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  It’s more play than work, in the end. Yeah, we get some carefully set-up shots of Hanne with her sponsor’s drink in one hand and their logo prominent on her helmet. There are softer “feel” pics too—Hanne laughing, Hanne shooting the shit with the barman, Hanne looking artfully over the mountains.

  Pretty soon though it’s just the two of us, cradling our beers and chatting as we look out over the sun-sparkled vista.

  “I hear you went for a ride with Mr. Congeniality today.”

  I finish my laugh too abruptly, trying to keep my smile from looking fake. Does that mean Chase told her? “Yeah. Apparently boarding with me is fine. Just no photos.”

  Hanne laughs darkly. “Chase can be like that.”

  It must be the beer making me too honest. “I just wanted to take some photos, you know? Your camera guy can’t be filming for the edit and taking stills at the same time. I wouldn’t be bossing him around or anything …”

  “Brooke.” Hanne’s accent comes out stronger when she’s direct, a hint of Norway in her vowels. “No one does anything with Chase without Chase wanting them to. I wouldn’t drive yourself crazy trying to work out what fucked up train of logic he’s following.”

  “But—” I catch myself with a shake of my head, turning a better smile to her. “Yeah. I know.”

  Hanne gives me a meaningful look. “I know you know.” Her bright green eyes remain fixed on me for a long beat before she shakes her head, another chuckle escaping her. “I’ve seen it before.”

  “It?” I try to sound casual, like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  “Listen. Chase is fucking weird.” Hanne leans across the table to impart some real talk. “I get what’s hot about that. Handsome guy, intense, distant … You’re not the first.”

  I bite my lip over a disagreement that I’m even on whatever list she’s talking about.

  “But all that passion he has? It’s for the mountains. That’s it.” Hanne’s eyes tick between mine as if she wants to be extra sure that I’m understanding her. “Don't get me wrong, Brooke, Chase is family to me. I love the guy. But for dating?” She loosens her hand from her glass to make a poof explosion with the spreading shell of her fingers. “He hits it and quits it. Better not to get into all of that shit.”

  My laugh sounds great. Cool, collected. “I’m interested in how Chase rides. Not how he …” Rides. My cheeks flush with heat.

  Hanne doesn’t seem convinced. For a beat she looks at me, so steady that it’s uncomfortable, before she kicks back into a sprawled lean in her chair and flashes me that grin again.

  “Okay. Just remember: fucking weird.” Her next chug of beer seems to suggest some thought to her. “It’s probably because he’s loyal to Aaron, you know? Our camera guy. And the edit … It’s Aaron’s tryout, I guess. For the film.”

  I manage not to choke on my beer. “The film?”

  Hanne grunts, fishing for a peanut in the little dish. “Yeah. In the spring we’re going up to British Columbia to shoot some footage with the Dinkler guy.”

  The Dinkler guy. The best-action-sports-director-in-the-world guy. I try desperately hard to look casual. “Oh, yeah?”

  Hanne shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Just JJ, Chase and I. Apparently there’s a space in the helicopter. Aaron wants on. I think Chase has persuaded Dinkler to let him bring a plus one.” Her grin is knowing. “Chase gets what he wants.”

  Screw Chase and what he wants. I know what I want. I want to be in that helicopter. I want it more in this moment than I want anything else in the world.

  “Aaron’s the boys’ friend,” Hanne says around a large mouthful of peanuts. “Chase probably just doesn’t want him distracted, right? So he can get good footage. Convince Dinkler to let him tag along.”

  I’ve never met Aaron. I’m sure he’s nice. But in this moment I would punch him in the face to get on that trip.

  “It’s too bad,” Hanne says with a what-can-you-do shrug. “But Chase gets a veto, just like us.” She nudges my foot under the table with her own. “I guess you’re just going to have to make do with me.”

  7

  Over the next few days I continue working with Hanne. It’s a rush to know that she’s enjoying what I do. Every morning Alex brings me her laptop with a squeal, showing me my name tagged on Hanne’s Instagram. There aren’t any Illuminations-winning shots yet, but I couldn’t care less. I’m waking up to comments on my photos from snowboard pros the world over.

