s have some fun.”

  He opens his mouth and I assume he’s going to kiss me again so I go for it.

  Only he was about to say something. Awkwardly, I end up swallowing his words.

  By his grip on my hips, I’m going to assume he agrees with my suggestion.

  Kissing turns to laughter. At least on his part. I lean away to look at him.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He’s smiling and bops me on the nose.

  Yes!

  Operation Mara Fun Zone continues.

  I reach for my phone to text Sofie I’m leaving when I realize I have neither my phone nor my coat. Hell, this dress doesn’t even have pockets.

  “Hold that thought. Don’t leave.” I press a quick kiss to his cheek and dash back inside the fray.

  Revived by the cold air, I no longer feel like hurling and am able to ninja move my way to the bar to find Sofie.

  Spotting me, she shouts above the music, “Why are you back? Did you already have sex with him in the alley?”

  She’s passed tipsy and has reached delusional drunk.

  “Shh. I can’t leave without my purse and coat.”

  I’m guessing she approves of this idea because she jumps up and down. Since she’s holding my hands, I’m forced to jump … or at least bounce along with her.

  “I’m so happy for you!” She hugs me. Now we’re hugging and jumping in the middle of the bar.

  “Me too!”

  Abruptly, she stops and holds my face in her hands. “Be safe. Text me or Nina if you’re not coming home tonight. Leave a scarf on your door if you’re not alone. Use condoms.”

  I untangle myself from her hold. “Thanks, Mom.”

  She pinches and then pats my cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Take care of yourself.” I hold out my fist for the cheesy bro bump we’ve been giving each other for longer than I can remember.

  Sofie rolls her eyes and bumps my fist. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Don’t chicken out!”

  On my way back to tall, dark, and orally gifted, I worry he won’t be waiting for me. Someone offers me a shot and I take it, not questioning the who or what.

  I exhale a relieved breath when I spot his dark hair over the crowd waiting in line.

  His face lights up in a grin when our eyes lock. For a second I think about repeating the epic jump from earlier, but don’t want to jinx ourselves.

  Some things you can’t repeat no matter how hard you try.

  Chapter 3

  Mara

  I BLINK AND realize we’ve survived the mogul strewn cliff. The snow beneath our skis flattens out into a gentle incline.

  “Think you can handle this part on your own?” Jesse still skis in front of me.

  “French fries and pizza slices. Got it.” My lips attempt a smile while my mind shouts memories of our night together. Bending my knees, I enjoy the wind cooling the embarrassed blush on my face. Soon enough he catches up and skis parallel with me.

  “Want to race, Doc?” He crouches down and speeds past me. When I don’t bite¸ he slows and waits for me. “Too soon?”

  I don’t know if he means the nickname or skiing, so I remain silent.

  “You okay? Are you having another panic attack? We can slow down.” He executes a wide snow plow and falls behind.

  I keep up my steady pace. Eyes focused ahead.

  He’s being charming while I’m hoping for a yeti to pop out from behind a tree and carry me away from this nightmare.

  I exhale with relief when we round a corner and the ski lift comes into view.

  Until I realize the two of us will be sharing a seat.

  “I’m fine now. You’re relieved of your duties. Thanks for saving me from death.” I give him a gloved thumbs-up.

  He chuckles as he gives me a little push forward to catch the next seat. “I’m nothing if not thorough. I’ll make sure you get back to the village in one piece.”

  I twist to catch the seat as it swings behind us. I land in the middle, right up against Jesse’s side. Before I can scoot over, we’re airborne and he’s pulling the safety bar across us. Groaning, I close my eyes.

  “You don’t have a fear of heights do you?” He touches my hand that’s gripping the
seat between us.

  “A little bit, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Fern didn’t like the lifts at first either. Now she’s a pro, hopping on and off on her own.”

  He basically schooled me with his dog. Some women might find it to be insulting, but I typically prefer dogs to people.

  “She sounds amazing. You’d never get Tapper on a ski lift.”

  “He’s your dog?”

  “He is. Along with Tapper the brown dog, I have two ginger cats. Fred got out in the snow once and you should’ve seen the look of horror on his face. He didn’t speak to me for days and left a hairball on my bed. At least I think it was Fred. George often frames him for bad stuff.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I’ve caught George in the act. He pretends he doesn’t see me and goes about his criminal affairs like a Boston mobster flaunting the FBI.”

