I ignore her as we weave through tangles of people and snow gear alike. The place is crowded, but that’s nothing new this time of year. Everyone from serious hobbyists to firsttimers and everything in between hits the Park City slopes once winter closes in, all hoping for a rip-roaring time. Of course, most of the tourists don’t know what the hell they’re doing—one of the many reasons I, like most of the locals, normally avoid the hotels here like the plague. It’s a lot easier to get hurt on a run when half the people out there with you don’t have a clue what they’re doing.

In fact, if I had my way, I’d be boarding the backcountry every day instead of just on weekends. But once Lost Canyon started paying Luc and Ash to ride here when they’re in town, I started coming with them instead of heading into the non-resortified areas. Because while I might spend my life doing crazy shit, even I’m not screwed up enough to go backcountry on my own. At least most of the time.

Cam slides into the booth, then looks at me expectantly. “I’d like a Power O,” she tells me. It’s the snowboarder special here at Lost Canyon, a specially mixed energy drink that slams you with a shot of pure adrenaline. It’s her favorite, but it’s never really done much for me. I prefer my adrenaline delivered straight up.

“I thought it was your turn to buy.”

She snorts, tries to look tough. “Dude, stop fronting. We both know why we’re in here.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, brow raised. “And why is that?”

She zeroes in on option number four and we both pretend there’s no hurt behind the snide look she gives me. “The blonde with the big boobs and don’t-fuck-with-me attitude currently taking orders behind the counter. You’ve been looking for her ever since you saw her on the slopes last week. I’m just surprised it’s taken you this long to make a move.”

To be honest, so am I. She caught my eye the first day she stumbled out to deliver a message to the magic carpet attendant in her tight jeans and way-too-light coat. I almost introduced myself to her then, but by the time I got to the top she was walking away.

She’s been skating around the edges of my mind ever since. So yesterday, when Ash mentioned there was a hot new blonde working the coffee stand at the top of the mountain, I put it together and filed the info away for future use.

It looks like the future’s tonight. I figure I’ll head over and chat her up while Cam and I are waiting for the others. Find out her name. And see how long it takes to convince her to take a break so I can get her up against the nearest dressing room wall.

It’ll solve two problems for me—get rid of some of this itchiness that just won’t go away and make sure Cam understands just how little that near-miss out there means to me.

When I don’t immediately respond to her taunts, Cam narrows her eyes at me. “What? Are you afraid you’ve lost your touch or something?”

It’s my turn to snort. “Like that’s ever happened.”

“I don’t know. There’s a first for everything.”

“Not that,” I tell her firmly.

“Well, then, go get my drink.” Her phone beeps and she glances down, reads the text. “And get one for Luc and Ash, too. They’ll be here in about ten minutes.”

“Small or large?”

She looks at me pointedly. “You sure that’s a question you want to be batting around right now? You were the one concerned about frostbite, after all.”

I flip her off, and she returns the gesture as I walk away. I’m not paying attention anymore, though.

Instead, all my attention is focused on the girl working the register. She’s talking to a customer—an older man clutching a cup of coffee in each hand—and grinning at whatever he’s telling her. She’s got a great smile and I can’t help wondering why I didn’t notice that the other night. It’s not as great as her body, which is smoking hot, but it’s still pretty awesome.

And so are her eyes, which are an intense shade of green. They’re kind of wide and sexy, especially when she glances at something out of the corner of them, like she’s done a bunch of times in the last few minutes. She’s got a good mouth, too, and for a second I’m so wrapped up in thinking about what it’d feel like wrapped around my cock that I don’t even notice when Lila darts straight into my path.

She grabs on to me, wraps her arms around my waist, and presses her firm, sweet body up against mine. I try to move past her, but she’s got a good grip and she’s not letting go. Short of shaking her off—which is a dick move, even for me—there’s not much to do but grin and bear it.

“Hey, Z!” Her voice is breathier than normal and she’s batting her eyelashes so hard I’m afraid she’s going to pop out one of her colored contacts. “You’re looking good tonight.”

