Ride Page 3

  Once we reach the road before the terminal Chase lets his rolling bag rest and readjusts the strap over his shoulder. The bare muscles of his bicep roll smoothly under his skin. He must be absolutely freezing in only a T-shirt.

  He doesn’t look at me at all, his eyes scanning the rows of waiting cars.

  Am I meant to say something? Do I need to say something? He’s the one who crashed my exit, after all.

  “Right. Um. See you.”

  “I’ve got a car coming,” Chase says as if he hasn’t heard.

  “I’m getting the shuttle bus.” I’m not sure what else he wants to hear. “I’d better go find the spot.”

  Chase shrugs. “Yeah.” After a beat he tilts his head toward me, his expression placid. “You wanna ride with me?”

  Ride. Maybe it only seems dirty because of what Alex said. But I could swear there’s something in Chase’s voice, a dark hint of promise.

  Not that he pushes it. When I don’t reply Chase shrugs. “JJ’s cool. He won’t care.”

  JJ. JJ Schneider, his longtime friend and co-star in the world’s best snowboarding videos.

  When Alex said there were pros at Laax, I didn’t imagine they’d be offering me a ride.

  I should say something, but instead I stand there with my hand on my bag’s strap, just looking at Chase. He seems utterly relaxed, as if he has all the time in the world.

  “Car full of strange men …” I finally manage, trying to make it sound like a joke. “My mom would never forgive me.”

  Something changes in Chase’s eyes. His mouth widens to an emotionless smile. “Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. See you at Laax, maybe.”

  The shuttle bus is crowded with eleven strangers and too many bags. I curl up in my corner and rest my forehead against the window, closing my eyes and focusing on the music coming tinny through my headphones.

  3

  “If you’re not out here in two minutes, I’m coming in.”

  Alex’s voice tugs my attention away from the view of the mountains through the bathroom window. The water sloshes as I roll over, releasing another puff of the luxury bubbles’ fragrance.

  “I’m naked,” I shout back.

  “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Alex singsongs through the door. “Get a move on before the wine warms up.”

  I sigh and begin to move. I could stay here forever. The bath in the apartment Alex is sharing with her sister and brother-in-law is huge, a deep scoop cut from a single block of dark stone. The towel I wrap myself in is almost impossibly soft. For a moment I curl into it, closing my eyes and letting the tension of the day fade away.

  By the time I’ve pulled on my clothes Alex has already popped open the champagne. In defiance of the weather outside she’s sporting a strappy top and yoga pants, her sleek hair pulled up into an elegant twist. I pat self-consciously at my own damp, dark curls. They’re already beginning to frizz. Alex is Chinese, and I’ve always been jealous of her smooth hair, no matter how many times she tells me I’m crazy to wish away the natural waves of my own.

  Alex taps the sofa beside her. “Come on! I need to hear evvverything.”

  “There’s not much to say.”

  “Don’t be like that. Come on.”

  I sigh and flop myself down as Alex leans forward to begin pouring out the bubbles. With Jo and her husband out skiing, it’s only the two of us in this huge apartment. Everywhere I look I’m struck by the effort that went in to designing this place. The style is minimalist—eco-friendly, the website said—all wood and stone apart from the huge windows which give us a panoramic view of the Alps. The gleaming kitchen is stocked with expensive-looking French wine.

  “I told you about work …”

  “Yeah, and then you hinted at a man.” Alex elbows me in the ribs affectionately before she passes me my wine, raising hers for a click. “Cheers. Go on, I’m listening.”

  There’s never been any chance of getting out of giving Alex what she wants. The girl is like a dog with a bone. With a sigh I give in. “I saw Chase Austin at the airport.”

  Alex clearly doesn’t recognize the name. “Yeah?”

  “You don’t remember watching his competitions with me?” I can see Alex is drawing a blank. “He’s a top snowboarder. The top snowboarder. He gave up competitions a few years ago, but he was in Harder. That film I dragged you this fall? He makes probably a bazillion dollars in sponsorship every year.”

  Alex coos with interest. “See, I told you there were pros here. Were you brave enough to go and say hi?”