  “Clearly he’s above the law.”

  “Most definitely.” I feel my shoulders relax thinking about my cats. It’s true pets are good for relaxation and blood pressure.

  “How are you on the dismount?” Jesse points ahead to the end of the ski lift.

  Inhaling a steady breath, I fake a smile. “I’ll be thrilled with the bronze.”

  He presses his lips together, making his dimple appear. For some reason, I’m tempted to poke it. Maybe I did that night and can’t remember. The whole evening is fuzzy between the time he carried me outside and when I woke up alone the next morning.

  He must be terrible in bed if he didn’t leave an impression.

  Sad, because he’s cute and seems nice.

  He likes dogs. He’s adventurous. Or at least I assume he is by his job. No desk job or ties for him. Tall. Athletic. Enough of a manwhore he doesn’t remember sleeping with me.

  “Okay, when I jump, you jump. Got it?” He lifts the bar above our heads.

  “We’re lemmings. Got it.”

  He barks out a short chuckle. “Ready?”

  The chair swings to the top and he bounces off the seat, smoothly gliding out of the way of the chair.

  I follow a second later, far less graceful. Recovering by flailing my poles, I ski past him and slow to a stop.

  “Thanks for the help. I’ll be fine now. I promise.” I give him another thumbs-up with my bulky gloves and ski off to the right.

  I hear his laugh but I don’t turn around. “You’re going the wrong way.”

  It’s then I notice I’m going uphill instead of down. I stop the fight and slide backward.

  “Right.”

  He comes up beside me and grins. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

  Of course not. I’m not that lucky.

  I peer into the trees, searching for my yeti lover to save me.

  Turning around, we head downhill—a very steep, not so friendly hill.

  He glides past me. “I might’ve lied about it all being easy runs. Come on, Doc, you can do it.”

  I glare at his swishing skis and long legs.

  Stupid, baggy ski pants hiding the good stuff.

  I follow him through the trees and keep my skis in his tracks. I’m the duckling to his duck. Every once in a while he turns his head to check on me, giving me a grin of encouragement.

  As soon as he faces forward, I stick my tongue out at him. Being mad he doesn’t remember me feels better than being embarrassed I’m not memorable.

  Maybe he was drunker than me that night and blacked out. He probably has memory issues from a lack of oxygen spending all his time on the mountain. He’s probably not that smart.

  He’s so terrible in bed I’ve blocked it out.

  I don’t even remember the good parts, so they must’ve sucked.

  I wish I could remember to know for sure.

  We reach an intersection of runs and the quad up to Sam’s Knob, which sounds dirtier than it is.

  “Should I bother saying I can handle it from here?” I ski parallel to him.

  He flips up his goggles. “My shift ends in twenty minutes. Unless someone breaks a leg or tears their ACL, you’re stuck with me. I’ll drop you off, take the lift back up to the patrol shack, and ski down. Sounds to me like the perfect way to end the day.”

  “Fine.”

  He cuts to the left and I follow, thinking he’s going to take me down another black run to boost my confidence.

  How wrong I was.

  He’s brought me to the kids’ ski area. We’re surrounded by toddlers and small humans on skis. Several little girls recognize him and pizza slice their way over in our direction.

  Baby ski bunnies. They start them young here.

  “Hey, Donna,” he greets the instructor by name. She’s a frigging ChapStick ad come to life with her blond braids, boobs, and the super white teeth she flashes at him.

  “See you on the deck in an hour?” she asks, managing to look and sound innocent and sexy simultaneously.

  “Of course. One more run and I’m through. Early shift, no afternoon sweeps for me today.”

  “I’ll save you a seat!”

  I catch him shaking his head. “You should join us. Meet some more locals.”

  “I don’t want to be a third wheel.”

  “Hardly. Après is more like a school bus.”

  True to his word, he drops me off at the village mall and points out the deck where everyone meets for post-ski drinks and partying.

  “Save us a table.” He speeds up and disappears down the mountain before I can tell him no.

