It was like cutting a path straight into Narnia, only way less depressing. Mac worked his way down the trail from the top of the mountain, through a suffocatingly dense tunnel of trees and boulders, all of which were blanketed in fresh gobs of snow. Caution, trespassing; suggestions really…as long as I don’t get caught.
He loved it up here, his smile proof that dropping out of college mid-semester three years earlier to peruse his dream of becoming a full-time snow bum had in fact been the right decision. Anything for more of this.
The sun peeking out after a storm, the feeling of his Never Summer snowboard breaking through each dollop and drift, the sound of his breath glancing off the pines and aspens. Each turn an expression of who he was. Art. Nature. Solitude in the moment, one that would stay loosely connected to him forever, tailing like a streamer in the wind, never to be caught, only to be unraveled in an ever-changing landscape of his past. Conditions that were only true to the moment, then gone forever.
Suddenly the view opened to a twenty-foot cliff, a cascading rockslide that had washed every tree for the next hundred yards.
He slid to a stop and removed his feet from the bindings. With his board planted firmly into the snow, he walked along the upper ridge of the slide. The valley below idle, the runs of Beaverridge on the left, the Whoville village of Vail in the middle, and the vaunted, nearly mythical runs of the world’s most exclusive ski resort ever imagined, Icon Mountain Resort, sprawling to his right. It doesn’t get better that this...well, almost.
Sheltered by a canopy of leaning pines was a perfectly shaped rock bench, and on it sat one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, his flirtatiously aggressive snow bunny, Erica Brown. Now that’s better.
“You’re late,” she teased, scooting over to give him room.
There were a lot of things he adored about her, a whole list actually, but it was the accent that got him every single time. So very British, proper and delicate. But watching her lips when she spoke, now that was the real treat.
“Car trouble.” Mac winked. “And the Wednesday brief ran a bit longer than usual. I’m sure you heard the news?”
She gave a thoughtful nod. “He told us.” She waited, maybe wondering if he would elaborate.
“Can’t believe he’s actually hanging it up. Mid-season too. Crazy.” He removed his gloves, chewing at his thumbnail absentmindedly. “Oh well…fun while it lasted.” He felt her bright green eyes pecking at him. “What?”
“Stop pretending like I don’t already know.” She punched his shoulder. “Our meeting was before yours. He named you and Jawny as his potential successors.”
He shrugged. “And he can have it.”
“Don’t you believe in fate?” she asked, grabbing his hand. “This position hasn’t been open in twenty years and you won’t even make a try for it? Why be so dull?”
“I’m not trying to deal with all the headaches. Plus, think about it, Ellis would be my new boss. No way I’m signing up for that. Imagine having that dude breathing down your neck all the time. Now Jawny on the other hand…the dude runs on negative attention.”
It was no small secret that Ellis Feldstein owned everything the light touched in Vail. He’d gotten his start with a puny inheritance; a few coal mines, the land above them and a floundering ski resort. After some rebranding, he got Beaverridge Resort turned around before aggressively going after commercial real estate, condominiums and hotels, which eventually gave him the fortune needed to build his true passion project; his very own private ski resort, which he micromanaged to the nth degree.
“He isn’t so bad,” she deflected. “I deal with him more than you’ve had to.”
As much grief as Ellis pushed down the throats of the Beaver Brigade, the Icon staff had the luxury of housing the man’s work office, as well as his winter home, though resort-side-mansion might be a more accurate depiction.
Um, excuse me. Not that bad? “He just fed Craig the axe after he’d given him half his life. The dude’s a raging lunatic. On the bright side, once Jawny gets promoted, I’ll be the first to go.”
“Fine, I’ll admit it,” she said. “Ellis is a self-serving pig, and the way he treats women should be a crime if it isn’t already. Apprehensible. But maybe you could actually make things better, at least for some of us in the instructor’s room.”
Mac didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. There was literally no chance he was going to sign up for the stress and workload associated with a promotion like ski captain, not even at the behest of a sweet little damsel in distress.
“Unbelievable.” She folded her arms. “Here you are on the cusp of promotion, not to mention the only instructor with an ounce of personality, and you’re going to lay down for Jawny eff-my-eyes-out Blake? It’s like the perfect opportunity for you to step up and surprise me and instead you just lay down and quit. What a fucking crybaby you are. Honestly, I don’t know that I can keep doing it with you. Exhausting.” Her eyes flashed, dark as the black hair she was brushing behind her ear. “You’re too damn casual, Mac.”
“Speaking of casual,” he said, thankful for a topic change, “it’s a good thing you already agreed to drinks tonight, or I’d actually maybe have to consider what you’re saying.” He winked, putting an arm around her and squeezing playfully.
She scrunched her face, probably considering their tentative plans for the evening. “You know…one day I might not be so damn available to you, then what are you going to do?” She scooted back to get a better look at him.
“I’d say fate seems to have a different idea.” He pulled her in again, lightly kissing the exposed skin just above her collar bone. “And just for once, can’t you make things easy?”
“Oh, it’s easy you like?” Her tone shifted back to the lighter side, letting him do as he pleased, if only for the illusion.
He worked his way up her incredibly soft neck, stopping at her full, parted lips. He lightly bit and pulled, waiting for her reaction.
Her breath stopped and the next thing he knew she’d already swung her leg over his lap, straddling on top of him, gently tangling her hand in his curly brown mop before jerking his head back ever so forcefully.
See, easy is nice.
In a matter of seconds she had his coat unzipped, tugging at his pant pockets. The cold air rushed in, sending a surge of adrenaline down every inch of his body. Moments like this.
Then she stopped. “What the actual fuck, Mac?” She was holding a glass pipe the size of a lighter, her face a mixture of rage and disgust. “You told me you were done with this garbage.”
For lack of a better response Mac grinned. So that’s where that’s been hiding.
She let out a huge sigh, backing off his lap, discarding the pipe into a nearby snow drift. And apparently the conversation was over because she'd already started walking away.
“Still on for tonight though? Right?” He could taste the patheticness dripping off each word, her curves still visible under her jacket and pants, grey with purple triangular camouflage, seemingly taunting him as untouchable, barely visible ground. Please come back.
“I’m not going to be late for my lesson with Brad.” She clipped into her ski bindings, her eyes avoiding his. “Especially not for this stupid shit!”
“Brad Williams?” Mac was hopeful. The comedian with dwarfism wasn’t exactly an A-lister, the type that frequented Icon Mountain, but maybe he could lighten her mood in a non-threating way. She’d forget and be over this by noon.
“Cooper,” she shouted, disappearing behind the bend, leaving Mac with a burning sense of regret to go along with his cold hands as he frantically dug through the snow in search of his carelessly discarded weed pipe.
Well, shit.