I lied about the morning erection. Not because I’m embarrassed—I’m not—but because admitting the truth would’ve given her something. And I don’t give people leverage.
But the truth is, I didn’t wake up calm. Not after the way she looked at me in the bar last night, after she came to find me just to ask if I was going to kiss her on the slope. Not after that almost-kiss that turned into both of us pretending we weren’t affected. Not after falling asleep with her beside me in thin pajamas, close enough that I could feel her heat through the sheets.
Of course I was thinking about her.
And that’s exactly why I have to go.
So I grab my jacket, shove my gloves into my pocket, and leave the chalet before my brain can start inventing reasons to stay. The door clicks shut behind me, and the cold hits me, reminding me of why I’m here and why I took back my shower. Getting on the ski run first.
The lifts are already running. The mountain awake in that way it gets before the tourists' crowd in.
Distance creates clarity, and proximity breeds mistakes. I stayed too long with her in my hands yesterday when I caught her from falling, let her get under my skin with that smug little smile and her refusal to back down.
Then, at the bar, her text threw me off. I wasn’t expecting that at all;I won't wait up. Goodnight.
I adjust my goggles and scan the mountain. First lift, first tracks—that's the goal. Speed and silence and the kind of exhaustion that scrubs your head clean. By the time I come back down, she'll be awake, dressed, and probably working on saving my career on her laptop like she keeps claiming. We'll slip back into our separate orbits like last night never happened.
Problem solved.
"Luka!"
The voice cuts through the quiet, bright and cheerful and entirely unwelcome.
I turn to see Annabella in full ski gear headed straight for me.
She's already at the lift line, blonde hair spilling out from under a white hat, her ski suit the kind of fitted thing designed to be noticed. She waves as if we're old friends, as if we didn't just exchange names and twenty minutes of conversation last night before I made it clear I wasn't interested.
Apparently, she missed that memo.
"I thought I’d find you here," she says, stepping in close with the kind of familiarity I haven’t earned and don’t plan to encourage. "You said you always take the first lift."
I don't remember saying that. But I probably did. An autopilot small talk to keep her around when Natalia walked into the bar.
"Early start," I say, keeping my tone flat.
"Me too. I love the mountains like this—so quiet, you know? Just us and the snow." She grins, tilting her head. "Lucky we ran into each other."
Luck… Right.
The lift attendant waves us forward. I could wait. Let her go up alone and take the next chair. But that requires explanation, and explanation requires conversation, and I'm done with both.
So I slide into position beside her and let the chair scoop us up. It creaks as it starts its slow ascent, and Annabella immediately shifts closer, her shoulder brushing mine.
"So," she says, voice light, teasing. "You left pretty quickly last night."
"Had to make sure I was well-rested for today."
"Hm." She laughs softly. "Well, I'm glad you came back out. I thought maybe I scared you off."
"You didn't." Which isn't a lie. She didn't scare me. I'm just not interested. It's as simple as that.
The lift keeps climbing.
Annabella says something else—about the snow conditions, about how she loves mornings like this—but I'm not listening anymore.
Through the trees far below, I catch movement on the bunny hill.
Two figures. One in black ski gear that looks just like the woman I’ve been sleeping next to for the last three nights. The other in a red instructor's jacket.
