Brighton’s jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached. She liked Wes. She really did. He was nice and smart and funny, but she swore to god, if Charlotte so much as slipped a pinkie finger into his palm, she’d lose her shit.
“What are you doing here?” Sloane asked, frowning. “Hey, Dorian,” she said to the other man.
“Ray invited us for this shindig,” he said. “Dorian, this is Charlotte, the woman I told you about. And that’s Brighton.”
“What’s up?” Dorian said, smiling. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Charlotte.”
“You have?” Sloane asked.
Adele coughed.
“I have,” Dorian said, subtly nudging Wes in the side.
Brighton felt like she might scream, right there on the side of that mountain.
“All good things, I hope,” Charlotte said, her tone suddenly light and flirty.
Brighton was definitely going to scream. She was going to yell at the top of her lungs like that little spoiled brat inWilly Wonka & the Chocolate Factoryany second now.
“Great things,” Dorian said.
“Like what?” Sloane asked, her voice casual, but Brighton heard an edge there, the same edge she felt sharpening her own mood.
Dorian glanced at Wes. “Like…the quartet. You, uh, live in New York.”
“Quite the biography,” Sloane said flatly. “Adele, can I have our key?”
Adele handed it over wordlessly, watching as Sloane tromped through the snow to the next cabin. Wes watched her go too. So did Charlotte, for that matter, and then they locked eyes with each other, a wordless conversation passing between them.
“You’re all a bunch of idiots,” Adele said lightly before following after Sloane.
“Is it just me, or was that weird?” Dorian asked.
Wes just cleared his throat. “See you out there?” he said to Charlotte.
“Oh, I don’t ski,” she said, “but I’ll come watch as you wipe out at the bottom.”
Wes laughed. “Sounds cheery.”
“Cheery and queery,” Charlotte said brightly.
Brighton shoved the key in the lock and flung the door open, then hooked her arm around Charlotte’s and pulled her gently. “See you later,” she said to the guys. “Nice to meet you, Dorian.”
“You too,” he said. Brighton saw him say something to Wes she couldn’t hear before she tugged Charlotte inside and closed the door. She pressed her back to the thick wood, watching as Charlotte took in the tiny living room–slash–kitchen, the warm log walls, the leather couch, the fire already crackling in the stone fireplace.
“This is nice,” Charlotte said, setting her duffel down on the hardwoods.
“What the actual fuck?” Brighton said.
Charlotte whirled around. “Excuse me?”
“Who the hell even are you?”
Charlotte pressed her mouth flat. “What are you talking about?”
“The flirting? The breathlessOh, Wes.”
“I did notOh, Weshim.”
