Against All Odds (Holt Hockey Book 2)
Against All Odds: Chapter 7

Three weeks earlier…

Jameson is lounging on the leather couch when we walk in the front door of the chalet. Immediately, the high of snowboarding in the sunshine all day disappears.

Annoyance churns in my gut as I watch my brother alternate between sipping from the crystal tumbler he’s holding and scrolling on his phone. He only glances up when I slam the door shut behind us.

Conor glances at me, uncertainty written across his face.

I told him my brother might be showing up. I neglected to mention we’re more enemies than siblings. Mostly because I didn’t think Jameson would actually follow through on his taunt of coming here after the family celebration I skipped.

When Jameson spots Conor, he grins and stands. “Hey! Nice to meet you, man. I’m Jameson.”

“Conor. Nice to meet you too.”

Hart shakes my brother’s offered hand but doesn’t give Jameson more than a polite smile.

I’ve lost track of how many people I’ve seen fall for my brother’s slick charm. I doubted Hart would, but it’s still a relief not to see it happen.

After greeting Conor, my brother turns to me. Opening his arms wide and forcing me to interact with him or else make a scene.

“Been way too long, little brother,” he tells me, slapping my back as we embrace.

Not long enough.

I force a nod as I step back and unzip my ski jacket. There’s a roaring fire in the giant stone fireplace that takes up most of one wall in the living room. I’m sure Jameson called ahead and had the caretaking company build it while we were on the slopes. When it comes to anything except sucking up to our parents or antagonizing me, he’s lazy as shit.

“I was beginning to think I wouldn’t see you until the wedding.”

My entire body goes rigid. But since a reaction is exactly what he’s looking for, I force myself to say, “I’ll do my best to make that,” in the most bored tone I can muster.

Jameson’s smile is smug. “Yeah, I’m sure you will.”

He knows, just like I do, there’s no way my family will let me miss that wedding.

“Your wedding?” Conor asks Jameson.

“Yeah.” Jameson chuckles. “We’re young, but our parents are thrilled.”

“Uh, congrats.” Conor looks confused.

He doesn’t come from the same world I do, where parental approval is paramount. Where appearances are everything and loyalty is fluid.

“How long are you staying?” I ask.

Jameson transfers his attention to me slowly, the haughtiness he usually aims my way replacing the pleasantness he manufactured for Conor. “Only tonight. I’m needed back in the office urgently for a big deal we’re working on.”

I suppress a snort. More like his signature is needed to sign off on a deal he played no major part in. He’s a figurehead at the company, coasting on my father’s coattails. At least Lincoln Phillips earned the accolades people heap on him. My dad might be a self-centered dick, but he’s a hard-working one.

Conor clears his throat. “I should go shower. Good to meet you, Jameson.”

“Same here. Aidan talks about you all the time. Nice to finally put a face to the name.”

I clench my jaw. I’ve never mentioned Conor, or anything about my life in Somerville, to Jameson.

We stare at each other as Conor heads upstairs.

“Can’t believe you actually came.”

“Can’t believe you skipped Christmas. Mom was crushed.”

“I was busy.”

“You’ve never been busy a day in your life, Aidan. You fuck around doing nothing. Contributing nothing. You’re a Phillips, for God’s sake. Grow up.”

“Wow. You sound just like Dad.”

Jameson shakes his head. “That’s not the insult you think it is.”

“If I was trying to insult you, Jameson, I’d ask how many hours you’ve spent on the deal you’re rushing back to close.”

“Dozens.”

I laugh. “Bullshit. You’re Dad’s lapdog, and he’s tossing you a bone and letting you act important.”

“You’re living off the same money I am. At least I’m working for it.”

“I’m in college,” I respond. “I don’t recall you waiting tables at Stanford.”

“You only have one semester left. What’s going to be your excuse after graduation? I know you’re not taking any of Dad’s calls. You’ll be lucky to get a job at the company.”

