“I'm starting to think you just like me chasing you.” His voice hits me before I register his presence, but my body already knows.
“Nope. If that was the case, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have disappeared on me.” The words taste bitter as the wine coatingmy tongue. I press the glass to my mouth, letting him see exactly what long periods of silence carved out of me.
So I let him finger-fuck me on a chair lift…
“Oh, we still on that?” He asks, arms crossing over his chest. “You seemed to forget all about our beef just a few hours ago?”
I stare past him, at the treeline, like I can file the whole thing away so simply.
“That was altitude,” I say. “Low oxygen. Temporary insanity. You happened to be in the splash zone.”
His laugh is low, rough around the edges. “Right. Sure. Altitude made you ride my hand like that.”
My fingers tense around the stem of the glass. I keep my gaze fixed on the snow, but it’s too late. I’m back there. Cold air on my thighs. His tongue in my mouth. His breath in my ear when I came so hard I see spots.
“Don’t get cocky,” I mutter. “I was bored. You were there. Congratulations, you’re convenient.”
“Look at me, Ivy.”
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.
I do.
His pupils widen, dragging my lungs tight. The room folds away, and all I see is his hand between my legs, his knuckles slick, his mouth against my neck telling me to be quiet.
Heat licks low in my belly.
I tear my eyes back to my wine. “See? I’m over it.”
“You’re shaking,” he says.
“From the cold.”
We both know I’m lying.
Somewhere between friendship and whatever this became, I grew dependent. I hate that. I hate that while I thought we were just having fun, something permanent took root. Something that won't dig itself out.
Liquid hits my tongue. Bitter. Unforgiving. Blackberries mixed with something sharper. Betrayal.
Another gulp.
He drops onto the spot beside me, the cushions sinking beneath his weight. I yank the blanket higher, fingers digging into worn fabric. I need to pull myself together if I have any chance at surviving this.
Focus on the snow. Every fall of flake that flies through the sky.
Fuck. That’s not going to work.
“I know why I’m awake this late,” I say, turning to him. I wish I didn’t. I should have stuck to the damn snowflakes. “But why are you?”
Jealousy isn't an emotion I'm familiar with. Never liked anyone enough to feel it. Not Parker. Not any man before him. Yet over the years, my stomach has twisted into knots whenever Asher was concerned. Always blamed it on bad digestion. Now I'm thinking I've been lying to myself for longer than I realize.
His eyes stay fixed on the fire in front of us, shadows carving deeper hollows beneath his jawline. My fingers itch to reach out and trace them.
“There's an image circulating online,” he finally says, his voice low. “Someone snapped us together.”
He flashes his phone at my face.
My eyes narrow for a fraction. Pathetic. I could give them better and they wouldn’t have to hang from whatever tree they took it from.
