NINETEEN
WES
“Up for another ride?”
Her words slid straight past my brain and landed in my dick. There was a whole different kind of ride I wanted her to take, and none of it involved a plastic sled.
“I just smoked you down this hill,” I said, aiming for gruff but missing. “You really want a rematch already?”
Clara’s laugh broke through the crisp air as she stood. We climbed back up the hill in a slow, clumsy truce with the snow—her boots punching neat prints, mine dragging a little wider, the sled rope gripped tight in my hand. My thigh burned halfway up. The socket pinched. None of it mattered as much as it would have yesterday.
I was alive in a way I hadn’t been in a long time. Breathless, yes. Off-balance, sure. But alive.
At the top, Clara turned to face me, her breath puffing white between us. Snow clung to the ends of her hair where it stuck out from beneath her hat, melting into dark, damp strands against her cheeks. Her eyes were clear and wicked.
Her eyebrows wiggled as she lifted her chin. “Wanna race?”
“You really want to lose twice in one day?” I asked.
She snorted. “Please. You screamed the whole way down.”
“I made a tactical noise,” I said evenly. “Also, you pushed me.”
“That sounds like an excuse, Vaughn.” Her mouth curved, pure trouble. “On three?”
I rolled my eyes and dragged my sled into position beside hers, both noses aimed at the same cut in the snow where we’d carved a path.
My heart kicked harder.
Clara held my sled steady as I lowered myself down, careful with my leg, feeling for the right angle and the right weight distribution. The plastic flexed and groaned under me. I planted my boots in the snow ahead, ready to push off.
Clara dropped onto her own sled with a graceless plop that made me huff out a laugh. She wriggled to get comfortable, cheeks pink, hat slightly crooked, scarf askew. She looked like every winter afternoon I’d ever wanted and never thought I’d get again—messy and laughing and not careful with me in a way that felt like oxygen.
She glanced over, eyes skating down the line of my body like she was checking my posture ... and maybe a little more. Heat slid under my skin.
“Ready?” she asked, voice breathless.
Not even close.
“Yep,” I lied.
She wiggled her ass again as she stared down the hill. “Three ... two ... one?—”
We pushed off at the same time.
Snow rushed beneath us in a hiss. The sleds lunged forward. The cold wind knifed at my ears, my eyes watering as the world narrowed to white and motion. My stomach dropped again, but the edge of panic that had nearly choked me the first time was dulled now—still there, still sharp, but layered with something else.
Clara’s laughter cut through the air, bright and wild, riding just ahead of me. “Woo!”
Her sled shot slightly faster than mine, angled a little crooked as we barreled down. She twisted to look back over her shoulder at me, eyes dancing, mouth open in a grin that punched straight through my gut. The shift in her weight made the front of her sled wobble.
“Eyes forward,” I yelled, even as a laugh tore out of me. “Drive, Duchess.”
“Relax, old man,” she called back. “I’ve got this?—”
The sled hit a shallow drift and skipped sideways. She went weightless, momentum jerking her off the smooth track, her body pitching toward the softer snow at the edge of our carved path.
Instinct hit before thought.