“I don’t want a job at the company.”

“What are your other options?”

To that, I have no good answer. If anyone except my older brother had accused me of doing nothing during my college years, I would have laughed and asked them Can’t I put partying on my resume?

Truthfully, I have no fucking clue what I’ll do after graduation. I’m majoring in business because it’s what most student athletes choose, and I had to pick something, not because it’s anything I’m passionate about.

Jameson gets a call, saving me from answering.

“Hey, Dad,” he answers, flashing me a smug grin as his voice inflates with self-importance. “No, I don’t have that in front of me, but I can pull it up. One second.” His voice gets quieter as he heads deeper into the house. I’m sure he took the downstairs master for himself. “Yes, he’s here. Just got back from snowboarding.”

I roll my eyes, then head for the stairs.

Jameson’s presence will be more tolerable after I’ve stripped off this gear, showered, and helped myself to a stiff drink. Maybe tonight will be the evening I finally talk Hart into having some fun. He’s still sulking about Harlow.

Halfway to the stairs, the doorbell rings.

I stop and sigh. I’m not expecting anyone. Jameson probably ordered something, and of course he’s off talking to my dad. I spin around and head for the door.

Instead of a delivery person, there’s a gorgeous blonde standing on the doorstep. Full face of makeup with the flaps of her fancy coat wide open, a low-cut sweater showing off her cleavage. She tilts her head to the left and smiles, a couple pieces of her styled hair falling into the exposed valley between her tits.

“Hello there, gorgeous,” I drawl. “How can I help you?”

She blushes, twirling a curl around her finger. “I didn’t know we’d have company. I’m Autumn. I’m looking for Jameson?”

Just like that, any interest in her dissipates.

He flew one of his side chicks into town. Unbelievable. I’m pissed, and the person I’m pissed for doesn’t deserve my anger on her behalf.

“Come on in.” I step aside so she can walk into the house.

She frowns, noticing the change in my tone, but forgets about it once she’s inside. “Wow. This place is absolutely gorgeous.”

“No luggage?” I ask.

“Oh. No.” Autumn giggles, then pats the expensive purse she’s carrying. I bet Jameson bought it for her. “I have the essentials in here. And well…” Her smile turns coy. “I didn’t think I’d need many clothes.”

The innuendo is impossible to miss.

“Gets cold as fuck here,” I tell her.

Autumn’s expression twists, like she’s not sure if I’m purposefully misunderstanding or if I’m making fun of her. “Jameson didn’t mention we’d have company.”

“I’m his brother,” I tell her.

“Oh.” I can see the admiration on her face as she looks me over. Subtle, she’s not. A characteristic I usually appreciate, but it’s currently annoying me to no end.

“Little brother.” Jameson appears, his face brightening when he spots Autumn. “So glad you made it, baby.”

He kisses her, using way too much tongue, but she seems into it.

“Younger,” I say, when they separate. “I’m Jameson’s younger brother. Nothing littler about me, which any girl who’s been with us both knows.”

Autumn’s expression brims with obvious lust as she looks me over again.

Jameson’s face is twisted with fury.

Sure, it’s petty as fuck reminding him who slept with his fiancée first.

But he’s the one who showed up here, knowing it’s where I was spending part of break, and invited the woman he’s cheating on my ex with.

“Maybe we could all…”

My dark mood lightens considerably, seeing Jameson’s reaction when Autumn suggests a threesome. His face turns an alarming shade of red as she basically announces she’s unsatisfied with their sex life.

“The women I fuck are too satisfied to screw someone else,” I tell her. “Sorry.”

Then I turn and head upstairs.

“I’m headed to bed,” Conor says, tossing the rest of his cards on the table before shuffling them into one stack.

I groan. “Seriously?”

He’s bailed early every night since we’ve been here. Even tonight, when I agreed to stay in. We grilled steaks and have been playing cards for the past hour.

