Chapter Ten
Maggie
Snowflakes swirl lazily through the early morning air, blanketing the street in a quiet, picturesque calm as I make my way to the little café down the block. The same café where I spectacularly dumped an entire cup of coffee on Liam Thompson.
Liam.
I bite my lip, frustrated. I have to stop thinking about him. But how can I? He’s literally the reason I’m here. Thinking about him is my job right now.
The door jingles as I step inside, and the warm scent of roasted coffee and pastries wraps around me. I approach the counter, tucking my phone into my pocket. “An Americano to go, please,” I tell the barista before moving to a cozy corner to wait.
While I wait, I pull my phone back out and check my messages. One from Odie catches my eye, and I groan the moment I open it. Don’t fall in love with the subject of your news story, followed by at least a dozen laughing emojis.
I roll my eyes, typing a quick, You’re ridiculous in reply.
Falling in love is the last thing on my mind.
I haven’t even sorted through the emotional mess my ex left me in, and honestly?
I’m not sure I ever want to. The thought of unpacking all that hurt, all those unanswered questions—it’s just too much.
Ryan cheated. He got someone else pregnant. But the truth? Maybe I knew deep down he wasn’t the right person for me. Maybe I just didn’t want to admit it.
I’m lost in my thoughts when a voice cuts through the morning chatter. “A skinny vanilla latte with almond milk.”
My eyes lift automatically, and I freeze. Lyla Goldberg. Liam’s ex. She’s standing at the counter, paying for her skinny latte.
I watch her, the reporter in me kicking into high gear.
She’s undeniably gorgeous—long black hair cascading in perfect waves down her back, a petite button nose, sharp cheekbones that could cut glass.
Her eyes sparkle under the café’s warm, golden lights, but there’s an unmistakable air of smugness about her. It practically radiates off her.
Before I can second-guess myself, the words tumble out of my mouth. “I love your boots.”
Lyla turns, flashing a smile that could win awards, and lifts one foot slightly, showing off the sleek, designer leather. “Aren’t they fabulous?” she says, her voice dripping with satisfaction.
I smile back, every part of me hyper-aware that this is a moment I need to capitalize on. If Lyla’s the key to uncovering more about Liam, I have to keep her talking.
“They really are,” I say, warm and genuine. “You have excellent taste.”
Lyla flips her glossy black hair over one shoulder as she saunters closer, her heels clicking softly on the tiled floor. “I’d like to think so.”
“I’m Maggie,” I introduce myself, holding out a hand.
Lyla’s long, manicured nails glide through my grasp like a warning—sharp, deliberate. “Lyla.” Her lips curve into a polite smile before she cocks her head. “So, are you new to the mountain, or just passing through?”
Her question hangs in the air, giving me two clear choices. I can lie, or I can give her a version of the truth, one designed to get her talking. If she’s the person who’s been leaking stories about Liam to the press, the latter might work to my advantage.
“Just passing through,” I say casually. “I’m a reporter for a newspaper. My boss is on family leave, so I’m covering sports for him. Snowboarding’s not really my thing, but I love my job. I don’t want to lose it.”
“You’re covering the competition?” she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if weighing her next words.
“I am,” I chuckle softly, feigning a bit of self-deprecation. “But honestly? I don’t know the first thing about snowboarding. Do you?”
Lyla’s red lips curl into a grin, and she tilts her head just enough to radiate confidence. “Well, I dated Liam Thompson for a while, so let’s just say I know a thing or two.”
“Oh my gosh,” I say, my voice bubbling with fake enthusiasm. “I’ve heard he’s an incredible snowboarder.”
She lets out a dramatic sigh, her grin widening. “Girl, he’s incredible in other ways, too. If you know what I mean.”
Jealousy flashes through me unexpectedly, but I push it aside, keeping my expression neutral as I pretend to lean in, intrigued. “Really?”
“Oh, the stories I could tell you,” she says with a wink. “You’d lose your mind.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead muster my most earnest smile. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?” I ask, motioning to a table near the window. “I’d love to pick your brain about what it’s really like dating a professional snowboarder.”
Lyla’s dark eyes widen slightly, and she checks the glittering, very expensive watch on her wrist. “I have five minutes,” she says, already moving toward the table like she’s doing me a favor.
Perfect. Five minutes is all I need.
“Where should we start?” Lyla asks, taking charge of the conversation as if this were her interview to lead. She crosses her legs elegantly, leaning forward with an air of practiced confidence.
“Well,” I clear my throat, feigning cluelessness. “Why don’t you tell me a little about how you and Liam met?”
Her lips curve into a knowing smile, and she tilts her head slightly. “My job brought me up to the mountain. We just kept bumping into each other, you know? Eventually, he asked me out for drinks, and we really hit it off.”
“Drinks?” I squeak, trying to keep my composure. My mind immediately jumps to the drink Liam coerced me into.
“Well,” she bites her lip and shrugs, “it was more like we were at this little rundown bar—The Glorious Pig, I think?—and I sat down next to him. He ordered me a drink. But same difference, right?”
That doesn’t sound like “asking her out for drinks” to me, but I plaster on a smile and nod as if this is all wildly fascinating.
I let her continue, sitting through her blow-by-blow recounting of their year-long relationship.
She paints a picture of Liam as disciplined to a fault: clean eating, obsessive exercise, relentless training routines.
Every detail is another piece of the puzzle I’m trying to solve, but so far, I’ve found nothing that screams doping.
“It must be exhausting,” I finally say when she finishes listing every kale smoothie and protein-packed meal Liam has ever consumed.