  Chase might not want to ride with me, but he spends such an insane amount of time in the gym that it’s easy to meet the crew without him. JJ and Hanne are so warm and gregarious that it’s impossible not to feel welcome. They introduce me to Hunter, whose smirk is even filthier in real life than in the countless advertising campaigns I’ve seen. True to his reputation he spends most of his time looking at my ass … when he’s not pursuing any gorgeous blonde in reach. It doesn’t bother me: it’s not like I haven’t got experience with athletes who think they’re God’s gift to women. At least Hunter is a cheerful player.

  And of course there’s Aaron, their photographer.

  I’ve more or less made my peace with him. It’s hard to dislike Aaron—he’s lovely, a puppylike redhead with an infectious grin. I’m happy for him and the chances he has. And yeah, if I feel a pang when I see him laughing in the Faceplant with Chase and JJ … I can deal with that. I’ve already had interest from magazines for some of my shots of Hanne. She and I are planning to meet up in Mammoth before the season’s over. Why should I worry about anything else?

  If I don’t think about the filming they’re doing with Dinkler in the spring, I can keep the green-eyed monster in check. Mostly.

  It gets worse as our flight on Sunday draws closer. I’m having so much fun hanging out with Alex and getting shots with Hanne that I don’t want to think about it ending. Even catching sight of Chase in the bar makes something twist in my stomach, a sickening clench that leaves me feeling strange and unsure.

  He looks different when he doesn’t know I’m there. He grabs JJ in a playful headlock when he scores an air hockey point. He hoists Hanne onto his shoulders so she can sign her poster high up on the Faceplant’s wall.

  He smiles, and from where I’m pretending not to be watching I can feel his laughter in my chest.

  I don’t want to go. Not because of him. Because of how good it is to photograph Hanne, and how much fun I’m having with Alex, and how much I want more than anything to be allowed to photograph their edit—and from that get invited to the spring filming.

  But it isn’t happening.

  No matter how he treats his crew, when I’m around Chase Austin is an asshole.

  Just enjoy it.

  That’s what I promised myself when Hanne invited Alex and I to dinner on our last night in Laax. No moping. No pining. Definitely no thinking about the filming with Dinkler. Just making the most of one last evening with the crew.

  What’s the point of being so sad about good things ending if you don’t enjoy them while they last?

  If I tell myself that often enough I’ll feel it, too.

  In the cozy chalet-style restaurant we squeeze into bench seats and stuff ourselves with fondue and French wine. This time I don’t have to sit next to Chase. He’s firmly on the other side of the table, and if I’d prefer him not to be opposite me, at least this time he keeps his legs away from mine. After greeting me he acts as if I’m not there, which is fine by me.

  Where the bulk of his forearm rests over the white tablecloth his tattoo stands out black as secrets. Swirling shapes wrap over dense muscle, a stylized sun peeking out from beneath his T-shirt’s hem.

  At his pulse the word wraps with delicate beauty: Felicity.

  Not that I have much time to wonder about the mystery girl. Hunter is pressed in next to me, determined to live up to his playboy reputation. I spend half my time evading the slink of his arm over my shoulders and the other half laughing at the exasperated way Hanne rolls her e
yes.

  Now and again I’m sure I can feel the prickle of Chase’s eyes on me, but whenever I look up his face is turned away. Beneath the scruff of his stubble his jaw is in its familiar hard set. Whatever I saw when we rode together on the mountains is firmly locked away … If it was ever even there. Someone being good at boarding doesn’t say anything about how they are as a human being.

  Not that it matters. Chase Austin doesn’t get to decide if I have a good time.

  I probably don’t need the little glass of kirsch JJ passes to me when the plates are cleared. But the warming cherry flavor is too good to resist, and the alcohol’s fuzzy burn makes me slow to respond when Hunter leans in. His grin is smooth and sinful. The smirk that dropped a thousand panties, Hanne calls it. I believe it, but my panties aren’t going anywhere.

  “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Larson. You didn’t tell us you filmed.”

  I take a dainty sip of liquor, so tipsy that my play at innocence is a bit ridiculous. “Didn’t I?”