“Yeah. I haven’t been sleeping great.” Hart aims an accusing look at me, like it’s my fault I’m the only one getting laid on this trip.

“You still haven’t texted her, huh?”

He stretches, then stands. Avoiding answering my question, just like he’s done every time the topic of Harlow has come up. “Night, Phillips.”

I sigh. “Night.”

Conor disappears upstairs.

I spin my phone around on the table, debating what to do. Jameson and Autumn left a couple of hours ago, and since Conor was around and has that charisma that makes other guys want to seem cool around him, Jameson shared that they’re spending the night at the condo downtown instead of just taking off without talking to me like he would’ve if we were here alone.

Now that Hart has gone to bed, I have the house to myself.

The girl from two nights ago left me her number. I could call her. Or I could watch a movie. Or go to a bar downtown, although that would risk running into Jameson.

I amble into the kitchen, refilling my glass with whiskey. The only upside of Jameson’s visit is that I can blame him for any amount missing.

My father insists on buying this brand that costs an obscene amount per bottle. Tastes the same as any other kind I’ve ever had, but my father has always put a premium on appearances. The only reason I know this bottle’s cost is because I looked it up once, back when I was still giving a shit about my father’s opinion and buying him birthday gifts.

I walk over to the French doors that lead onto the back deck and step outside. The cold is like a slap to the face, so sharp and bitter it numbs me immediately.

My parents bought this place when I was in elementary school. Back then, I called it the treehouse. I can still see the similarities to one—the exposed wood and expansive decks and the way it’s built into the side of the mountain, surrounded by treetops. It used to be my favorite of my parents’ properties, until Parker ruined this place too.

I sip some whiskey, the cool liquid warming me as the wind chills me to the bone. It’s a bright night, the exterior lights rendered almost entirely useless by the moon. It’s a full one tonight, or nearly one.

Stone slabs lead to the hot tub. Steam rises from the surface of the clear water, drifting away toward the snow-capped peaks in the distance.

I stand and sip, watching the vapor drift away and disappear. My cheeks burn from the cold; my throat burns from the whiskey. And I hate how my eyes burn too, evidence of my weakness.

No matter what, I can’t seem to escape it. No matter how far I go. No matter how much I drink. No matter how much time passes without seeing or speaking to my family. No matter how many girls I screw. No matter how many goals I score.

It’s always just there, this feeling of inadequacy and bitterness and resentment and wariness.

Family are supposed to be the people you trust and rely upon.

All mine has ever done is scheme and lie and manipulate.

I’m used to it by now. Still sucks.

I’m half-frozen now, the whiskey all that’s keeping me warm. Impulsively, I set the glass down on the side of the tub. Tug off the sweatshirt and joggers I put on after my shower.

Hiss, when the frigid air bites my bare skin. I can practically feel my dick shrinking.

Grit my teeth when I step into what feels like lava.

Yeah, this was one of my dumber decisions.

When Jameson and I were younger—friendlier—we used to lie in snowbanks, then jump in this hot tub. I remember those afternoons as being fun, not this agony I’m currently experiencing as my body adjusts from being surrounded by ten degrees to a hundred.

I take a seat on the stone bench, relaxing into the water. Spread my legs and tilt my head back to stare up at the star-strewn sky, my only movements to reach for the glass of whiskey a few times.

I’m luckier than a lot of people, I know. Staying in a twenty-million-dollar chalet, waiting for my trust fund to kick in. This pity party couldn’t have better accommodations.

But money can’t buy happiness, something the rest of my family seems unable to comprehend. Or maybe they’re just too preoccupied putting on their individual acts to notice they’re unhappy.

An owl hoots in the distance.

This place is too far away from downtown’s commotion to have any soundtrack except nature.

A stick cracks. Followed by a low, heartfelt “Shit” that is not native to Colorado.

I sit up, squinting in the direction of the sound. There’s a girl—or woman, I can’t tell her age from here—right along the treeline, less than twenty feet away. Looking down, dark hair curtaining most of her face.

