Snow Job by Tara Wyatt (best large ereader .txt) 📗

gotten some work done, or settled herself by the fire with her book. Hopefully there’d be time to relax later. If she didn’t break her neck.

“You ready?” asked Patrick, clapping Sebastian on the shoulder. He stood at the top of the resort’s half-pipe, the snow cleared of other boarders for the resort’s daily demonstration. It was his favorite part of the day, when he, Lane and Bodhi got to spend a few minutes showing off for the guests. It was a great way to convince people to sign up for lessons and provided a little entertainment for the guests.

“Yup.” He strapped his helmet on, watching as Bodhi finished his run, smoothly gliding away from the pipe as the people who’d gathered to watch cheered. With a grin, he slid his goggles into place, shifted his weight forward and slid down the sloped mouth of the half-pipe, hopping a couple of times and pumping his legs to gain momentum before dropping in.

He started off with an easy nose grab, catching huge air. His blood whooshed through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest as he came back down, landing the trick easily. Gaining momentum, he rode up the opposite side, launching himself into a trick known as a McTwist, a front flip with a 540-degree rotation. He landed smoothly, careful not to bend too low or lean too far back on his heels. He sailed back up the other side, catching more big air with a frontside fourteen. The crowd cheered, shouting and clapping, which only made him want more.

Adrenaline buzzing through him, making him feel like a feather in the wind, he swooshed down the pipe and up into a double cork twelve. He landed a little more roughly, the edge of his board scraping and causing him to lose some speed, but he stayed upright and coasted up into one final trick, a flip known as a Michalchuk. It wasn’t the hardest trick or the most dangerous one, but Sebastian hated it because it was the trick that had torn his ACL and ended his Olympic dreams. And so, he made himself do it every single time he got on the pipe. To prove that he could. That it didn’t hold any power over him. To try to reclaim it, somehow.

As usual, he landed it without issue. Just as he’d done thousands of times leading up to the day when he’d felt that horrible pop and everything had changed.

Snow flying from beneath his board, he cruised to the bottom of the pipe. The air was cold and fresh, but he felt warm and tingly as the adrenaline dissipated from his body. That adrenaline rush and then the calm and clarity that came after it were addictive. So addictive that he’d nearly wrecked his life chasing it after his competitive snowboarding days had come to an end.

“Solid, man,” said Bodhi, holding out his hand for a fist bump. Sebastian obliged and then unclipped his bindings, picking up his board. “Love watching you ride.”

“Thanks, man. You, too.”

“Think we impressed the suits?” He gestured up to the left-hand side of the pipe, a flat area halfway between the main ski lodge and the lesson area, secured with a log railing. Sure enough, a larger group of people than usual had gathered there, all watching. The corporate retreat was starting today, and Sebastian had noticed that there’d been more activity around the resort than usual for a weekday.

“I hope so. Besides, they shouldn’t be that hard to impress. Especially not once they get out here and see that it’s not as easy as it looks.”

Bodhi clapped him on the shoulder. “You got a class now?”

Sebastian nodded. “Yeah, adult beginner. You?”

“I’m headed to munchkin town.”

Sebastian pursed his lips, feeling a little jealous. He’d much rather hang out with five-year-olds than the corporate types he used to spend all day with, but Patrick had asked him and Lane to take the lead on classes for the retreat, and he wasn’t going to let him down.

He took the lift back up to the main area, board in hand, and trekked over to where the sign for adult beginners poked out of the ground. Four people waited around, chatting, watching the other skiers and snowboarders. The snow crunched under his boots as he walked, and his steps slowed as he approached, a bolt of familiarity jolting him, making everything inside him go cold and hard.

He saw her first, knew it was her. And it wasn’t because he recognized her face or her voice. No. It was because he’d know that ass anywhere. Even in a pair of hot pink snow pants, there was no mistaking the most glorious ass he’d ever laid eyes on. The ass he’d fantasized about so many times he’d lost count. It was round and thick and perfect.

The only problem was that it belonged to Kayla Bristowe, the woman who’d gotten him fired and sent him into his current tailspin. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he took her in. She half-turned, giving him a look at her profile. Blond curls tumbled out from beneath her beanie, her cheeks pink from the cold. Pert little upturned nose, full lips, strong, almost square jaw. Even though she was covered up in her winter gear, his mind helpfully supplied the memory of her curves. Those full breasts that strained against her button-down blouses. The flare of her hips in those pencil skirts she always wore. Thick thighs he wanted to sink his teeth into.

Fuck.

She turned and tilted her head, smiling at him and Christ, it felt like a ray of sunshine beaming right into the center of his chest.

And then he pushed his goggles up onto his helmet.

Her smile vanished, replaced almost instantaneously with a scowl. Another memory surfaced, this one of her smirking at him as he’d been marched out of the building after she’d gotten him fired. After she’d taken from him the last thing he’d had