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

“You, little man. So much drama over having to do some jumping jacks and agility drills.”

“Agility drills? Man. I just want to get on the half-pipe without any of this shi—” At Sebastian’s raised eyebrows, he coughed and said, “without this crap.”

“This crap will help prevent you from getting injured. You get injured, the fun’s over. Trust me, I know. Come on, you’d be halfway through it by now if you’d just started instead of whining about it.”

“Fine.” He unclipped himself from his board and followed Sebastian’s lead, doing jumping jacks in the snow. “Are you even any good at the half-pipe? I usually have Lane.”

“It’s your lucky day, Chase, because I happen to be very good at the half-pipe. Like, I almost went to the Olympics—that’s how good I am.”

Chase snorted, huffing out a breath as he jumped. “Almost. Pfft. That’s not impressive.”

He stopped jumping and leveled his gaze at him. “Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of a turd?”

Chase stopped jumping, his arms flopping by his sides as his mouth fell open. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Last time I checked, it was a free country.” He took a step closer to him, meeting his eyes. “You want to spend the day learning how to ride the pipe from a real pro, or you want to be snarky and not have any fun at all?”

“Jumping jacks aren’t fun.”

“Neither is getting hurt.”

“Neither is getting hurt,” Chase mimicked in a nasal voice, and Sebastian felt his patience start to slip. “Loser.” But when Sebastian just stared at him, he resumed his jumping jacks. Sebastian mentally flipped him off.

He gritted his teeth, sucking in a breath. It was going to be a long day.

After eating dinner in the commissary and declining Lane’s invite to head into town to shoot some pool, Sebastian had done his usual thing and hit the resort’s weight room. He’d always been fit, but over the past month he’d taken it to another level because he needed to do something to burn off the restless energy still crackling through him when he had too much free time on his hands. After his grueling workout, he’d trekked back to his little cabin to shower and ready himself for what had become a new Prescott tradition—the Wednesday night video chat.

Hidden just off of one of the smaller ski hills, the cabin was quiet and peaceful, surrounded entirely by snow-covered pines. It was definitely on the rustic side, but it was comfortable enough that Sebastian was grateful to call it home for the next six weeks. Patrick sometimes rented it out to skiers wanting a little privacy from the main resort, but it hadn’t been booked, so he’d let Bastian move in for the remainder of the ski season.

Sebastian mounted the steps up to the wraparound porch, stomping his boots on the welcome mat by the front door to avoid tracking in snow. He stepped inside, leaving the evening chill behind. To his left was a living area with a stone fireplace that went all the way to the ceiling, a sectional sofa nestled into the corner, and a wooden console with a small TV on top of it. Behind the living room was a small kitchen with dated but functional appliances and the ugliest countertop he’d ever seen in his life. To his right was a double bed with a single nightstand beside it, with a wardrobe and a dresser against the wall. Behind that was a door that led to the tiny bathroom with the world’s narrowest shower stall.

Home sweet home.

Toeing off his boots, he headed for the fireplace and got a fire going, and then moved over toward the bed. He stripped down, tossing his workout clothes in the hamper and then padded to the shower, the tiled floor icy against his feet. His muscles were sore, his body tired, both from the day on the mountain and his punishing workout. Today, he managed to only bang his elbow twice while scrubbing himself down, which he was going to chalk up as a win.

Once he’d toweled off and pulled on a white thermal Henley and a pair of gray sweatpants, he grabbed his laptop and took it to the couch, propping his feet up in front of the fire. After a moment, he was connected to the video chat, and three other frames filled the screen: his sister Aerin in the top left, his brother Lucian beside her, and then Max along the bottom.

“Hey, there he is!” said Aerin, waving. Aerin, an uber successful sports agent with her own agency, was currently in Florida with her husband Javier, the manager of the World Series-winning Dallas Longhorns. With a small smile, Sebastian waved back.

“How’s Vermont?” asked Lucian, the eldest Prescott sibling. He owned several successful restaurants and nightclubs in Manhattan, but most of his money came from less savory endeavors.

Sebastian shrugged. “Same as it was last week. Cold. Snowy. Good.”

“Have you given any more thought to what you’re going to do come springtime?”

He shook his head. “No. Just kinda taking it one week at a time.” Which was generous, because there were days where he was taking it one hour at a time.

Just then, the screen shifted as a fourth video joined them. His baby brother Theo’s face appeared in the bottom left corner, bright sunshine streaming around him, the sky jostling behind him as he walked.

“Hey, sorry guys. I got stuck in court. Just walking back to the office now.”

“Are you FaceTiming in public?” asked Sebastian, a smile twisting his lips. “God, you’re such a douche.”

Theo’s mouth fell open. “I am not a douche. Excuse me for living on the west coast. You guys said eight PM, which is only five PM for me.”

“Yes, we know how time zones work,” deadpanned Max, who was clearly still in his office. He ran a billion-dollar tech company called Tapp that had developed some hugely successful apps for things like messaging, video chat, photo sharing, recipes, travel