“You good?” I call out.

She doesn’t move for a few seconds. Finally, she raises her head. It looks like she squares her shoulders before turning to face me.

I suck in a surprised breath. She’s young, but definitely not a child. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s about my age.

And she’s stunning, even bundled up in a down jacket and wearing one of those knit hats with a pom-pom on top that I usually think look silly. Her skin looks as smooth and pale as the snow I stared at all day, contrasted against the darker color of her coat.

“Yep. I’m good.”

I wait, but that’s all she says. “What are you doing?”

She waves the phone she’s holding toward me. “I go to university in London. Haven’t seen mountains in a while, and this place has a nice view.”

Nice view is an understatement.

Properties on this side of the slope go for eight figures and stay in families for generations.

I’m entertained by her nonchalance, and unsurprised. Between that comment and the combination of her American accent and British education, it’s obvious she’s part of the elite group of snobs who love this particular zip code. Probably by choice, instead of my own reluctance.

But I’m not one to look for more than a pretty face.

Not anymore.

“View’s better from in here,” I tell her.

Her expression doesn’t change at the invitation, and it’s a thrill I haven’t experienced in a long time.

Girls rarely challenge me. They usually throw themselves at me. Willing and eager to please, happy to have my attention for however long it lasts.

“I have a personal policy against climbing into hot tubs with strange men. Maybe next time.”

I smirk, appreciating her snark even more than her disinterest. My dick reacts too, stiffening underwater. She’s the exact distraction I’m craving right now.

“You’re trespassing on private property. I hardly lured you here under false pretenses. Just trying to be a good host.”

She glances away, and it annoys me.

I can’t see her face. Or read her expression.

“This is your family’s place?”

“Yeah. You live around here?”

She must have come on foot. The driveway curves right above here into the garage, so I would have heard a car arrive.

“My friend lives across the street.”

I think. “The…Coopers?”

“Her last name is Riley. Her parents bought it a few months ago.”

“Oh.”

The last time I was here was Christmas, years ago. I’m surprised I even remember the Coopers. I met them once, if that, at a cocktail party my mom threw around the holidays. “Your friend isn’t the felony-committing sort?”

I can’t tell for sure in the limited light, but I think she rolls her eyes. “I just needed some fresh air. Didn’t plan to walk this far.”

“What’s a few more steps?” I ask, grabbing my glass and taking a sip. I let the tumbler dangle between my fingers, watching her through the glass.

I can’t decide if she’s considering coming closer or about to walk away, and it’s affecting me more than the alcohol. There’s a bolt of adrenaline—of intrigue—wondering what she’ll do next and not knowing the answer.

Part of it is the fact we’re strangers and the uncertainty of night. But the rest is realizing how predictable my encounters on campus have become. How I ordinarily know how the night will end before it even begins. Even the girls I’ve hooked up with since arriving in Colorado have all followed the same pattern. Buy them a drink at the bar by the biggest slope, trot out a few one-liners, and then we’ve ended the evening in the king-sized bed upstairs. Satisfying, simple…and kind of boring. Close to a routine after only a few days.

Shock—and satisfaction—spreads through me when she takes a step in this direction rather than walking away.

“I don’t have a bathing suit,” she tells me.

I smirk. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I’m not wearing one.”

Another step. Two. Three. Six.

Then she’s standing next to my clothes. Since I’m expecting her to glance down, it’s satisfying when she continues surprising me and doesn’t.

Her gaze remains locked on mine as she takes a seat cross-legged on the deck. She’s dressed for the frigid weather. In addition to her heavy coat and silly hat, she’s wearing fur-lined snow boots.

“My ex cheated on me. I haven’t been with another guy since.”

I appreciate her bluntness as much as the indication she’s as interested as I am. I also admire it. Most girls would weave some story about ending things first.