  This is not the bit of the story I want to share. I twist my lips unhappily. “Actually, he offered to drive me back here.”

  There’s a second’s pause before Alex is squeeing like a maniac, flapping her free hand about before she slings it over my shoulders for a squeeze. “Oh my god, Brooke. You rode in a famous man’s car. Did he make a move? Did you kiss him? Do you have his number?”

  I laugh, trying to keep my glass safe from her bouncing. “No.”

  “What, no kiss?”

  “No anything. I told you, remember? I’m here to see you, and to work. No more men.”

  “But famous men—”

  I shake my head, taking a quick gulp of the wine. “He seemed like a total player, anyway. He was signing some French girl’s boobs.”

  Alex’s hand pulls my T-shirt down so quickly that I don’t have a chance of stopping her. She ignores my squeal of protest, instead harrumphing her own disappointment.

  “But not yours, I see.” She looks suddenly devilish, leaning back so she can see all of me. “I’m sure he’s devastated he didn’t have the chance to get on those puppies.”

  I try to shush her, but Alex is having none of it. She has that grin on her face which has always meant we’re about to get into a lot of trouble.

  “What does it matter if he’s a player?” Alex is clearly warming to the idea. “That’s perfect. You don’t want a relationship. You just need someone to ride after you’ve ridden the slopes.”

  “Alex.”

  Alex feigns innocence. “What? It’s true. There’s nothing like …”

  Whatever idea hits her, it looks like trouble. Her grin spreads wide, and her tongue traces the edge of her teeth.

  “Oh, it’s too perfect.” That’s definitely a cackle. “Brooke, you can photograph him.”

  It’s what I wanted, before I realized Chase is a bit of an asshole—and I’m not experienced enough to work with him, anyway. It stings to be reminded of what I hoped for. I shrug, keeping my voice cool.

  “I don’t think so. He’ll have his own pro photographer here.”

  “Not a photographer as cute as you,” Alex protests. “Can’t you see this is perfect? He’s famous, you’re hot, you need work and he needs some sweet, tender loving.”

  “What do you think I am, a prostitute?”

  Alex lets out a quiet psssh. “Whatever. I’m gonna set you up, and you can thank me when you’ve had a week of action and sold the photos for thousands of dollars.” She smirks. “I mean, the photos of the action on the slopes. Not the action between the sheets.”

  I’m not even going to dignify that last bit with a response. “I’m not good enough to photograph Chase Austin, Alex.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Alex says. She dips into seriousness, fixing my eyes with hers and tilting her glass toward me to punctuate her words. “You’re the most talented photographer I’ve ever met.”

  It means a lot, to hear it from her. Even though I know Alex will always love me no matter what.

  “Anyway,” she adds with a dirty grin, “I’m just letting you know. I am gonna hook you up.”

  The club is absolutely heaving. I wish I had gone home with Jo and her husband Dave after the fondue.

  “You should have let me get the Jägerbombs,” Alex moans, checking where our cocktails splashed onto her silvery tank top as she pressed through the crush of people between our table and the bar.

  “We’re hitting the sl
opes early tomorrow,” I remind her. I can’t remember the last time I wanted to board so much. I’ve always loved it, but growing up in Mammoth the slopes have always been right there. Now, after my weeks away with the surfers and the bouldering in Utah before then, I feel more desperate than ever to be back on the snow.

  Alex pouts at the idea of early, but she clearly isn’t complaining that much. The flickering lights of the club illuminate the edge of a very dangerous grin on her face. “You might want to stay longer when you see who’s here.”

  I keep my eyes fixed firmly on my drink, giving it a stir with my straw. “You mean Mr. Writes-On-Boobs? I didn’t think you remembered his face.”

  “I had a google,” Alex remarks airily. She indicates the far side of the club with a tilt of her exposed shoulder. “They’re over by the bar. I think there are shots involved.”

  I snort. “I guess they’ll leave the slopes nice and clear for us tomorrow morning, then.”

