New Year, New You and Me (Seasons of Sizzle #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

MOLLY

“Quick, we only have ten more minutes to get all of this year’s bad habits out of our systems.”

My best friend Angela proclaims this as she catches the passing waiter and orders another bottle of sparkling wine and a round of shots. I groan in protest. The last thing I want is a hangover in the morning.

Then again, it is New Year’s Eve. We are out on the prowl—or as much as a woman can be in our small Alaskan town. That means hanging out at the mayor’s big party at the nicest hotel within a hundred-mile radius.

It was either this or go to the Elk Shack, the local watering hole. While most years, I would have preferred that to this, Angela wanted us to get dolled up.

Her date du jour—a man so devoid of personality, I can’t remember if his name is Chad or Thad—got us on the guest list.

I intend to make the most of it. Rumor has it the mayor has intel on a New York-based travel agent that caters to trust fund babies and stockbrokers. Clients with deep pockets.

While my outdoor excursion company is doing just fine, this would be a huge opportunity for me. I could expand my office and hire more guides. Not to mention, it would be nice to pad my own savings account.

The server returns carrying our shots. Unfortunately, he isn’t alone.

“Oh, no!” I hiss under my breath. “It’s Bradley.”

“Where?” Angela turns from Chad or Thad. Her eyes grow wide. “Oh no.”

“What is he doing here?”

“Probably the same thing as us, unfortunately.” She wrinkles her nose. “I didn’t think this was his scene.”

“It’s not.” Which can mean only one thing. “He knows about the New York client.”

“You think?” Her eyes widen. “Couldn’t it be a coincidence?”

“No way.” I shouldn’t be surprised. Bradley’s outdoor excursion company is my biggest competition in our area of Alaska. He didn’t get there by being a complete idiot.

Even if he acts like one most of the time.

“Hey, Molly.” His electric blue gaze roves over me, inexplicably making my pulse quicken. “You look good.”

“Thanks, Bradley.” I take a shallow breath to steady myself. “You look… groomed.”

Better than groomed, much as I hate to admit. While the man always fills out his usual uniform of flannel and denim well, this suit clings to his broad shoulders showing them to their best. He’s even made an effort to trim his beard, which only makes his chiseled jaw all the more prominent.

Damn. Why does he have to be so good-looking?

His lips quirk up in that signature smirk of his. “Like what you see?”

“I’d like it more if it was walking away.” I straighten my shoulders and mentally applaud myself.

“I get what you’re saying.” He winks. “You want a better look at my ass.”

“You cocky, egotistical— Nope.” I interrupt myself and shake my head. “I’m not going to let you bring me down.” I sip the champagne the server has just poured for us. “If I were someone who made New Year’s Resolutions, I’d make one right now.”

“And what’s that? Be nicer to the competition?”

My eyelid twitches. “I was thinking more like don’t let jerks bring me down.”

He scoffs. “Good thing I’m not a jerk.”

“Hmm. Maybe that should be your resolution.”

“What’s that?”

“To stop being such a liar.”

We keep our stares locked on each other. Neither of us blinks, both locked into this unspoken staring contest. My eyes begin to burn, but I refuse to yield.

When you’re a woman working in a male-dominated field, you have to prove yourself all the time. This is no different.

Someone nearby shoots off a party popper. Bradley blinks and I grin. “I win.”

“That doesn’t count. It wasn’t a real competition.”

“You don’t have to say something is a competition to know it’s there.”

Awareness dawns on his face. “You’re talking about the New York client.”

“Maybe I am.” I take another sip of champagne. “We’ll have to hope merit wins out.”

“So you’re okay with me getting the account?”

I scowl, which only makes him smile more. “You know I’m every bit as good as you are at leading excursions.”

“If only we could settle this quickly. How are you at arm wrestling? Or playing pool?”

“You really want to make this a bet?”

“Why not? We both know that we’re equally matched with doing our jobs.”

That’s maybe the closest thing to a compliment that Bradley has ever given me. Well, that and saying I looked good earlier. But, of course, I look good. I’m wearing a curve-hugging dress and Angela gave me a smokey eye.

This compliment—one about my skill and prowess in our industry—means more.

“I suppose a bet is as good of a way to win the client as any,” I say. “But not something silly like a game. We need something that will take work and follow-through.”

“Work and follow-through.” He scratches his beard. “Hell, the last time I heard someone say that, they were talking about setting New Year’s resolutions.”

“New Year’s resolutions.” I roll my eyes. “Who still bothers to set those?”

“You might.” A light sparks in his eyes. “If it was for a bet?”

I recoil. “You want us to use New Year’s resolutions as our bet?”

“Why not?”

Unfortunately, I can’t come up with a reason. Because, honestly, I can’t come up with a better suggestion for this bet of ours.

“So, we each set a few resolutions and see who is doing the best after a week?”

“I’ve heard it takes 21 days to set a new habit,” Angela chimes in out of the blue.

