Chapter 3
Chapter three
Ryder
My head is already throbbing before I enter the building, and having to yank on the damn door just to get inside doesn’t help. But if I have to be on the mountain at this ungodly hour, a pounding head is a welcome distraction.
I stuff my hand in my pocket and pull out the papers Carter gave me, looking for the name of the person I’m supposed to meet. Drops of water trickle down my sleeve, smudging the ink, but I can still make out what it says. Hayden Chaulke.
Glancing around the lobby, I notice what looks like a reception desk based on the little bell on the counter. It’s empty, and that suits me just fine. They said be here by nine, and I am. Not my fault there isn’t someone here to meet me, and no way am I ringing that damn bell.
I trudge over to the seating area, and after dropping my bag to the floor, I collapse on a couch. No point in standing when I can sit. That’s when I notice how quiet it is.
No music, no rhythmic thumping of ski boots as people walk down the hall, not even the ticking of a clock.
The place is so silent it’s damn near void of sound.
And the… décor. I think that’s what you call it?
Back in the day, when this place was the locker room and lounge for the ski team, it was high class.
Now it just looks sad. The carpet smells faintly of mildew after years of wet boots tracking through, and the leather couches are crinkled from overuse.
If they’re going for nostalgic, they missed the mark.
Propping my feet on the scarred coffee table, I pull my hood over my head, cross my arms over my stomach and close my eyes, thinking a nice snooze is in order. I must actually doze off, because I don’t realize anyone else is in the room until a stern, snarky voice startles me from behind.
“Comfortable?” I twist my head toward the sound and glance up, one eye closed to block out the light. Tall, fair-skinned, with chocolatey hair and a slim but not quite skinny build, the figure in front of me might be unassuming if he wasn’t glaring at me. Lovely.
“Actually, I am. These couches may look like shit but they’re great for a nap.”
His eyes flare with irritation as he purses his lips. “There’s nothing wrong with the couches.”
“If you believe that you probably think that scent wafting off the floor is refreshing instead of rank.” I slouch back into the old leather and shut my eyes.
“Did I say you could sleep here?”
“Did I ask?”
“This isn’t your personal living room. You can’t just come in here and set up camp.”
I crack an eye open and look at my surroundings to verify my first impression before snapping it shut. “I can’t possibly confuse this place with my living room, trust me. And if it were up to me, I’d be napping there instead of here.”
“Have I given you the impression I want you to stay?” He sounds like he’s clenching his jaw, and a smile tugs at the corner of my lip. Finally, someone who doesn’t try to hide their frustration with me.
“It’s not up to you.”
“Pretty sure it is.” The voice comes from in front of me.
I open my eyes to find that he’s standing between the couch and the coffee table, looking down on me with barely contained exasperation. I bite back another grin.
“Pretty sure it’s not.” I shoot him a knowing smirk as I dig into my jeans and pull out the damp paper I stashed there earlier. “I’m supposed to meet Hayden.” I offer him the paper.
He ignores it, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You must be Ryder.”
“I guess that makes you Hayden?”
The guy doesn’t budge. With a heavy sigh, I heave myself off the couch and offer my hand. WTF? I didn’t mean to do that, but whatever. I guess my body remembers how to be polite even if my brain couldn’t give a shit. He’s still as an ice sculpture.
Hayden gives me a critical once-over as I pull a toothpick from my sweatshirt pocket and pop it in my mouth.
We’re close enough that I can see dark brown irises with flecks of gold framed by thick lashes.
They’re intense. Pretty actually, which is a totally random thought I don’t know what to do with.
Fortunately, they’re still glowering at me, which is actually a nice change from the sad, pitying looks I’ve been getting—from the people who don’t avert their eyes, anyway.
That glare almost wakes my competitive side, something I haven’t felt in months. For a brief moment, I want to keep the banter going, to chase the memory of that feeling, but the little spark fades almost as quickly as it came on, too weak to break through my numb outer shell.
What doesn’t melt away is the sense that this guy is kinda cute with those plump, pursed lips, although I can’t for the life of me understand why my brain went there when I’ve never found a guy cute before.
Is this some new variation of beer goggles, or am I actually talking to a girl?
I sway slightly as I lean back to get a better look at his face.
“Are you drunk?” he hisses.
“No.” I’m hungover as fuck, but that’s not the same thing so I haven’t technically broken Carter’s rules.
“Are you sure? You smell like you took a swim in a bottle last night.” He manages to look down his nose at me despite being a few inches shorter. Impressive.
“Just a quick dip.” I shift the toothpick to the other side of my mouth with a merciless smirk.
“What’s the difference?” He lifts his brows.
“About half a bottle, but who's counting? So, where’s the locker room in this place again? I need somewhere to stash my gear while I play tour guide on the mountain.” I’m bending down to pick up my bag when he finally moves, blocking my path.
“A – you’re not here to play tour guide. You’re here to provide help and support to people who want to enjoy the things you clearly take for granted.” He pokes his finger into my chest. “And B – you aren’t working with anyone in your condition.”
Damn, he’s riled. It's kinda nice to have someone take the gloves off when they talk to me. Especially someone whose cheeks turn so damn pink with anger. The ice prick has passion in there somewhere. The old me would’ve pounced on that to get him into bed if he was a girl—I’ve always liked feisty—but fucking doesn’t hold any appeal anymore.
Neither does playing nice. Maybe if I’m a dick I can still get out of this.
“Calm down, Frosty. I can ride in any position—I mean, condition.” I sit back down and kick my feet up to enjoy the show.
“Frosty?” he seethes as the blush climbs even higher.
“You prefer Ice Prick?”
That does it.
His chest heaves with the effort to stay calm.
It’s the most real response anyone’s had to me in a while.
Once again, that stirs something inside me.
I just can't quite put my thumb on it. It’s not really arousal, despite the fact I can now say with certainty he’s an attractive guy.
But it is stimulating, a spark of heat in my otherwise empty chest.
“Just because I take this job seriously doesn’t make me a frigid prick.” His nostrils flare so big I half expect fire to burst out of them.
“Careful, Frosty, if you don’t get that temper under control you’re gonna melt.”
If he could scorch me with a look I’d be engulfed in flames, but I can’t seem to stop baiting him. It’s so satisfying.
“Just one more thing for you to mop up, seeing as how the closest you’re getting to the hill is to clean puddles off the floor,” he seethes, spinning around and stalking toward the office behind the reception area.
“Aren’t you gonna show me where all the supplies are?” I call after him.
“You’ve got a hundred hours, I’m sure you can figure it out before your time’s up. And no more sleeping on my couch.” The slamming door echoes in the silence.
Well, shit. I wasn’t looking to replace riding with cleaning, but as long as it keeps me off the mountain, I guess it’ll work.
I grab my bag and start wandering in search of the lockers I assume are still here somewhere. A hallway opposite the reception desk has the door I’m looking for, and I push it open to find a functional if not very appealing room.
Benches stretch across the middle of two alcoves, lined with wooden lockers.
A freestanding boot warmer sits just next to the door.
Combination locks are attached to a handful of cabinets.
.. They must give you the lock and the digits at the front desk, but since I’m not going back there, I pick an empty spot and stash my bag inside, half-hoping it won’t be here when I come back for it.
That’d be another handy excuse to stay off the slopes.
Back in the main hallway, I find a utility closet and a half dozen bottles of cleaning shit, and even though I’d rather clean than ride, I put a scowl on my face before I walk out so Frosty doesn’t know I actually got my way.