That Man 3 (2 page)

I was actually glad there was a wait for the lift because I dreaded getting on it
with bubblehead. She had no control over her sexual appetite nor did her sister. Up
until now, I couldn’t get enough of the titillating twins alone or together—they were
perfect hook-up material—but something inside me had changed. Let’s cut to the chase.
Some sweet little Midwestern girl with a dimpled smile had shown me there was something
more. There was a connection between my cock and my heart. And she was in my bloodstream
bringing them together. Making me feel emotions and sensations I’d never felt with
anyone.

After twenty long, cold minutes, we finally got a chairlift meant for two. The temperature
had dropped significantly, and the sky had turned an angry shade of gray. It looked
like it was going to snow. I followed Kristie into the lift and sat as far away from
her as I could. That didn’t last long. After I lowered the safety bar and hung up
our skis, she scooched across the seat until she was almost sitting on my lap. I jumped
when her hand reached for my fly and pulled it down. Peeling off her gloves, she reached
under my briefs and grabbed my dick.

“Fuck off, Kristie!” I forcefully yanked her hand off and zipped up my fly.

She looked miffed. “What bug do you have up your ass?”

“I’m just not in the mood.” My voice was as bitter cold as the air.

“Fine.” She stabbed the word at me and scooted away.

Relieved, I took in the spectacular view of the snow-covered mountains and trees through
my goggles as our chair made its ascent. And wished I could share it with Jen.

When we reached the top of the trail, Kristie jumped off the lift. “Fuck you, Blake.
Ski by yourself.” She zoomed off.

For the first time since I’d gotten here, I smiled.

*

Usually I zipped down the advanced Black Diamond trail, expertly maneuvering its sharp
twists and turns, but today I took my time zigzagging on my skis through the powder-perfect
snow. The skier’s high I usually got was not possible with Jennifer on my mind. I
longed to be with her on the bunny slope. Teaching her how to ski… holding her as
she awkwardly snow ploughed down the little hill… hearing her little gasps and then
scream when she lost control… and helping her back on her feet when she tumbled onto
the white powder. My heart ached to have her in my arms, feel her warm lips on mine,
and indulge in all the après-ski activities made for lovers—from sitting in a hot
Jacuzzi under the stars to sharing a blanket on a horse and carriage ride through
town.

The biting wind whipped across my face as I made my way downward. About a quarter
way down the slope, it began to snow, and by the time I was halfway down, the flurries
had morphed into a blinding blizzard. Distracted, it took all I had to focus and circumvent
the obscured trees and other obstacles along the way. I was relieved to reach the
bottom. While many avid skiers were going back up despite the storm, I’d had enough.
Removing my skis, I caught the next shuttle to the hotel.

It was three o’clock when I got back to the lodge. Leaving my skis in storage, I headed
to my suite, where I disrobed and took a hot bath after calling room service. Not
having much of an appetite, I ordered a hot toddy to soothe away the mental pain that
was coursing through my veins.

Soaking in the large steamy tub, I stretched my legs out and studied my dick. It was
limp. I swear Mr. Burns was wearing a sad face. He’d never been in this state before.
Desperate, yes; despondent, no. Wanking off was not going to solve the problem.

“Don’t worry. I’m going to figure out how to get you back with Jennifer.” Fuck. What
was wrong with me? I was talking to my dick. It stirred as if it had heard me. Stepping
out of the tub, I towel dried my pal gently. The poor guy. He hung low and lifeless.

“Call her,” I heard Mr. Burns whimper in my head.

“I can’t,” I said aloud. I’d promised her I wouldn’t. Unless it was a business-related
emergency. Nonetheless, I had the burning urge to break my promise. To hear her sweet
voice. To tell her I missed her. Terribly. I’d never missed a woman before. This was
a whole new feeling for me. It was as if I’d had been kicked in the balls.

No, I couldn’t call her. It would be a mistake. We needed time apart to figure things
out. Except I’d already done that. I wanted her to be mine.