“Thanks. So are you.” I reach around, slowly untangle myself from her octopus grip. But she just grabs on to my hands with both of hers.

“You think so?”

Not really. “Yeah, of course.” I look her over, try for something nice to say. “That sweater looks good on you.”

She preens and again I start to move past her, but she won’t let go of my right hand. Instead, she runs her fingertips over my knuckles before prying my fingers out from the fist I’ve unwittingly made. Then she looks at my palm. “Ooh, you have a really deep love line,” she tells me as she strokes one long pink nail along the chained crease. “Do you know what that means?”

“Haven’t got a clue.” My tone implies that I don’t care, either, but she’s not listening. She’s too into the big seduction she’s mapped out in her head, and I rock back on my heels, resigned to the worst she has to offer. Nothing short of a five-man extraction team is getting me out of this before Lila’s ready to let go.

She moves even closer, so close that her mouth is pressed against my ear and her tits are resting against my arm when she whispers, “It means that you are very good in bed.”

Call me crazy, but— “I didn’t think you’d need to read my palm to know that.”

She giggles again, and to me it’s like nails scraping against a chalkboard. “I don’t, silly. I remember every minute of our night together.”

Interesting, since I don’t remember any of it and I wasn’t even drunk. Or at least I don’t think I was. All of the parties—and the girls—are starting to blur together.

Again, I don’t say what I’m thinking. Instead I work on prying her hand off mine. I finally manage to escape, but I only get a few steps away before she throws herself in my path once more.

“Where are you rushing off to? Why don’t you come sit with my friends and me?” She nods toward a table of four other girls, all of whom are staring at me like I’m dessert. Normally I’d be all over that invitation, but right now it couldn’t sound less appealing. Especially when the new girl throws back her head and laughs at something the old guy in line says to her.

I like the sound of it. Like little tinkling bells. I feel like a total pussy for noticing, but then again, there’s not much about her I haven’t noticed at this point.

“So, Z, what do you think? You want to hang with us tonight?”

When it becomes glaringly obvious that the only way I’m going to get away from her is to knock her down, I drag my eyes away from the new girl and focus on Lila. She giggles a little and the eyelash batting gets worse. “Sorry,” I tell her. “I’ve got plans.”

“With her?” She shoots a venomous glance over at the table where Cam is sitting, fiddling with her phone. “Please. You can do better than that loser. I mean, does she even like guys? Ditch her and I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

What little patience I’ve managed to hang on to abandons me right there. No one talks shit about my friends. No one.

I shrug Lila off, and this time I don’t bother to be nice about it. “I wouldn’t ditch a one-night stand for you, let alone my best friend.” I look her over, and this time I make sure nothing but disdain shows. “Oh, right. You were a one-night stand.”

She has nothing to say to that. I move past her, trying to ignore how pale she is and the way her eyes are suddenly shimmering with tears. She grabs at my arm, but I shake her off. It’s her own fault. I tried to be nice—I hate guys that are dicks to girls just because they can be—but no one gets away with dissing Cam around me. That girl’s been through too much already. She doesn’t need—or deserve—to get shit from anyone else, especially after what I pulled tonight.

Still, I don’t like making girls cry. It reminds me too much of April, and I can’t go there.

I won’t go there.

By the time I get to the counter, the tension inside me has reached critical mass. Part of me expects my skin to split open under the pressure of it any second now.

The old guy has moved on, thank God, but now there’s a small line of people between me and the new girl. I focus on her to the exclusion of everything else, take this shot at checking her over to block out the rest of my fucked-up life.

She looks good up close, and even though she’s wearing jeans and a turtleneck, both items are tight enough that I can see just how hot her body really is. Too bad we live in the snow, ’cuz this girl should never wear a coat.

I pass the time imagining what I’m going to do to her when I get her alone.

Where I want to touch.

Which spots I want to kiss. To lick. To bite.

With her there are so many that I’m not sure where to start. At the nape of her neck, right below where she’s bundled her hair into that messy bun? At the birthmark right below her jaw on the right side of her neck? Or at the tiny little dimple that flashes in her left cheek whenever she smiles at a customer?