“Can we go back to not talking about my sex life, please?”
“I’m trying to be a supportive friend.”
I couldn’t help but gawk at him. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You are the one who doesn’t want us to talk about my sex life. It makes you incredibly uncomfortable.”
“Not true. Clearly, since I’m the one who brought it up.”
Parker truly looked like he believed what he was saying, which was kind of funny. “You always get weird when I talk about sex with guys. Honestly, it’s hypocritical.”
He stuck his chin out defiantly. “I’m not homophobic, if that’s what you’re implying.”
I blew out my cheeks. “I know that. Don’t you think I know that? You don’t have a problem when Sam and Tiller talk about their boyfriends. You don’t have a problem when your friend what’s-his-face from the ski school talks about his Grindr hookups. It’s just me.” I stared at him steadily. “But I don’t get why.”
He clenched his teeth and widened his nostrils. “I…” He paused. “I just don’t think anyone you hook up with could possibly be good enough for you. You’re the best person there is, and… and I don’t want some asshole trying to use you for… sex or whatever… when there’s so much more to you than… that.”
It didn’t really explain his problem with hearing about my hookups, but it was so damned sweet, I could hardly be mad at him after that.
“You’re biased,” I muttered, reaching for a dry kitchen towel so I could help him with the dishes.
“I’m not. Not when it comes to you.”
I looked over at his earnest expression. He was such an affectionate soul. Parker Ellis loved harder than anyone I knew, and he was the most loyal friend in the world. It would kill him if anything happened to one of the people he considered family, including me. And maybe especially me. I’d been his closest confidant for over twenty years. I wasn’t sure Erin even knew him as well as I did.
Just as I was feeling emotional and sentimental, my best friend had to go ahead and ruin it.
“But maybe you’re right. Maybe I should be the one hooking up with strangers,” Parker said. “Maybe that would be a good way to spend this week.”
“Negative, Ghost Rider. Not happening.”
He was back to his playful grin, the one with the dimple I sometimes fantasized about tonguing. “Maybe that could be one of those new experiences Erin was talking about. Flirt with a chick at the end of the bar… see where it leads… who knows, maybe I’ll meet the future Mrs. Parker Ellis here in Aster Valley.”
I couldn’t hold back a laugh. Parker was definitely not a random hookup kind of guy. He would spend so much time talking to a woman and trying to get to know her, she’d most likely give up and try someone else before he even asked her back to his place. Leave it to Parker to think about his next serious relationship rather than having a random fuck to get over Erin. “What happened to your vow to swear off women and marriage? Or was that just the bourbon talking last night?”
He turned off the water and dried his hands before making his way over to the pile of ski clothes he’d laid on the end of the sofa. “Not the bourbon. I don’t want to go through this shit again. It’s exhausting.”
Instead of interrogating him, I went to the bedroom to get my own clothes on. Once we’d loaded up the vehicle with our stuff, we followed the directions Tiller had sent. The cross-country trailhead was well marked by a freshly painted sign with the new Aster Valley Alpine Adventures logo Mikey and Tiller had selected for the ski resort.
We parked and unloaded our equipment. Within minutes, we were away from the parking area and surrounded by snow-covered trees. I thought about the many times we’d shared the muffled hush of a cross-country ski trail. The cold air pressed against my cheeks, but the sun warmed my head through my wool cap.
Parker led me through the trees the way he always did. He had an unusual talent for reading the trail and knowing the best ways to enjoy the run. I watched his elegant form like always, reveling in the strong, graceful movements his long legs made.
On the mountain at work, he wore bigger ski pants that formed a waterproof layer, but today he was wearing the tighter, formfitting pants we both had for cross-country treks. He still wore his red ski patrol parka, but it had rucked up enough in the back under his backpack to give me an incredible view of his muscular ass.
He had an incredible ass. Parker had complained that it was beefier than a skier’s ass should be, but I’d never minded the extra. In fact, it had made an excellent resting place for my eyes for a long time now.
“Stop staring at my ass,” he called back over his shoulder.
It seemed my eye-resting place wasn’t as much of a secret as I’d hoped.
“Then stop doing so many squats,” I replied. “That thing is too big to ignore.”
“You calling me a fat-ass?”
I felt the cold air on my teeth as I grinned. “You complain about having junk in your trunk, and yet you do these insane squat challenges on social media. Don’t you realize one thing leads to another?”
“I get paid to do those squat challenges. MaxRush sends me fat sponsorship payments as long as I keep posting about their protein shakes and showing off muscle mass to prove it works. In order to attract those sponsors, I have to stay in top shape and create fitness content.”
“You’re doing fine in the shape department,” I muttered, watching the curved muscles of his hamstrings and calves bunch and stretch.
“You’re in better condition than I thought,” he teased, moving over to the side of the trail so I could catch up to him. “You said you’ve been working too much lately and having a hard time getting to the gym.”
The trail left the trees and dumped us into a wide expansive meadow. I could see the little town of Aster Valley below and the shining silver curve of the river on the edge of town. It was beautiful.
“When I’m in Denver, Hazel forces me to go for a run during our lunch break. During the fall, we did Cherry Creek starting at the park, but once the weather got bad, she convinced me to get a Peloton bike.”
As expected, he started laughing. “You hate exercise equipment. You claim it makes you feel like a hamster on a wheel.”
“You’re the exact same way. The difference is not all of us can ski outside all day. Some of us have to work for a living.”
Parker’s hand shot out and caught my upper arm, shoving me sideways into a deep snowdrift. Icy puffs of snow snuck down my collar and down my back as I struggled to right myself.
“Asshole! Fucking ass,” I yelped.
When I finally extracted myself from the plume of powder, Parker tackled me back down again. Our skis were most likely still on the trail while the two of us wrestled in the deeper drift.
I grabbed handfuls of snow to shove under his clothes. “You of all people should know how dangerous hypothermia can be in the backcountry,” I warned through short, panting breaths.
“Then stop doing that,” he said with a laugh while he tried to shove my face in the snow. I wondered how many times we’d done this. All the years of fucking around on the slopes and on the hills near my house when we had a good snow. Hazel was the most violent snow-fighter, but Parker was a close second.