Part 1 (2/2)
Blake Carter listened to the two cougars whispering about him from behind the ski rack. He eyed them as he walked toward the front of the store. The dark-haired one looked vaguely familiar. The redhead flashed him a smile as he walked past. He gave her his best over-the-shoulder glance, holding her gaze. Nice rack, nice a.s.s. He busied himself behind the counter, counting up the receipts, glancing up when they giggled like schoolgirls. He was playing a game, doing what he knew best. But ever since that woman he'd hurt in the coffee shop noticed him taking a last glance at the slinky blonde, he had actually felt bad. He'd seen the hurt in the woman's eyes as she stood there with blood on her nose, and it was like his heart had softened. Ever since that moment, those hurt eyes lingered in his mind, and now he was having trouble seeing past them.
”They're hot for you.”
Blake lifted his eyes to Dave Tuft, his best friend, business partner, and the best acroskier he knew. Dave could flip and spin on a pair of skis as well as Blake could land women.
”What else is new?”
Dave shook his head. ”So, you goin' for it?” He lifted his eyebrows.
”No, thanks.” Blake laughed, wis.h.i.+ng the woman from the cafe had accepted his offer to buy her a cup of coffee. He could have made up for the sneak peek at the blonde.
”You can't handle two?” Dave pulled an inventory clipboard from below the counter and glanced over at the fifty-something-year-old women. ”I envy you, but I wouldn't trade Sally or Rusty for anyone in the world.”
”Just wait. Rusty's what? Fifteen? Soon he'll be doing what I'm doing, if he's not already.”
”Maybe, but we spend so much family time together that I can't even imagine it.”
”Tell me about it. When are we hitting the slopes again? Between Rusty's basketball and your weekly date night with Sally, we never get to catch air together. We should take a run, let our Kodak courage run wild.” Blake knew from experience that if he egged him on enough, Dave would eventually relent. Dave's commitment to Sally and Rusty was enviable, but Blake missed their skiing excursions.
”Kodak courage, huh?” Dave laughed. ”I think it takes Kodak courage to do what you do.” He nodded at the women. ”I'm too old and too tired to show that kind of courage.”
Dave was five years older than Blake, and at thirty-four, Blake still couldn't imagine being too tired for s.e.x. He turned away from the women and leaned against the counter. He couldn't get the woman from the cafe off his mind. She was b.i.t.c.hy and cold and had made it very clear that she was too good for him when she snubbed his offer to buy her coffee, and yet, when he'd looked into her eyes, he'd been intrigued by some kind of repressed spark. Maybe it was just the old adage: Everyone wants what they can't have. All he knew was that for the first time in years, he had no stirrings for the women who were so eagerly vying for his attention, and he was p.i.s.sed at having been blown off earlier.
”As much as I egg you on, dude, I gotta tell ya, life is complicated enough. One woman-the right woman-is more than enough for me. I have to wonder why on earth you're so afraid of getting married,” Dave said.
”Not afraid. Too smart to get caged.” Blake smiled. ”Come on. Whaddaya say? One more ski trip before the season's over?”
”You know, there are people who can help you work through that mommy drama of yours.” Dave pulled out his cell phone scrolled through his contacts. He scribbled a number on a piece of paper, then shoved it into Blake's pants' pocket. ”I looked her up a few months ago. I didn't see her, but I heard she's great.”
”Hooker?”
”Therapist,” Dave said with a serious tone. ”Okay, look, it has been a while since we've skied. Rusty has a game tomorrow, but how about a night run on Sat.u.r.day?”
Blake eyed Dave expectantly, waiting for him to say that he forgot he had plans with Sally, Rusty needed help studying, or it was family movie night at their house. He touched his pocket, wondering why Dave would have a therapist's number, then dismissed the thought and moved on to planning their evening of skiing.
”What?” Dave asked.
”Hadn't you better check with wifey first?” Blake asked.
”Sally doesn't care what I do. I mean, she cares, but it's my choice.”
Blake heard hesitation in Dave's voice and raised his eyebrows.
”I know you can't understand this, Casanova, but I actually like spending time with my family. I like the mundane of knowing they're there. I like coming home to the same woman every day, knowing what perfume she'll have on, and yes, even knowing that Friday nights are family movie night and Sundays are our date night.” Dave sighed. ”Look, Sat.u.r.day night. I'll make it happen.”
Blake shook his head.
”What's that? Blood?” Dave pointed to Blake's elbow.
”What?” Blake looked at a smear of blood on his elbow. ”G.o.dd.a.m.nit.” He walked toward the bathroom to wash it off. Now the snarky woman had ruined his favorite Rossignol long-sleeve s.h.i.+rt. Sure, he had too many of the same type of s.h.i.+rt from every manufacturer around, but this s.h.i.+rt was the one his father had mailed him when they'd opened their ski shop, AcroSki. It was light gray, one size too small, and hugged him in all the right places. The perfect base layer. It was his lucky s.h.i.+rt, and now it was probably ruined.
Dave was on his heels. ”Blood? What's up with that?”
”I elbowed some woman by accident at the coffee shop. She got a b.l.o.o.d.y nose.” The woman he couldn't get out of his mind, with the cutest mole he'd ever seen right above her luscious lips.
”Is that why you're in a s.h.i.+tty mood?” Dave asked.
Blake stopped walking and turned to face Dave. ”I'm not in a s.h.i.+tty mood. I'm just tired.”
”If this isn't a s.h.i.+tty mood, then you're a virgin, too.”
Blake pressed his lips into a tight line and walked away.
The bathroom was bright and, thankfully, empty. Blake pulled at his s.h.i.+rtsleeve to inspect the damage. He'd never hit a woman before, not even by accident, and the one time he made a mistake, she bleeds all over his favorite s.h.i.+rt? Just his luck. He pulled his s.h.i.+rt over his head and rinsed the elbow area with cold water. The water turned pink from the runoff.
The bathroom door swung open, the Men's Room sign clear in big, bold, blue letters on the door.
”Oops. Sorry,” the redhead said with a coy smile.
Blake feigned a smile in return. He was in no mood for a quick bathroom romp. He'd done it before-bathroom, airplane, even on a ski lift. h.e.l.l, there was probably nothing he hadn't done before, but he was not in the mood for it now.
The woman s.h.i.+mmied over and put her hand on his bare back. ”Want some help with that?” She leaned in close, brushed her breast against his bare chest.
Blake steeled his stance. ”I've got it, thanks.”
Red reached over and put her hands on top of his, moving it in a scrubbing motion just as he was. ”I'm good with my hands. I can probably get that right out.”
I'll bet you are. Her hair smelled of roses, her shoulder and neck of Obsession perfume. Blake felt the familiar desire pulling him toward her. He leaned back. Behave, he told himself, but his body had other ideas.
The woman turned and put her wet hands on Blake's biceps, her lips an inch from his. ”My girlfriend,” she said, running her wet index finger down his arm, ”said you liked a little fun.”
”Did she?” Blake had a hazy recollection of the other woman from the only non-touristy bar in town, Bar None. He cringed. Was the town really that small? Blake was torn between his growing erection and the anger he'd felt moments before she'd come into the bathroom.
”Mm-hmm. I thought I might meet you after work and,” she leaned in and whispered in his ear, ”help you release some stress. Drinks, my place?” She planted soft kisses down his neck.
To any other man, this might have seemed unusual, but to Blake-who'd been intimate with too many women to count, in too many places to remember-this was an everyday occurrence. Something he normally thrived on. Today, all he wanted was to clean his d.a.m.ned s.h.i.+rt and forget the woman from earlier that morning.
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