  “And you’re good.” Hunter makes the word filthy. “We checked out your edit before you came.”

  Across the table Chase’s kirsch glass looks so tiny in his hand. Pressure whitens his knuckles.

  Good. He should feel awkward, because I’m good at what I do—I’m great—and he’s being an asshole.

  Not that I’m going to give him the pleasure of seeing me worked up about it. I shrug. “It was okay. There are things I’d change now. I could do better.”

  “It was great,” JJ corrects. “You have a budget for that?”

  “I don’t think so.” Alex snorts. It’s the first time in ten minutes she’s looked up from the fort she and Aaron have been constructing from coasters. “Maybe a few dollars for gas.” With a flick of her hair she looks to Chase. “What did you think?”

  Chase takes a mouthful of his kirsch with infuriating slowness. I expect him to look to Alex. Instead the lucid blue of his eyes fixes on me, and the pin of his stare traps my breath in my lungs. Slowly he runs his tongue over the plump of his lips, chasing droplets of liquor that aren’t really there.

  “It wasn’t bad.”

  His lip glistens. Across the bright of his eyes his lashes sweep lazily, never quite breaking his stare.

  I’m good. Let me stay and work with you. Those are the things sensible, sober Brooke would say.

  Drunk Brooke can’t talk at all. All the words are taken away by the prickling awareness of Chase’s too-long legs curled under the table, bracketing my own.

  Not touching. Not quite. But burning just the same.

  JJ grabs my glass without looking.

  “More kirsch for you. Alex, you want some? I was thinking if we liquored you ladies up enough I might get you out tobogganing.”

  Alex laughs loud enough to distract everyone as I hide my blush with a duck of my head, embarrassment and annoyance tugging in my chest.

  How does he get under my skin like that?

  In the warm blur of the after-kirsch world, I never quite work out where the boys get the toboggans from. Hunter and Aaron simply appear with armfuls of bright plastic and pale wood. Two of the toboggans are proper constructions, with runners and everything. The rest are just the plastic circles kids use. We cackle with laughter as we trip toward the beginners’ slope, Hanne throwing snowballs and Aaron jumping to slap the snow from street signs.

  JJ and Chase fall behind us, talking, and when I look back I see that JJ has his arm around his friend’s shoulders. I try not to waste time worrying about what they might be saying. Tipsy, it’s easier to focus on the glow in my chest and the dancing lights of the snow-shrouded village around us. Smoothed by kirsch the world is a fluid delight, each breath of chill air making my head spin.

  How many times do we go over the slopes in the next hour? We hurtle down the beginners’ runs together, ending up in messy tumbles of limbs and laughter. Aaron gets a bloody nose going into a tree and doesn’t seem to mind at all.

  Drunk in the darkness it’s easy for us to get spread out. I’m with Hanne, I’m with JJ, and then I’m on my own. Searching for a bigger run I climb higher and higher, breathing heavy and loving every moment of it as I tramp up through the snow. Down below us the lights of the town glow soft, and up above the stars genuinely twinkle.

  When I turn around to see if I’m high enough, only Chase is there.

  In the dark I can’t entirely see his face. There’s snow in his hair, and I realize in the sudden silence that I can hear his breathing. A little heavy. A little rough.

  Animal.

  “You need a toboggan,” is the only thing I can think to say.

  He doesn’t really bother to cover his lie. “I guess I lost it.”

  I clutch mine tighter. It’s only one of the plastic ones. The light mountain wind scrapes it over my damp jeans, and suddenly I’m aware of how cold I am.

  “I could share yours.” Chase is so still in the darkness, the only steady thing up here in the night. I’m pretty sure I’m just imagining the darker curl of heat in his voice.

  “You could let me photograph you.”

  The edge of Chase’s jaw twitches with the set of his teeth. “I told you. Aaron’s filming.”

  “Aaron doesn’t care,” I correct, emboldened by the drink. “No one cares. Just you.”

  Chase doesn’t say a thing, just stands and watches me, the mass of his bulk black against the white of the snow. Like a predator, I think ridiculously. The shrieks and laughter down the slope suddenly seem so very far away.

