Punk's thigh presses against mine, and Atlas clears his throat. Maybe we were obvious.Maybe I don’t fucking care.
“This is so pretty! It reminds me of,” Camille turns into Asher, grabbing his hand and tilting her face toward him. “What was that place you took us to?”
I battle my instinct to react, returning my attention to the scenery beyond the glass, but Punk's tap against my thigh suggests I failed spectacularly at keeping my disdain hidden.
“What?” Asher couldn’t seem more interested if he tried. “I don't know.”
“Yes, you do!” She purrs, her voice dripping in a tone that would make even a toddler hurl. “Remember! It had the lights, and the town was, like, all Christmassy!”
“Lights?” Punk asks, confused.
“Yeah! The, oh my God, what are they called?”
My attention snaps to her, irritation sparking hot beneath my skin. Is she for real?
Only she is.
Asher lost two points because he's with a girl who talks like this and thinks that shit is attractive.
“Are you talking about the Northern Lights?” I ask just to shut her up.
She turns frigid for a beat before brushing me off and going back to Punk. “Anyway, so it kind of reminds me of that town.”
My face betrays every thought, and in this cramped pod, my obvious annoyance radiates.
Fifteen minutes later, we stop, and the doors could not open fast enough as I jump out.
I need to get out of here before I do something stupid, like shove her down the mountain and claim it was an accident.
The half-pipe stretches below us, its walls carved into perfect curves of ice and packed snow. Normal riders never venture to the peak. It takes out boarders every year who think they're invincible.
Not me, no way, fuck that. I'm far from invincible. In fact, I wouldn't let my fate rest in God's hands that easily, since I'm sure he'd love nothing more than to take my ass out.
I like breathing too much to test fate.
This spot, though, halfway up, where the powder's still fresh but the risk is manageable. This is perfect. This is where Asher spent hours last year teaching me how to carve properly, his hands on my hips, adjusting my stance until muscle memory took over.
Before her. Before whatever this is.
I don't give a shit if I seem rude. Don't care that Punk's probably laughing quietly or that Atlas is likely watching my every micro-expression. I need space between me and that sugar-coated voice before I snap.
My boots crunch through fresh powder as I trudge toward the starting line. The familiar weight of my board under my arm grounds me, reminds me why I'm here. Not for him. Not for whatever twisted game we're playing. For this, the rush, the freedom, the only place where my head goes quiet.
I drop my board onto the snow with more force than necessary, the slap echoing off the mountain face, and pray that my brain can't keep up.
Chapter 10
Ivy
Irack my gear on the stands and brush snow from my pants. The small gate to the backyard creaks as I push through, yanking off my gloves.
I need a drink. And a night out. Luce would lose her fucking mind.
“I like you,” Atlas says, jogging up behind me and slumping an arm over my shoulder.
I chuckle. “You don't know me.”
He ignores my answer as we come up to the cabana beside the heated pool, and I place my things on top of the table, hoping he removes his fucking arm.
