A low chuckle rumbles out of him as he looks away briefly, then back at me. His gaze catches and holds onto mine. “Relax, Hart. I wouldn’t bring a girl here. I’m not a dick.”
I arch a brow, disbelieving. “Really? Because rumor has it you’ve built quite the reputation with women these days.”
His eyes spark with mischief, and he doesn’t even bother to deny it. He just stares, silently, until the weight of what I said prickles under my skin. He tilts his head, lips curving. “Keeping tabs on me, Hart?”
Heat shoots up my neck, and I almost launch my water bottle at his infuriatingly smug, sexy face. “No, dick,” I bite out. “All the girls you screw from this town make sure to gloat about it for weeks.”
He hums, leaning his snowboard against the wall, voice dropping to almost teasing. “Hmm, it sounds like that bothers you.”
“That has to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.” My voice is flat, but my heart is racing. “I guess it wouldn’t bother you if random guys from your little surf town came back bragging—ingraphicdetail—about how good they fucked me? Multiple times in one night?”
The change in his expression is immediate. His jaw tightens, shoulders coil, and something dark flashes in his eyes. He looks dangerous and…possessive? The sight sends a confusing rush through me—half satisfaction, half alarm. Because he looks like he’d kill the first guy who dared to put his hands on me. Why the hell does he still react like this after all these years?
“Point made,” he mutters, low and clipped, breaking the tension by gazing around the chalet. “Which room is mine?”
I shrug, forcing nonchalance even though my chest still feels tight. “Whichever one you want. Just stay out of mine.”
Without another word, he hoists his bag and walks down the hall, disappearing to claim his space. Leaving me standing with a water bottle in hand, trying to steady the riot in my chest.
THREE
STERLING
The chalet might looklike a damn mini-castle from the outside, but being stuck here with Maisy makes it feel more like I’m trapped in an elevator with nowhere to run. And for some fucking reason, this palace only has one bathroom.
We’re standing across from each other, both of us gripping towels, the bathroom door between us.
“There’s a million bedrooms in this place,” I say, baffled, “but only one bathroom? Explain that math to me.”
“A design flaw,” she mutters, eyes narrowed. “But you’re more than welcome to shower at the resort if it’s a problem.” Her hand lands on her hip, that little tilt of attitude making her glare more menacing.
“You want me to take a cab up the mountain just to take a shower?” I ask, incredulous.
She shrugs, already reaching for the knob. “By all means. Stay there, too. I hear the café benches are very supportive. Might be cozy enough for you to survive a whole month.”
“So much for being an adult about this living situation,” I mutter.
She tries to swing the door shut in my face, but I slip past her shoulder and push my way inside before she can.
Her head snaps toward me, glare dialed up to lethal. “Out.” She points toward the door behind me like she’s commanding a dog.
I grin and peel my hoodie over my head, my T-shirt riding up with it before settling back down. “Nah, I think I’ll stay.”
When I look at her again, her lips are parted, her glare faltering for a split second too long, and I catch exactly where her eyes are focused.
My smirk widens. “Careful, Hart. You’re drooling.”
Her nose wrinkles as she shoots me a glare, wiping at the corners of her mouth. “Please. You wish.”
“Mhm.” I chuckle, tossing my hoodie onto the counter. “If you say so.”
Her cheeks flush as she brushes past me, deliberately bumping my shoulder on her way out, and I let out a quiet laugh once the door slams behind her.
She’s still sexy as hell when she’s mad.
I start the shower, the water hissing to life, and steam fills the room within minutes. I quickly undress and hop under the scalding water, letting it beat down on my back while I bask in the heat. After such a long time in a surf-town that rarely gets snow, my body forgot how to handle the extreme cold of a mountain.
I grab the bodywash that sits on the tiled floor, spray some out, and begin lathering it into my skin to wash away the day. It doesn’t take long for my thoughts to find their way back to Maisy.