With an empty heart, I shrugged on the fluffy terry cloth robe that came with the
room. By the time I knotted the belt, I had a change of mind. Fuck it. I was going
to call her. I needed to hear her voice. I needed to tell her something important.

I dashed back into the bedroom to get my cell phone. I thought I’d left it on my night
table, but it wasn’t there. Balls. Where the hell had I put it? I frantically searched
everywhere—tearing the room apart. I also checked the pockets of everything I’d worn.
Nada.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where was it? Finally, I spotted it—under the bed. It must have
fallen out of my ski pants when I took them off. As I bent down to retrieve it, a
loud knock sounded at the door.
Room service.
I ran to the door and opened it.

“Room service.”

I gaped.

“My sister told me you were here.”

Christ. It was the other twin—Kirstie, dressed in a long fur coat that must have cost
a fortune and mile-high black leather stiletto boots.

“I hope you like your pussy moist and raw.” With a flutter of her false eyelashes,
she flung open her coat, exposing her bare body—tit, stock, and barrel. In a breath,
she was all over me, gnawing and grappling every ounce of flesh she could find.

I found my voice and shoved her away. “Kirstie, get the fuck out of here.”

“What’s wrong with you?” she growled. She was as clueless as her bimbo sister but
more aggressive, not letting my words get in the way. She fisted my hair and bit down
on my lips. I pushed her away again, knocking her flat against the wall.

While she stood there fuming, I knew what I had to do. I hurried to the room phone
and dialed the concierge.

“I’m the one who should be calling security,” hissed the presumptuous twin.

Not responding to her, I told the concierge to book me the next flight to Boise.

“We’re sorry, Mr. Burns. The airport is closed due to the storm. There won’t be any
flights available until tomorrow.”

Fuck. I couldn’t wait that long. “Then get me a rental car right away.”

Good news. There was one available. I slammed the receiver back on the cradle and
then frantically gathered up all my belongings, including my cell phone. I threw everything
into my suitcase. Before closing it, I yanked out my jeans, a tee, and a heavy Nordic
sweater plus a pair of after-ski boots. And a hat.

Five minutes later, I was dressed and almost out the door. “You can have the room;
it’ll be good for you not to share something with your sister,” I told the dumbstruck
blonde. She stood wide-mouthed against the wall, watching me as I split.

Fifteen minutes later, I was heading south on Highway 75, driving through a bitch
of a blizzard in the four-wheel drive Jeep I’d rented. With the inclement weather
conditions, the concierge had told me the 150-mile trip would take close to four hours.
Maybe more because I made one stop in Ketchum to pick up a few things. Thank you,
Jesus. The stores were open late on Christmas Eve to accommodate last minute shoppers.
God bless American consumerism.

I’d done a lot of crazy things in my life, but this was by far the craziest. Despite
being tethered with chains, the SUV inched along the icy road, sliding and spinning
out of control. My hands gripped the steering wheel like iron clamps while every muscle
in my body clenched. To make things worse, the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up
with the rapidly falling mega flakes of snow. It was impossible to see ahead or behind
me. It was all one big white blur. Only one thing was clear: I was risking my life.
But Jennifer McCoy, my little tiger, was worth it.

Jennifer

I
t felt good to be home. Our neighborhood in the North End section of Boise hadn’t
changed a bit. The people who lived there and the homes they lived in were straight
out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Middle America at its finest. So different from
hectic, multi-ethnic Los Angeles.

Dad had picked me up at noon at the airport in his station wagon and couldn’t be happier
to see me. The feeling was mutual. I was a daddy’s girl and loved my father. Of course,
he was surprised Bradley wasn’t with me. I told him there’d been a change in plans
and that I would explain everything to him and Mom when we got to the house. Fortunately,
he didn’t press further.

“Mom’s made your favorite gingerbread cookies,” he said as we passed by rows of shingled
cookie-cutter homes all decked out with Christmas lights and decorations. “We’re all
going to make a gingerbread house later.” Making one of these elaborate holiday confections
was a family tradition.