My one and only relationship ended with me being dumped. I know how much it sucks, how easily inadequacy sneaks in. Even if I wasn’t so attracted to this girl, I’d want to help her regain confidence.

“I’m a great rebound,” I tell her.

She scoffs, then looks toward the mountains I was studying before she appeared. “You were right. The view’s better from here.”

“I meant the view from in the tub, not next to it.”

She glances at me. Not at my face, at my dick, which swells further under her scrutiny.

I know I’m bigger than average. Some girls enjoy the challenge, others are intimidated by it. It’s an inconvenience, honestly, most of the time. Mainly because it’s rarely a girl who’s seen my cock before looking at my erection and so it’s a topic of conversation every time. A reassurance that yes, it’ll fit.

This stranger says nothing complimentary or concerned, which is new.

“Girls usually tell me their name, at least, before checking out my package,” I say.

She snorts. “Package?”

“Full one, isn’t it?” I wink. “Feel free to keep looking.”

“You’re the one with your dick out. It’s a free country; I can look wherever I want.”

“Did you learn that in England?”

She shakes her head, then tilts it back to look up at the starry sky.

I take the opportunity to study her profile up close. Don’t bother to look away when she turns her head to the side and catches me staring.

“Alice,” she says. “My name is Alice.”

“Welcome to Wonderland, Alice.” I lift my glass toward her in a mock cheers, then sip.

She snorts, then asks, “Do I have to show you my pussy to get your name?”

I start coughing, whiskey traveling up my nose so it feels like I’ve inhaled fire. My eyes water immediately.

Alice grins at my reaction, the first smile I’ve seen. It softens her perfectly symmetrical features, warms some of her icy aloofness.

I play hockey. I’ve heard—and participated in—plenty of chirping on the ice, and I have no problem talking dirty to a girl. But they don’t talk dirty to me. They giggle and blush and moan in response to whatever shit spews out of my mouth. I’ve never met a girl who used pussy as part of her vocabulary, let alone in a first conversation.

I take another sip of whiskey, trying to soothe my irritated throat and regain some control over the situation.

Alice stands. For one disappointing second, I think she’s leaving. Then her pink pom-pom hat falls to the deck, right on top of my joggers. Followed by her down coat. She’s wearing a thick sweater beneath it, but that lands on the ground too. Followed by a thermal shirt similar to the one I wore snowboarding earlier.

She’s wearing a sports bra. Not lingerie or lace, but my cock doesn’t care. I can see the curve of her boobs above the stretchy material. The smooth, toned skin of her stomach beneath and the sharp edges of her collarbone under the straps. If I squint, I can make out the raised bumps of her nipples.

Her boots go next, followed by wool socks.

Girl dressed for this walk like it was an Arctic expedition.

The leggings are the last to go before she steps into the hot tub. A pink flush spreads across her skin as she rushes to submerge in the hot water, her dark hair fanning around her as she settles on the bench opposite from me.

“This is nice.”

I hum an agreement, studying her through the veil of rising steam as she looks around. At the house, at the woods. Everywhere except me. I can’t tell if it’s a purposeful move or not. If I’m really the least interesting thing to look at or if she’s feigning the nonchalance.

When our eyes meet again, there’s a jolt. In my chest and in my groin. I’m uncomfortably hard now, my entire body humming with an awareness of her proximity.

Hot tub is a first for me. I didn’t think to bring any of the girls I hooked up with earlier this week out here, and this is a luxury the house in Somerville is lacking. Bummer, because a soak would feel amazing after a couple of exhausting hours on the ice.

“How does this usually work for you?” Alice asks me. “You lure a girl in here, then what’s your move?”

I raise a brow, then laugh. “It’s a free country, remember? I didn’t lure you anywhere. And…there’s no move.”

“No?” Her eyebrow arches, and it’s sexy as hell.

“This is a first for me.”

I can’t recall the last time I said that to a girl. If I’ve ever said that to a girl, even on the rare times it’s been true.

