He sits beside me, pressed so close I feel his heat even through our combined layers. I try to ignore him, taking in the scenery, but just like last night, he's impossible to ignore. Not even the miles of snow stretching out around us compete with him beside me.
I should hate that a lot more than I do.
"Have you always been this stubborn?" he asks.
"I'm a ballerina, so yes," I snap. It's the truth. You don't get this far if you're the type who gives up easily or shrinks under pressure. Making it takes the tenacity of a terrier and the skin of a dragon.
His fingers wrap around a wayward strand of my hair, tugging gently. "You're beautiful when you're angry."
I swat him away. "And you're annoying when you're touching me."
"You didn't unblock me," he murmurs.
"Nope. I've been told my whole life that I'm good for a fat girl, that I'm not a real athlete, that I'm just a silly ballerina, that dance isn't a sport, that I was a pity hire or an experiment," I say, swatting his hand away again. Geez. He doesn't give up, does he? "I learned a long time ago not to give my energy to the people who say those things. I block them to protect my peace."
That gets his attention. He freezes with his hand in midair, his denim eyes narrowing on my face. "I'm not them, Sophie."
"Could have fooled me," I say, and then laugh, even though this whole situation is deeply unfunny. "You know what? You actually did fool me. I thought you were different. I was actually fa…" My voice cracks on the truth, and I quickly trail off, refusing to finish that sentence. "But it doesn't even matter anymore. I'm winning this race, and then I never have to see you again after the wedding."
"You were what?" he says, his voice intense. So is his gaze as it bores into me, like he can pluck the truth from my mind if only he stares hard enough.
"Nothing," I mumble as the lift shudders to a stop. I throw myself off it, just to avoid any possibility of telling him that I was falling for him before I read that stupid article. It's true, though. I was falling for him, so fucking hard.
That's why finding out what he really thinks hurt so much. It's been a long time since anyone said anything that got to me. What he said got to me because he's the one who said it. Yet again, I wasn't good enough. I'm used to that. But it's a different kind of ache when the person who caused it is the one you've let into your heart.
"See you at the bottom!" I shout.
He startles, panic in his gaze. "Sophie! Goddammit!"
I hurl myself forward, the cold wind instantly freezing my face. My skis chatter as I lean into the slope, ignoring the fact that I have absolutely no idea how to control my speed beyond a vague memory of Austin and Sidney trying to teach me a few years ago.
Behind me, I hear the thunk of Harlan launching off the lift, and then he's coming after me, his enormous body eating up ground so fast I want to scream.
I risk a glance back. Bad idea.
He's gaining. Also, my skis immediately cross, and I'm airborne for one dizzying, slow-motion heartbeat.
I land. Not gracefully.
I manage to recover, but I can hear him breathing now.
Jesus Christ. It's like racing a freight train, only the freight train is a hot hockey player and he's actually good at this. Why is he so damn fast?
I scream and dig in, committing to the next curve until my knees ache. But Harlan is still right behind me. Worse, he's laughing like this is the most fun he's ever had.
Clearly, he needs his head examined because delusions like that arenotnormal. Flying down a mountain on death sticks to win a bet is the height of insanity. Why did I agree to this?
I slash snow at him, praying he'll skid out. But he just shrugs it off, then grabs the back of my coat, sending us both careening off the main run into a bank of powder.
"Harlan!" I shriek as we tumble, our skis dislodging, limbs everywhere. Somehow, I end up on top of him, straddling his chest.
For a second, he looks up at me with this blissful expression, like I just handed him the Cup, and I want to kiss him and just never stop. Our bet be damned, I want to stay right here, with him looking at me like he is right now.
I bite his shoulder instead, hard enough to leave teeth marks in his coat.
He just laughs and drags me down. Our helmets bash together before his mouth collides with mine. And then he's kissing me like there's nothing else he'd rather do right now. He tastes like winter and mint, his hard body setting mine on fire right there in the snow as his tongue tangles with mine.
I give myself three seconds to enjoy the way he annihilates me with his mouth before I bite his lip and then knee him in the balls. Hard.