  I was going to tease him. My toboggan for your picture. But instead I swallow, my tongue stuck dry in my mouth. The snow creaks beneath my boots. I must be swaying. “I want to photograph you.” Why does it sound like a question? I mean it. I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything. So I say it stronger: “I want to.”

  On a board Chase is silent. On his feet he moves heavy through the snow. I’m as frozen as a hare, my breath stalling in my chest as he steps closer. Closer. Closer still, until he’s looking down at me and I have to tilt my face upward to see his, the winter air cool on the exposed skin of my neck.

  All that bright blue is dark with intensity, and he doesn’t say a thing.

  “Is it because I’m a woman?” I ask. It would make sense. They can be chauvinist assholes, snowboarders. I’m Trent’s daughter. I should fucking know.

  Chase huffs a laugh, shooting me a look I can finally read. Distaste. “You see me ride with Hanne and you really think that?”

  No, I realize. I don’t. Lots of men might think that way, but not him. Whatever Chase’s issue with me is, it’s not that.

  “It’s not because you’re a girl,” Chase continues. He’s so close I can feel his voice on my skin, warm feathery touches that stroke over my lips. He licks his own, just once, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the glisten of his tongue.

  I should let him kiss me. It might help with work, after all. It’s not as if it means I like him.

  No matter how gorgeous he looks, moon-touched and night-softened. No matter how much in this moment I want him.

  He’s an asshole, I remind myself. Like Hanne said—Chase is no good.

  But I remember it. How it felt to board with him. Like I was the left hand, and he the right.

  “I hated seeing Hunter’s hands on you back there.” Chase must see my confusion. He reaches up to brush snow from my hair, his eyes following the movement of his hand, his face set to a careful blank. “Are you going to fuck him?”

  Despite everything I laugh. “Excuse me? I’m here for work.”

  One of Chase’s eyebrows arches, his fingertip pausing in its re-routing of my hair. “Oh yeah?”

  He’s so close. My stomach twists, an electric surge of lust tingling between my legs.

  “We’re the ones who should be fucking.” When did Chase’s voice get so low? He dips it down close to my ear, curling his huge body around mine, his fingertips dropping to steeple ever so lightly at my hips. “You’ve been so col
d, Brooke.” It’s an insult, but it drips like honey down my neck and sends shivers over my spine. “You drive me crazy.”

  “I just want my photographs.” I would sound more sure if I weren’t whispering. If the straying of his gloved grip around to my ass didn’t take my breath away.

  “Just once,” Chase whispers against the shell of my ear, his lips brushing my skin and sending fire through my bloodstream. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Nothing serious.”

  I have to go. I have to leave. But instead I’m tilting my head, and Chase’s lips scrape a stubble-sparked kiss over my flesh. He swipes the breadth of his tongue along my skin, a shiver-damp trail that sharpens to curl at my pulse.

  Words. I have words, somewhere. Beyond the heaviness of my breath in my chest and the dampness between my legs.

  “Normally you ask a girl on a date.”

  Chase’s laugh is hot and thick against my neck. He smells so good. Cologne and, better, the masculine musk beneath it.

  “I don’t date. It’s not personal.”

  Something sickly grows in my stomach, curdling all of that want. But he’s honest, isn’t he? I like honesty, after Peter. You know where you are.

  Chase’s mouth trails wet toward mine, his stubble scraping fire over my skin as he looks for my lips with his own. His eyes are lazily half-drooped. “I want you naked in my bed. You want that too, don’t you? You want me to make you scream.” I can feel the smile he presses to the edge of my lips, the forerunner of his hovering kiss. “ ’Cause I’m gonna make you do it, Brooke. The whole house’ll hear my name when you come.”

  This is insane. I want to work with him. I don’t want a—a one-night whatever with him. I’m not looking for sex. I’m looking for that Illuminations prize.

  I’m pleased at how firm my push at his chest is. My words almost falter when he opens his eyes to fix on me again, but I hold it together.

  “I’m here for work, Chase.”

  The edge of his jaw bulges as he grits his teeth, and the smile he finds isn’t friendly. “And you leave tomorrow.”