My dad succeeded in some ways, because I hate admitting weakness. Appearing vulnerable. Or maybe that’s just a natural human impulse I’ve never bothered to fight.

Something about Alice—her unpredictability or her mysteriousness—makes me want to admit it. Encourages me to be different from the smooth player confident of every move. She’s sure, and it has me scrambling to keep up.

Alice tilts her head, studying me back. Her fingers swish underwater, creating tiny currents on the surface.

“Does no move mean you don’t want to fuck me?”

God, her fucking mouth.

Most girls would blush or whisper. Alice tosses that out, then continues to create ripples in the water like my answer won’t affect her. Like she’s already decided how tonight will go and I’d be lucky to have any say in the matter at all.

I grab my glass off the stone side and stand, amused, bemused, and insanely turned on.

Alice’s head tilts back against the side of the tub as I push through the water toward her, a bob of her throat when our legs touch her only other reaction.

I take a final sip, then hold the tumbler out to her. There’s only an inch or so left. About five hundred dollars’ worth of alcohol, probably.

She takes it without hesitating, downing the remaining whiskey in one gulp. I reach out and grip her left wrist, guiding her hand through the water and between my legs.

Red creeps up her neck when her fingers brush my erection, the first falter in her unaffected facade.

I lean closer, not touching her anywhere else but speaking right next to her ear. “You tell me. Do I want to fuck you?”

Her head turns. And then we’re kissing, warm, eager mouths colliding in a kiss that’s hotter than the water around us.

She’s a lit match, and I’m soaked with alcohol.

Everything ignites, my awareness burning down to nothing except her. My hands land on her hips and then slide down to cup her ass, lifting her off the stone bench and lining up our bodies. Her legs wrap around me as our tongues continue to tangle, her pussy grinding against my cock.

Goddamn, can this girl kiss.

Another thing that’s become rote. I kiss girls because it’s expected, because it’s a step you don’t skip even though you both know it’s only a precursor to the sex. Kissing is never the part of a hookup that I look forward to. I’m usually planning ahead, trying to decide on a position or unhooking the back of a bra.

Alice is making me forget there’s more to come. She sucks on my bottom lip, nibbling gently, and I can’t control the groan that spills out. Or the low “Fuck” when her fingernails dig into my back and her boobs rub against my chest, the wet fabric of her sports bra bunching between us.

She’s destroying me effortlessly, and it makes me desperate to affect her just as much.

I hoist her up onto the edge of the hot tub. Alice flinches as her ass hits the chilly wood, the frosty air raising goosebumps on her skin. It escalates the challenge, raises the stakes. Not only do I want her to forget all about her asshole of an ex, I also have to contend with frigid temperatures.

“Lie back and spread your legs.”

She listens, tugging her sweater under her as a makeshift barrier from the hard wood. Her thighs open, offering me a second look at her underwear.

They’re pink cotton and full coverage, which shouldn’t be sexier than the scraps of lace I usually see. But they are, because they’re soaked and might as well be see-through. The wet fabric clings to the outline of her pussy, offering an obscene view that becomes even more explicit when I pull them down and add her drenched underwear to the pile of our clothes. She’s almost completely bare below, only a thin strip of dark hair leading to the spot I’m dying to taste.

I kiss the inside of her knee, her legs opening wider the higher my mouth goes.

“Oh my God,” she moans, twisting to her left to watch me.

I smile against her skin, finally reaching the curve of her hip. “You want me to kiss your pussy, Alice?”

Instead of answering, she lifts her hips closer to my mouth. It’s a silent challenge, almost, to prove myself.

Without asking, I’m fairly certain it means her cheating ex couldn’t make her come this way.

I’m not one of those guys who thinks eating a girl out is an inconvenience. This draws out the anticipation even more. And even when I’m not the one getting off, there’s a thrill to holding all the power. To watching the girl beneath me react to my touch.

