Page 2 of See You Next Winter
Hannah stares at him like she’s trying to figure out if my friend has rocks in his head. Eventually, she snaps out of her trance and focuses her attention back on me. “Are you going to see her tonight?”
“Nah, think I’ll show Cam the hot tub and find her after I’ve caught up on sleep. You joining us?”
“Nope,” she says quickly, heading for the door and disappearing upstairs. Something is definitely up with her. I’m going to figure it out, but first, beers under the stars with my bro.
Chapter 2
Kayla
Rico’s bar is asbusy as you’d expect it to be this close to Christmas. Half the patrons are still sporting sweaty t-shirts and ski pants, and clearly came straight here after the last run of the day. A chorus of heavy boots stomps across the floor whenever they need a fresh round of drinks.
The other half at least made the effort to go home and shower, throw on something clean, and come back without helmet hair. Some nights I’m in the first camp, but tonight it’s the latter.
In the past, this would be the day I’d finish school in Edinburgh and fly out to Geneva with my parents. From there, Dad would hire a car, and we’d make the two-hour journey through mountain towns, up steep winding roads, to the little Alpine village where my family has owned a ski chalet since long before I was born.
When I was a child, all I cared about was getting out of the car and catching my first snowflake on my tongue. That and drinking as many thick, rich hot chocolates as possible before we had to fly home again.
As a teenager, I was more interested in hitting the slopes, getting up early to catch the first chairlift with my dad, cruising those wide open, freshly groomed pistes, feeling like we were the only two people in the world. I loved ice skating in the town square, the festive lights, the parade and all the local traditions.
Then I grew up, and the only thing I cared about was Ryan Richmond. Over two decades of winters, my childhood chairlift buddy became the man my body craved for weeks in the run up to Christmas. As soon as we packed away our Halloween decorations, he became all I could think about. My friends back home thought I was nuts pining over a boy I only ever saw on holiday, but being with him always felt like coming home.
Unfortunately, my Christmas holiday fling didn't fly out last year, nor the year before that, and when I bumped into his parents in the supermarket a few days ago, they smiled wanly and told me he won’t be here this year either.
Which is fine. It’s not like he owes me anything, and it’s certainly not like I’ll have trouble finding someone else to have a little fun with. Let’s hope it’s someone who showered.
The queue for the bar is three deep, but I know from experience it’s easier to get to the front if you push into the dead spot in the middle. By the time I’m pressed against the sticky bar, one of the staff will recognise me and serve me next. Rico’s is the spot I tell all my clients to head to at the end of a long day on the slopes, so getting a cold beer in my hand quickly is the least they can do.
And I need that beer so I can run my game.
The one where I tug one of my long blonde pigtails loose, weave through the crowd until someone catches my eye, then ask them to hold my beer while I fix it. It’s cute watching them panic when I maintain eye contact with my hair-tie between my teeth. They never know whether to look at my face or my hair or my tits, but by the time I’ve woven those strands back into place, I have a pretty good idea whether or not they’re coming home with me. It never fails.
There are plenty of people in Rico’s tonight and I scan the crowd for new faces, the cute and unfamiliar. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble finding a substitute for the man I really want.
It can’t be more than thirty seconds before I feel the weight of a body pressing in behind me. It’s not an uncommon occurrence when it’s this busy, but there’s always a moment where you have to make a split second assessment. Is this person also trying to fight their way to the front, or am I about to be felt up by some handsy stranger who’ll blame his behaviour on booze and the altitude.
I might be here to hook-up, but that’s on my terms, and those terms do not include unwelcome groping.
The answer comes in the shape of a large hand resting on my hip, followed by another on the other side. My hand balls into a fist and I’m about to spin around and take a swing that may or may not get me permanently barred from Rico’s, when his whisper lands against my ear.
“Hey, Bunny.”
The way my body betrays me, flooding with heat and melting back against his chest, is frankly embarrassing. My eyes flutter closed and I squeeze them tighter.
Maybe if I don’t look, this won’t be happening. If I ignore him, he’ll become a figment of my imagination. If I don’t turn around, I won’t get my heart broken again.
He lifts one of my long braids back over my shoulder, opening up space at my neck for him to lean in and whisper close to my ear.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
I gulp hard, and a cold beer becomes even more of a necessity. “When did you get here?”
“Night before last.”
Two whole days.
Two whole days when we could have been together. If I’d known he was here, I wouldn’t be out in Rico’s hoping to pick up some semi-decent guy to scratch an itch. We could have been…
My brain stops the thought before my heart takes it too far. Two days is nothing when you add them to the one-thousand plus since I last saw his face. I stopped counting a long time ago.