“Oh, for sure,” Lyla agrees, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger.
“He’s insane about it. With the exception of the occasional drink he allows himself when he’s out, his body is like a freaking temple.
And let me tell you…” Her voice dips lower, dripping with suggestion as she leans in closer.
“When that body is on top of you—or beneath you—it’s like a solid slab of muscle. Absolute perfection.”
I feel the blood drain from my face, my stomach twisting into a knot I don’t want to analyze. Before I can respond—or fake a polite laugh—the bell above the door jingles, and Lyla’s gaze shifts over my shoulder. Her face lights up.
“Speak of the devil,” she purrs, lifting her hand high. “Liam!”
My blood turns to ice as I feel him before I see him and all I can think is: Please don’t see me. Please don’t recognize me.
But knowing my luck, I’m sure he will.
Liam’s presence is impossible to ignore—big, loud, and magnetic—as he strides over to our table. Lyla, ever the performer, stands and blocks me, wrapping her arms around him like she’s staking a claim. I can’t help but notice the way he stiffly pats her back, his smile polite but distant.
“Lyla,” he says, his tone measured.
She steps aside, finally revealing me, and her manicured hand sweeps toward me like I’m some sort of prize to present. “Maggie’s a reporter here covering your competition.”
I stand quickly, extending a hand. “Maggie Cooper. Reporter for The Pine Cone Chronicle.”
Liam blinks at me, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he decides to play along. “Liam Thompson. Professional snowboarder.”
The way he says it—deadpan, serious—almost makes me laugh. He’s trying so hard, and it’s kind of adorable.
“Oh, shoot!” Lyla suddenly stomps her leather boot as her phone rings. “I’m late.” She turns to me, her expression slipping back into that award-winning smile. “It was so nice to meet you, Maggie. I have to go.”
Without waiting for a response, she flips around and runs a hand down Liam’s chest in a way that makes me roll my eyes so hard I might sprain something. “I’ll see you later,” she purrs before grabbing her coffee and sauntering out the door.
Ew.
The second Lyla is gone, Liam crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze locking onto me. “So, you’re a reporter.”
I lift my chin, refusing to be intimidated. “I’m here to report on the snowboarding competition.”
“Right.” His tone is skeptical, his eyebrow quirking. “Then why are you talking to someone who isn’t even competing today?”
“We were waiting for our coffee at the same time,” I say as I sit back down, “and when I mentioned why I was here, she practically started salivating as she told me how amazing you are—on and off the slopes.”
His lips twitch, but he recovers quickly. “You sound jealous.” There’s a beat before he adds, “This is starting to become a theme with you, Cooper, isn’t it?”
“I’m not jealous,” I say firmly, though my tone might give me away just a little.
“Then why are you digging into my ex-girlfriend?” He slides into the chair Lyla just vacated, studying me like I’m the most fascinating puzzle he’s ever seen.
I cross my arms. “Covering all my bases.”
“Bases?” His smirk grows, and damn if it doesn’t do something to my insides. “Are you sure it’s not me you’re interested in?”
I narrow my eyes at him, refusing to let him rattle me. “Don’t flatter yourself, Thompson. You’re just part of the story.”
“Right,” he says, his smirk never faltering. “And you’re just doing your job.”
But the way his eyes glint with amusement tells me he doesn’t believe that for a second
“You seem to have a pretty strict routine,” I say, aiming for casual, though my pulse betrays me, thrumming erratically in my chest.
“No.” Liam shakes his head, his voice low and firm. “You’re not starting an interview.”
“I’m making conversation,” I counter, a blatant lie, but I keep my tone light, almost teasing.
His gaze sharpens, and he leans across the small table, bringing himself dangerously close. The heat of him is palpable, and his chocolate-brown eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. “If you want to interview me, you’ll have to have a drink with me first.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to match his energy, though my pulse quickens. “Fine.”
“And if you’re curious about just how amazing I am on—and off—the slopes,” he continues, his voice dipping lower, “I wouldn’t mind showing you. Anytime.”
My mouth drops open. A wave of heat pools low in my belly despite the sharp sarcasm on my lips. “If that’s what you’re after, I’m sure Lyla would happily oblige.”
His smirk deepens, a dangerous curve that makes my heart stutter.
“What if I don’t want Lyla?” He flashes his eyebrows at me, his tone taking on a teasing edge.
“What if…” He leans even closer, so close I can feel his minty breath tickle my chin and I catch the faint scent of cedar and something darkly alluring.
My eyes drop, betraying me, landing squarely on his lips.
For a second—just one—I let myself imagine what they might feel like: against my mouth, grazing the curve of my neck, trailing lower across my thighs.
“What if,” he whispers, the sound like gravel and silk all at once, “I want you?”
The words are a challenge, and they steal the air from my lungs. My throat goes dry, and my gaze jerks back to meet his, my breath hitching as I catch the dark hunger in his dilated pupils.
“Then I guess,” I manage, steady despite the wildfire raging inside me, “you’ll have to save those lines for someone who falls for them.”
I stand abruptly, my knees wobbling just enough to betray the effect he has on me. I grab my coffee, determined to get out before he sees how badly I’m unraveling.
As I push the glass door open, I glance over my shoulder. He’s still sitting there, leaning back in his chair, his smirk utterly infuriating. It’s the kind of smile that says he knows exactly what he’s doing—and he knows, no matter how much I resist, I’m already caught in his orbit.
And I’m not sure I even mind at this point.