Page 18 of Something So Strong

Taking the lead, Kendall jumps in the passenger seat, leaving Cleo to shimmy into the middle back. And once we’re all in, the car pulls away.

Heading down the same road Kai drove along last night, we’re soon out of the resort's front gates and into the pitch black of the Rocky Mountain night.

Within several minutes, Misty Mountains—the resort Mavis works at—illuminates the dark. It’s bigger than Vistas. Grander. Newer. But they share the same slopes, lifts, lodge, and external shops and restaurants, and—if I’d been placed there instead—I could have seen Mavis’s waitress uniform up close.

My balls tighten at the thought, and my face beams.

See hormones? I’m not bent.

Another ten minutes on and the lights of a small alpine town come into view.

One street in, the driver pulls up in front of an Irish pub. Shaking our heads, Romeo and I both chuckle. It seems even coming halfway around the world, we still can’t escape the comforts of home.

“What’s so funny?” Kendall asks, spinning around to look at us.

Cleo rolls her eyes. “They’re British, you idiot.”

“Yeah. So they’re not Irish.”

“Just get out. I’m dying for a drink,” Cleo demands with a groan that says, man, this bitch is hard work sometimes.

Peeling out onto the icy footpath, the sounds of Van Morrison coming from inside THE PRIDE OF DONEGAL fill my ears. “Looks pretty authentic,” I admit.

“That’s cause an expat owns it. Some old Irish guy who came here twenty years ago and never left,” Kendall says, heading for the door. “Come on, it’s too cold out here.”

Following her in, my nostrils are assaulted in the best possible way by a mix of Irish stew, beer-stained floorboards, and a sudden pang of longing for our local back home in Hackney. Just like our regular haunt, The Empress, this place has no air of pretentiousness. It’s equal parts dingy and welcoming, and absolutely bloody perfect.

Romeo and I follow Cleo and Kendall to a table where they hang their coats on the backs of high-legged chairs. Removing our own, we remain standing as the girls get comfortable. Like the consummate gentlemen we are, we collect their drink orders and head to the bar.

“Cleo’s hot as fuck,” I say, leaning my forearms on the rounded wood at the front of the bar.

Romeo leans beside me. “They’re both pretty fucking attractive, if you ask me. But I’m not sure if making a move on the birds I’ve gotta work with is such a great idea… This soon, anyway.”

“God, you almost gave me a heart attack. For a second I thought you were going ‘born again’, or some shit.”

“Fuck no.” Romeo hangs his head. “I’d take death over abstinence.”

“So you’re gonna look elsewhere, then?”

“Maybe.” Romeo looks back towards the girls. “Maybe not.” He turns back to me. “How ‘bout you? Ya gonna take a stab at Cleo?”

“Na.” I shake my head. “Not my type.”

“You just said—”

“Yeah, said. It’s an opinion. She’s attractive, not a must-do.”

With a scoff that says, you’re fucking crazy, I’d be balls deep in her if I didn’t think it would disrupt my day-to-day, Romeo takes another look back.

“Hey. Why is Kendall’s name so familiar?” I ask as the bartender finishes serving the customers beside us.

“Yeah.” His head whips back around. “I thought she looked familiar at first but couldn’t place her till she said it. She won bronze at the last Winter Olympics.”

“Fuck. And she works here?” That’s a fall from grace if I’ve ever heard of one.

“I remember watching her in the X Games when I was younger. She fucking slayed the Superpipe.”

“How old is she?”

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