“Okay, so starting on January 2”—I toss out, factoring in the potential headache I might have tomorrow morning, and Bradley murmurs in agreement—“And ending on January 22, we compete to see who is best at following their resolutions.”

“That works for me,” Bradley says. “We only have one thing to figure out.”

“What’s that?”

“How are we going to make sure the other person is following through?”

“I don’t know.” I lift a shoulder. “We could post an update every day to social media.”

He emits an annoying buzzer sound from the back of his throw. “No way.”

“Why not?” I lift my chin in defiance. “It’s a perfectly logical, not to mention easy, way to keep track of our progress.”

“It’s also the kind of thing someone who is addicted to social media would do.”

He gives me a pointed look. I pretend not to know what he means. Even if it is a fair point. I do spend way too much time on social media. And, if I’m serious about this self-improvement quest we’re on for the next twenty-one days—and I am—I probably shouldn’t insist on doing something that will put that all into question before we’ve even begun.

“Well.” I fold my arms across my chest and lift my chin defiantly. “What do you suggest?”

Frowning, he scratches the tip of his nose. “We could keep a journal or...” He trails off because I’m already shaking my head. “Why the hell not? Isn’t it the same thing as posting it on Instagram? Except you’re not getting the whole world involved.”

“Journals are easy to fake.”

“Only if you don’t trust the other person.”

I fold my arms across my chest and tilt my head. “I think that would apply here.”

His brows knit together. “You don’t trust me?”

I snort. Is he for real?

“Maybe you should consider making ‘trusting others’ one of your resolutions.”

I choke on a laugh. “Maybe you should make?—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Chad or Thad cries out. He grabs one of the untaken shots and downs it. “Just Google ‘what are the most common New Year’s Resolutions’ and pick a couple of those. Then work on them together so you can keep an eye on each other. This isn’t fucking rocket science.”

Hmm. Despite the rude delivery, Chad or Thad is onto something.

Bradley strokes his chin thoughtfully. “That would work for me.”

“So it’s settled.” I purse my lips and can’t help but notice the light that flickers in his eyes. He must be tipsy. “We pick five common resolutions and set up time to work on them.”

“And whoever makes the strongest showing by the end of January wins.”

I nod. “The winner—aka the person who has done the best at following our resolutions—gets the client.”

He bows his head in agreement. “And the loser gets...”

“Total humiliation?” I supply helpfully.

His lips quirk up. “Those are the terms.”

He steps closer and lowers his head as if he’s about to add something else.

“Not to interrupt”—Angela says, doing just that—“but the ball is about to drop.”

“The ball dropped four hours ago in New York,” Bradley says.

I roll my eyes and mutter, “Know it all,” under my breath.

“What was that?” He cranes his neck, lowering his ear closer to me. As he does, I catch a whiff of his musky scent. It’s musky and woodsy, but there’s something dark and rich underneath. It’s unexpected and appealing.

Way too appealing.

I shake my head and raise my voice—and my glass—to join the rest of the room in finishing the countdown.

“Three… two… one… HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

All around, fellow partiers erupt in cheers and whistles as “Auld Lang Syne” blares over the speakers. I let out a whoop and raise my glass to Angela. Before she can toast me, Chad or Thad pulls her into his arms and lowers his head for a lingering kiss.

Looks like I’ll be forgotten now.

I turn back to Bradley who lifts his glass. With a sigh, I tap it with mine and we both polish off our sparkling wine.

Rubbing his lips dry with the back of his hand, he sets his glass aside and arches an eyebrow. “So.”

“So.” I raise both of mine in response.

“Should we seal this deal with a kiss?”

My brows fall and my forehead wrinkles. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” He leans closer. I’m once again overwhelmed with his musk and the heat radiating from his body. “It is New Year’s, after all. That is how most people mark the occasion.”

My gaze drops to his mouth. For a second it’s tempting. Way too damn tempting to find out if his lips would feel as good as his scent.

But I’m better than that. Stronger. Or, at the very least, I’m too stubborn to give in now.

I straighten my spine and thrust out my hand. “We aren’t most people.”

He glances down and smirks. “No, we aren’t.”

Bradley takes my offered hand, enveloping it with his. It’s big and hard. That's no surprise considering we both make our living leading hikes through the wilderness and climbing mountains.

But it’s also hot. Not blazing fire hot, but the burn is there all the same. His thumb slides over my knuckles sending a shiver down my spine.

I take a shaky breath and pretend not to notice the way my pulse is racing or the warmth spreading between my thighs. It has to be the champagne. The bubbles must be messing with my brain.

There’s no way—absolutely no way—I find anything about this guy and his nice beard and broad shoulders attractive.

“I’ll see you in the new year,” Bradley says, releasing my hand.

“See you in the new year,” I reply, pleased my voice doesn’t break and give my momentary lapse away. “You’re going down.”

His eyes take on a mischievous glint. “Promise?”

I can’t wait to wipe that smirk off his face.