  I debate taking the shuttle home as I click off my skis. The sun is strong and the cloudless sky means sitting on the deck will be warm. I could use some extra vitamin D, I tell myself as I spot a family leaving a four top. The nice thing to do would be to save the table for Jesse and his friends. As a thank you. Once he shows up, I can leave and be on my way home.

  To my wicked cats.

  And Tapper, the three-footed wonder dog.

  Not three-legged. He has all four legs, but lost his back left paw as a puppy. Best idea of what happened is he got it stuck in a door. Or some evil human slammed it in a door. A simple amputation and he’s been as good as gold ever since. Now he’s about four years old. With his flat brown coat and soulful dark eyes, he could be anything from a lab to a boxer mix.

  I pull out my phone to check the time. I’ve only been gone two hours.

  Tapper will be fine for another couple of hours without being let out. He’s the man in charge of the house and will keep the cats from executing their plans of mass destruction. One time I came home to my apartment and he’d locked them both in the bathroom. I’m still not sure how he managed to get the dynamic duo of evil in there and shut the door behind them, but he stood guard, smugly thumping his tail.

  He’s a true wonder dog.

  I pull up the video app and switch it on. Whoever created nanny and security cameras probably didn’t imagine us crazy pet people would use them to spy on our fur babies while we’re away.

  The living room camera shows Tapper snoozing on the back of the sofa in a pool of sunshine. My sweet boy.

  Fred is sitting in the kitchen sink.

  Please don’t let him be using it as a litter box.

  I make a note to buy bleach on my way home.

  No sign of George.

  I flip to the bedroom camera.

  Nothing.

  Switching back to the living room, I shriek. A close up of George’s anus greets me, up close and personal.

  My cat is mooning me.

  “That little fu—” I fumble my phone while trying to close the app.

  “This seat free?”

  I blink up at the voice. A Norse god stands before me, gesturing to one of my coveted empty chairs.

  “—cker,” I finish swearing about George. The word comes out sounding like sure.

  “Thanks.” I expect him to hoist the chair above his head and take it with him back to wherever he came from, but he surprises me by sitting down. “Are you waiting for friends?”


  “Um,” I pause, not sure if I would call Jesse a friend or not, “yes?”

  Why am I asking him?

  “Not sure if you’re meeting people? Or not sure if they’re friends?” He smiles at a few people walking into the beer garden.

  “The latter. We just met.”

  “Traveling alone?” His voice sounds like maple syrup poured on snow—smooth and sweet.

  “No. I live here.”

  Tall, blond, and smooth studies me. “You do? I haven’t seen you around before. I know most of the locals. I’m Landon.”

  “Mara. Nice to meet you.” I reach across the table to shake his hand. “Unless you have pets or are in the market to adopt, you’ve probably missed me. I work at Hawks Creek Ranch.”

  “Sage’s thing?” His cheerful smile falters slightly.

  “Elizabeth Hawks runs it, but Sage Blum is on the board, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s the place. What do you do there?” He leans closer and I get a whiff of his cologne. Cologne for a day of skiing strikes me as a little odd, but maybe he freshened up for après ski?

  “I’m the staff veterinarian.” I can’t keep the pride out of my voice. Nearly a decade after announcing I was going to college to become a vet, I’ve finally achieved my goal.

  Norseman gives me an appreciative nod. “We should toast to that.”

  He waves over the waitress and orders beer along with a mix of appetizers. I guess he plans to hang out for a while.

  “And for you?” The waitress gives me the once over.

  I’m suddenly self-conscious about the size of my pom-pom. I hum as I think of what to order. “I’m not much of a beer drinker.”

  “What do you like? Lager? Porter? Stout? Ale?”

  Honestly, the only time I’ve drank beer was out of kegs at college parties. And back then, the beer tasted like socks and stale corn nuts. “I don’t know.”

  “Bring her the Blue Moon,” my new Viking friend suggests. “It comes with an orange slice as a garnish, so it’s kind of like a cocktail.”

  “Okay.” I’m relieved he ordered for me, saving me from asking for a Coors Light, the only beer I remember is from Colorado. And only because my dad’s favorite joke about me moving out here is getting fresh Coors.

  I’m not even sure if fresh beer is a thing.

  Our drinks arrive, and he holds up his glass. “To new friends.”