  “I just wish you would be fun,” Alex complains. “For you! Because I love you and I want you to be happy.” Her grin turns a little coy. “And also because it might be fun for me. They’re getting absolutely crushed over there. He really is a big deal.”

  Now Alex mentions it, I know what she means. With the thumping music it’s hard to tell what noises the club’s patrons are making, but there is a lot of whooping going on. I can’t see Chase at all, but I can see a crowd that’s made up mostly of snowbunnies in their skimpy tops and overabundant makeup.

  That’s not the person who I want to be, judging other women. But it’s hard not to look at them and remember what happened to Mom.

  Something in my chest hurts, and it isn’t soothed by a huge gulp of my cocktail.

  “Oh, come on.” Alex’s grab at my elbow isn’t subtle. She ignores my mmph of interruption, barely giving me time to grab my drink. “What are you going to do, just sit here? You’re on holiday. Live a little.”

  Her insistent tugging doesn’t give me a chance to say no. There isn’t a clear route through the crowd, but Alex makes one. She pushes people aside with her elbows and I’m left trailing after with “sorry, sorry,” and intermittent hisses of “what are you doing, Alexandra?”

  “What you need,” Alex says cheerily. “And don’t call me that.”

  One of the bunnies gives us an acid look, but Alex hits her with a forty-megawatt smile before elbowing her aside.

  If there were shots involved, they’re now finished. Instead the boys are leaned up against the bar, empty glasses beside them and beers in their hands. The tall blond I recognize as JJ Schneider is in the middle of a loud story, the surrounding girls hanging on his every word.

  My heart flutters in my chest. It was one thing hearing Chase name JJ—it’s another seeing the famous athlete here. Does this mean Chase’s whole crew is in Laax? It’s the right time for them to be filming their annual edit before competition season begins in earnest.

  The False Kings. The best snowboarding crew in the world.

  The best of them all is Chase.

  He leans up against the bar a little apart from his friend, one elbow hooked over it, his glass dangling idly from the splay of his fingers. His other hand hovers just above his belly, fingertips catching at the hem of his shirt. Some girl is curled around his shoulder, her hand pressed possessively over his pecs as she giggles a story into his ear.

  It’s clearer now than it was in the airport just how big he is. Other snowboarders tend to be trim rather than built. Chase Austin is one hundred eighty pounds of all-American muscle, latent strength coiled in the corrugated ridging over his abdomen.

  Though Chase’s head is inclined toward the snowbunny’s story, his eyes are on me.

  “Oh really,” he deadpans, and it cuts straight through the crowd.

  My swallow is dry. It’s all I can do to tear my eyes away from Chase’s. The wandering of the girl’s fingertips toward his belt makes it easier. “Alex, we should go.”

  Alex gives me a capital-L Look. “Brooke, we should stay. We’re just buying another drink.”

  “But these ones are hardly—” done, but I don’t get to finish it. I’m only half aware of my drink splashing over my shirt as Alex tugs me forward. Right in between Chase and JJ.

  I am absolutely going to kill her.

  Alex pulls me in tight beside her at the bar, shimmying up in the narrow space between the two men so that I’m on Chase’s side. “I’m giving you the mother of all ins,” she whispers as she signals for the bartender. “You better be grateful.”

  I’m not grateful. I’m mortified. Alex has pulled me into a space so tight that I can feel Chase’s arm pressed against my side. All of that muscle is solid against the thin fabric of my T-shirt, the heat of Chase’s body burning my skin.

  I can hear the bunny’s story in all its suggestive glory.

  “Two more of these,” I can just about hear Alex say. It prompts me to take another suck on my cocktail. I shouldn’t be drinking it so fast, but what can I do? I’m pressed in beside a man I’ve wanted to work with since I was a teenager, painfully aware of every inch of his body. I could swear that his hand twists deliberately so that his fingers brush over my hip.

  The bunny is still telling Chase what she’d like to do to him. My lips, your—

  I try not to look at her as I turn my head subtly to one side.

  Chase’s eyes meet mine, and that incredible blue sends a jolt down my spine.

