I snap another photo as he stands at the edge of our landing zone, arms spread wide.
"Got enough pictures there, paparazzi?" he calls over his shoulder.
"Just documenting you in your natural habitat," I reply. "For scientific purposes."
He turns, eyebrows raised. "And what science would that be?"
"The study of what happens when you take an overgrown man-child to a mountain of fresh powder."
His laugh bounces off the snow-covered slopes, crystalline and full. "I prefer the term 'enthusiast.'"
Our guide, Mack, clears his throat behind me. "Let's go through the safety briefing before you two start shredding."
Mack's words command our attention as he walks us through avalanche protocols, demonstrating how to activate our beacons, and tracing potential hazards on a map of the terrain. My fingers tighten around my poles. I've carved my fair share of mountainsides over the years, but nothing this isolated or extreme. The looming threat of danger sends a thrill racing up my spine, mingling with the electricity already crackling in the air.
While buckling into my gear, my eyes keep drifting to Bash. His fingers dance over his bindings with practiced precision, tugging straps and testing clasps without even looking down. The muscles in his forearms flex with each adjustment, his movements fluid and assured.
Wait. What am I doing? I shake my head, blinking hard. This is fake. This is pretend. This is... my heart hammering against my ribs every time he moves.
He catches me watching and winks, sending a warm flutter rippling through my chest.
"Ready to eat my snow, Shortcake?" His eyes sparkle with the challenge.
I snort, grateful to slide back into our comfortable rhythm. "Please. I've been skiing since I was five. You're the one who'll be eating snow."
"Skiing," he scoffs, hoisting his snowboard up with one easy motion. "That's cute. Didn't realize you needed training wheels to get down a mountain."
I narrow my eyes, trying my hardest to contain a smile. "Them's fightin' words."
"Just stating facts." His lips curl into that infuriating smirk.
"We'll see about that."
He steps closer, bringing with him the scent of pine and cold air. Suddenly the playful atmosphere crackles with something deeper, more dangerous.
"Want to make it interesting?"
I raise an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"
"A race. First one down gets a prize."
"What kind of prize?"
His eyes darken, blue ice melting at the edges. "If I win, I get a kiss."
My heart stumbles over itself. "And if I win?"
"Name it."
My mind races through possibilities, each more impossible than the last. What do I want from him? The list grows longer by the second.
"I'll let you know when I win," I say finally.
His grin spreads slowly. He extends his hand. "Deal."
We shake on it, his gloved fingers swallowing mine completely. For a heartbeat, I think he might pull me closer and claim that kiss anyway, but Mack's voice cuts through the moment.
"Time to move out! The weather window's perfect right now."