And I’ve never been more determined to see someone moan and turn incoherent. I don’t just like doing this, I’m fucking good at it. Not cockiness—fact.

Alice cries out as soon as my tongue touches the bundle of nerves above her opening, scooting toward me as her hand slides into my hair so she can pull my face closer. The needy whimper breaks the charged silence around us, and makes me even more adamant about making her scream. I swirl my tongue, then suck again. Her legs open even wider, giving me as much access as possible. My lips move to the inside of her thighs, kissing the soft skin there.

I could draw this out longer. Continue admiring this view and tease her until she’s begging for release. But it’s freezing and as satisfying as seeing her casual attitude crumble is, it’s only making me more uncomfortable. My dick is so hard it’s painful. Regardless of what happens with her next, it’s going to need some attention. So I suck her clit into my mouth again, not wasting any more time.

Maybe things ended with her ex a while ago, and she’s just craving an orgasm from someone other than herself.

Maybe she’s as caught up in this as I am—the silent woods and the steaming water and the feeling that we’re the only two people who exist in the world right now.

I don’t really care why, as long as she keeps riding my face and making these eager whimpers that send hot bursts of lust thundering through me.

I trail my tongue lower, replaceing her opening and circling it with my tongue. Alice is soaked, and it has nothing to do with the hot tub. I can taste her, something musky and unique that drives my own desire higher.

She’s the furthest thing from unaffected.

She’s begging now, loudly, even though I haven’t stopped touching her. Rocking against me, her entire body taut and searching. Her firm grip in my hair is almost as painful as my straining cock, which is desperate to replace my tongue.

I lift a hand out of the water, the cold air instantly chilling the drops clinging to my skin. Push two fingers inside of her, working in and out of her tight heat as my tongue moves higher.

Alice comes with a shouted cry, her entire body going rigid before she’s spasming and shuddering with the force of her release.

Then slips back into the water with a shudder, a slight, satisfied upturn to her pouty lips.

A few seconds later, she yanks off her sports bra and tosses it onto the deck where she was just lying.

Her tits are perfect. Full and firm, the swells barely breaking through the surface of the water. I’m already regretting not pulling her bra off myself before going down on her. It’s not like the wet spandex was doing much to keep her warm.

She tilts her head back, totally wetting her hair. “Fuck, that was good.”

I know she came; I felt it. But the satisfied hum to the words is the best ego stroke I’ve gotten in a while.

“You’re welcome.”

She laughs, a light, genuine sound that fizzes through me like a sip of champagne. Warms me more than the lingering whiskey. “I showed you my pussy.”

I run my tongue along my lower lip, savoring her taste. “I remember.”

“So…what’s your name?”

Now, I laugh. Without a doubt, this is the weirdest, most memorable introduction to anyone I’ve ever had. “Aidan.”

“Aidan,” she repeats.

“Yep. Alice and Aidan. We’re adorable.”

There’s a shift on her face. A flash of some expression I can’t read before it’s quickly snuffed out.

She reaches out, fisting my throbbing dick.

I groan in relief, fresh frissons of arousal racing through me. Her grip is perfect, tight and sure as she works her way down my length. Brushes my balls, making my hips jerk.

“I have condoms…but they’re all inside.” I say the words cautiously, not sure how far she’s interested in taking this.

I would be happy with a hand job. At this point, after tasting her and seeing her come, just having her here and naked, I could come from a few strokes.

Her hand releases my cock, which is not the response I was hoping for.

Alice reaches for her jacket, grabbing one sleeve and pulling it closer until she can reach the pocket.

A few seconds later, she tosses a foil packet toward me. I’m so surprised I almost miss catching it and let it sink into the steaming water.

I don’t question why she’s carrying a condom around in her winter coat. I just send up a silent prayer of gratitude that she was as I tear it open with my teeth, then grit them as I rise out of the water to roll it on.