  It’s an accident. It must be an accident. So why are we still both looking? Why is his gaze fixed to me so intensely that I couldn’t look away if I tried?

  There’s a flop of dark hair falling over his brow. Someone should push it back.

  The bunny is suddenly stepping away. There’s a grimace of displeasure on her face. Why …? And then I see that Chase’s hand is at her arm, gently but firmly pushing her back.

  “I want to buy you a drink,” he shouts over the music. It’s not a question. It’s a statement, dripping with the cocky self-surety of a man used to getting exactly what he wants when he wants it.

  On his wrist I can see that woman’s name. Felicity. Nothing came up on my Google search this afternoon. But it’s still there, picked out in black over his pulse.

  That horrible thing twists in my stomach again.

  “No, thank you.” I tilt my head toward the pouting girl. “It looks like you’re busy.”

  I see Chase’s muscled shoulders move over a laugh rather than hearing it. Why is his grin always so twisted? Crooked. Not true at all.

  “I want to be busy with you,” he says.

  I want, I want.

  I can fake-smile, too. “I don’t think so.”

  I can’t look away when he stares at me. All the flashing lights and the slow writhe of bodies in music, and all I can see is blue.

  Chase finally shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  Alex groans beside me. “You are the fucking worst.”

  4

  Alex complains about not partying late—but whatever the girl says, I know she enjoys being on the snow almost as much as I do. She’s up and out the door with me before Jo and her husband have woken up, tugging her woolly hat down low over her eyes and making energetic brrrr noises in the chairlift as we go up. It’s all an act. Once we’ve worked our way to the highest groomed run on the mountain she clips her boots onto her skis with a grin.

  “Are we going to have some fun now?”

  We do. For hours we work our way over the pistes. Alex has her favorite runs to show me, and I’ve already done some research on the net to find ones that I particularly want to give a go.

  It feels so good to be out on the slopes again. Around us the Alps rear majestically against the sky, and as I shred between snow-covered evergreens my heart thrills inside of me. Yeah, my calling is photography. I can’t look at the sunlit-sparkling drifts and the endless vistas without wanting to go back to the apartment for my heavy-duty gear. But I love this. I’ve been boarding since I was a little girl
, and it’s always felt like home.

  Pop-pop once said that maybe it’s genetic, but I don’t know. I didn’t get anything else from Trent. Why should he be given the credit for this thing I love?

  All I know is up here I’m more myself than anywhere else. My body feels like the most perfect machine ever made, capable of doing everything I ask of it. I feel powerful. I feel free. Like I can do anything.

  … Except that jump, maybe. But as I lie and laugh my ass off in the snow Alex awkwardly sidesteps back up the slope, before collapsing at my side with a giggle and a kiss for my cheek.

  “It’s good to see you smiling again, B.”

  I keep on smiling, too. We meet Jo and her husband at one of the high-altitude snow restaurants for lunch. I turn down the local hot, spiced wine that Alex calls “the glue wine”—on the sign it says glühwein—because I want to work later, but I don’t have to be tipsy to enjoy sitting here and laughing with them over wurst.

  It makes me not think about anything for a while. The job at Wild I lost. Peter walking out on me. How close the deadline is for the Illuminations competition.

  … Actually, the last one starts to worry me after a bit.

  Alex loves and supports me, but understandably the love and support ends somewhere before sitting beside me for hours in the snow as I take shots. We agree that she’ll stay out with Jo and her husband while I go down to the park. They’ll have more fun taking some mellow runs together than they would watching me fiddle with lenses in the freezing cold.

  The snowpark is only a bit below the restaurant we chose. It’s actually more like snowparks—a varied set of rails and boxes and kickers, capped off at the end by a pro-level superpipe. It’s familiar to me from watching the Laax Open on TV, though so early in the season there are fewer sponsors’ logos plastered about.

  It becomes clear after a while that there’s not really anyone worth photographing. A few kids are trying out the rails, and I get some nice shots of them that I promise their parents I’ll share via email. A few of them might look cute on my website. But they’re not Illuminations-level photos. For a world-class action sports photograph, you need a world-class athlete. And there’s no one here.