I studied my father as he drove. Having recently retired from university life at the
age of sixty-five, he looked as handsome as ever to me. Though wrinkles lined his
face and his hair was now flecked with gray, his sage-green eyes twinkled behind his
scholarly horn-rimmed glasses, and a warm smile radiated on his face.

In no time, we pulled up to our stately red brick house. It was one of the best decorated
houses on the street. Strings of bright blinking lights outlined the framework and
windows, and a charming manger scene sat on the front lawn. There was also a large
wreath on the red-painted front door. Dad parked the car in the garage and helped
me with my suitcase. Holding the large shopping bag that contained my parents’ Christmas
presents, I followed my father eagerly through the door to our house. The smell of
freshly baked bread wafted up my nose. I was home.

“Darling!” exclaimed my mother as I set foot in the kitchen. Wearing a floral-patterned
apron, she ran over to hug me before I had a chance to shrug off my coat or put down
the bag. She looked prettier than ever. Her gray-blue eyes sparkled, and her short
ash-brown hair was now chin-length and held back by a red velvet band.

“Where’s Bradley?”

The million-dollar question. I took a deep breath and the words tumbled out. “We broke
up.”

The look on her face went from joyful to alarmed. “Goodness gracious! Are you all
right, darling? You look like you’ve lost weight.” The tone of her voice bordered
on panic.

“I’m fine.” Without going into details, I told her that I’d discovered Bradley was
cheating on me with his hygienist. Why beat around the bush?

My mother gasped. “Good Lord! How did you find out?”

“Caught him in the act.” I didn’t want to tell them about the video footage; it was
simpler with this mild white lie. Well, it was almost the truth. “I gave him back
his ring.”

“You poor thing,” exclaimed my mother, stroking my hair. I was grateful she didn’t
probe for details.

My father remained pensively silent and then uttered one word: “Shmuck.”

My father said shmuck?

“Jennie baby, you can do better.”

Good is the enemy of better.
Blake’s father’s favorite expression whirled around in my head. And in a millisecond,
the image of my sexy, beautiful boss was spinning there too. I hadn’t stopped missing
him. Last night, I’d barely slept a wink. Tears pricked my eyes each time I relived
opening his gift. He’d given me a precious piece of artwork. A painting that had moved
me to tears.
The Kiss.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I knew why Blake had bought it for me. It symbolized
us. Two lovers entwined in a passionate embrace. I still wasn’t over the shocking
discovery that Blake—my boss—was
that
man I’d kissed blindfolded in a game of Truth or Dare on the night of my engagement
party. He’d kissed me again at the office Christmas party, and from there, we’d surrendered
our bodies to each other. He’d made me feel things I’d never felt.
Ecstasy!
Yet, I had to break away, knowing that Blake was bad for me in every way. The painting,
however, had changed everything. It had turned my heart upside down and torn me apart.
I could no longer deny my feelings. I missed him for only one reason. I was in love.

My mother’s gentle voice intercepted my thoughts as well as a fresh batch of tears.
“Darling, why don’t you settle into your room and then come down for some lunch? I’ve
made your favorite vegetable soup and baked a loaf of bread.”

“Sure, Mom,” I said, my voice unsteady. My father insisted on bringing up my bag,
but I told him I could handle it myself. I needed alone time.

Glumly, I trudged upstairs to my room. I unpacked the bag and then stood by my bedroom
window. I peered outside. The sky was already darkening and, in fact, looked ominous.
Perhaps, it was going to snow. In the distance, I could see the snow-capped mountains,
and another pang of sadness stabbed at my heart. Blake was somewhere in those mountains.
I shuddered at the thought of him surrounded by a dozen blond ski bunnies. I’m sure
Mr. Player was in his element and already getting laid. A wicked thought crossed my
mind. Maybe an avalanche would bury his bimbos.