“Deal,” she grumbles.
Most of the kids in my class have pretty solid skills. At the beginning, I had to weed out the kids who didn’t truly want to be there. Usually, the parents threw them into it so they could snap a few photos and brag about it on social media. Those kids weren’t ready, and I had to explain to the parents that pushing it now would result in fear that could potentially ruin boarding or skiing for the rest of their lives. Now, I’m left with a good group of kids who have a genuine love of the mountain and desire to learn.
The rest of my group has gathered by the cones I have set up, and we make our way over to start the class. I help Emersyn trek through the snow by guiding her by her hood. The kid is a beast on a snowboard. But walking on two feet? Not so much. Especially when snow boots are involved.
“All right, dudes and dudettes, get your helmets on. Let’s hit some drills, and then we’ll move on to some new skills.”
I lift my goggles off my eyes and onto my forehead over my beanie and slide into the lift. On the way down, I realize that my knee doesn’t feel as stiff as it usually does by the end of the day. That’s got to be a good sign.
My phone buzzes in my pocket once my service kicks back in, and I see texts from my friend Dare telling me to come over for dinner. Our buddy Asher’s girl, Briar, is cooking. I shoot a text back letting him know I’ll be there, because Briar feeds me. I’ll never turn down a home-cooked meal, even if the main ingredient is pity.
Once I’m at the bottom, I decide to head straight to my car instead of stopping for a beer at the resort’s bar. I’m walking through the outdoor shopping center toward the parking lot when I see her. Mollie. She’s sitting on the Blues Brothers bench—which is exactly what it sounds like; a bench with the Blues Brothers statues at both ends—next to the outdoor ice-skating rink. The skating rink sits right in the middle of The Pines, surrounded by the actual resort, the lifts, and all the stores and restaurants.
Mollie sits there, watching the ice skaters, blowing into her steaming cup. This time she has on a grey beanie with a tan pompom on top, those tight, black things that girls try to pass off as pants—not that I’m complaining—and a white coat over a flannel shirt. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m heading right for her.
“Well, if it isn’t Mollie Mabey,” I say, causing her to jump. Her big, brown eyes shoot up to mine, and she looks like a deer caught in headlights.
“Camden,” she says, seeming nervous or unsure as she crosses one leg over the other. An image pops into my head of me between those thighs, eating that perfect pussy, and if she wasn’t here with her boyfriend, I might ask her for a repeat. On second thought, I still might, boyfriend or not.
“So, you do remember me,” I say, even though her reaction last night made that more than clear.
“Sorry about last night,” she says. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you.”
Her response strikes me as odd. She knows I live here. Why would she be surprised to see me? And we had one night of hooking up—one glorious fucking night—but there wasn’t any drama. Just fun. But she never tried to contact me afterward. We both knew the deal. The weirdness on her end doesn’t add up. Maybe she’s just embarrassed about having a one-night stand. Maybe she regrets it. I, clearly, don’t share the same affliction.
“What are you doing?” I ask, giving her an out. She doesn’t have to explain herself.
“My family’s up there,” she says, gesturing toward the gondola in the distance. “I was just walking around the shops, waiting for everyone to be done.”
“Why didn’t you go up?”
“I suck at snowboarding,” she admits. “Plus, I wasn’t feeling well earlier.”
I want to ask where her boyfriend is. If he went up without her. But I don’t.
“Come with me,” I say, surprising her. She starts to shake her head, but I grab her dainty hand, pulling her up from the bench. She tosses her drink in the trash next to the bench before she shivers and zips her jacket, wrapping her arms around her middle. It’s not even that cold now, but I guess it might be for someone who isn’t used to River’s Edge’s winters.
“I really can’t. They’ll be done soon, soooo…” she trails off, looking toward the lift.
“Bullshit. You’ve been down here all day. You deserve to do something while you’re here. Give me one second. Okay?”
She looks like she’s going to say no. Indecision wars in her eyes. But she surprises me by nodding yes.
“Wait here,” I instruct.
“Okay…” she says suspiciously.
“I’ll be right back.”
I turn around and jog toward the kiosk a few feet away and buy her a lift ticket before running back in her direction.
“Come on,” I say, tugging on her hand. She lets me guide her to the gondola, her tiny, freezing palm in mine. We hand our tickets to the lift operator.
“Mind holding onto my board for a few?” I ask him. I don’t want to lug it around. He agrees. He’s seen me around, so he knows I work here, if the black and forest green snow jacket with The Pines’ logo wasn’t enough to tip him off.
“Thanks, man,” I say, helping Mollie into the lift. She sits on the opposite side of me and rests her oversized purse on her lap. When the lift jerks, she startles and gives a little yelp. I chuckle, putting my hand on her knee.
“You’re safe. There’s nothing to be afraid of in here.”