“Come here and bend over.”

She complies as quickly as she did last time, aware of the same thing I am—it’s fucking freezing outside the water.

I line the head of my cock up with her entrance and push in slowly, grunting as I watch her stretch to accommodate me.

As soon as I’ve bottomed out, I let us both slip beneath the water again. Alice keeps her grip on the stone edge, moaning as I start to steadily thrust in and out of her.

My hands skate up her ribcage and reach around, finally getting to touch the soft mounds of her breasts as I drag my tongue along the line of her shoulder.

I think I’m having an out-of-body experience, pleasure suffusing everywhere. It feels like a privilege to touch her. A victory to be fucking her.

“Are you thinking about your ex?” I ask.

“No. Are you thinking about yours?”

Rather than deny what’s either a lucky guess or an astute observation, I answer honestly. “She never would have had sex in a hot tub.”

“She’s missing out.”

I chuckle, reluctantly letting go of one of Alice’s breasts so I can massage her clit again. “So is he. You’re so fucking tight…” I curse as she clenches around me, sending a jolt of electricity up my spine.

She’s close.

I’m praying she’s close, because I’m barely hanging on and I pride myself on following a ladies first policy.

I wish we were in a bed, where I could kiss and lick and explore every inch of her sinful body without worrying about one or both of us getting hypothermia. And I also can’t imagine this tryst taking place anywhere else, the contrasts of the freezing air and the steaming water a different kind of aphrodisiac than anything I’ve ever experienced before.

I’ve fucked a lot of women.

Alice will be the only one I ever have sex with in a hot tub.

I’ll never be able to do this again without thinking of her. The floral notes that must be from her shampoo or perfume. The way she meets every stroke, taking me as deep as she can. The breathy sounds she makes as her pussy tightens around my cock.

And then—thank God—she’s coming.

I let go with a long groan, my dick twitching and expanding as I fill the condom.

The sweet, satisfied warmth of an orgasm spreads through me, my vision turning blurry for a few seconds as the euphoria remains. As I realize I’m still coming, and so is she.

By the time I pull out, I’m breathing heavily and blissed out. Sluggish and satisfied. Everything is moving slower, so it takes a few seconds for me to register that Alice is moving away. Climbing out.

She doesn’t bother with her bra or underwear. Just tugs on her leggings, socks, and sweater, followed by her hat, which looks silly with her dripping hair.

“You don’t have to leave,” I say, standing so I can tug the condom off and tie the end. I toss it on the deck, then sink back beneath the hot water.

“Yeah, I do. This was fun. Thanks.”

I huff an unamused laugh.

This was fun. Thanks?

I’ve never been that cold, even if the sex was bad. And I felt her come—both times. The sex was not bad.

But I’ve never asked a girl for more. Even with Parker, she was the one who pushed a relationship. Part of why it stung so badly when she ended it and acted like I was the one who tied her down.

If Alice wants to leave—which she clearly does, based on how quickly she’s pulling on her coat—that’s her call.

“Yep. You’re welcome.”

She doesn’t laugh this time, just starts lacing her boots.

I wish I had more whiskey out here. Instead, I alternate between looking at the mountains and sneaking peeks at her as she finishes getting dressed.

Maybe this is about her ex. Maybe she was thinking about him. Or maybe she’s freaking out about moving on. I experienced that with the first girl I slept with after Parker. It felt wrong being with someone else for the first time in a long time.

Nothing an endless series of flings didn’t fix.

She adjusts her hat, then glances at me.

Fully dressed, the only evidence of what just happened her wet hair and the used condom by her left boot.

“Bye, Aidan,” she says, then turns and walks down the two steps. Heads toward the spot where I first saw her.

In a matter of seconds, she’s gone, disappeared into the woods that surround the periphery of my parents’ property.

I close my eyes, enjoying the lingering euphoria of the best orgasm I’ve ever experienced.

“Bye, Alice,” I tell the night.