Thick as Thieves (Aster Valley 4)

“How so?” I asked. “I live a pretty adventurous life as it is. Besides, I don’t particularly love adventure if they involve travel and shit. You know that about me.”

Tiller nodded. “For one, you could take us up on the offer to move here and take over the ski school. It’s one of the elements we didn’t have in place in time for a full opening this winter. I’m not all that thrilled hiring just anyone to run it when one of my best friends is the best ski instructor in the state.”

Their offer had been tempting. Hell, I could just imagine how fun it would be to live and work among my closest friends here in Aster Valley. But I couldn’t imagine leaving Rod high and dry. When he’d offered me the management of the Vail store, complete with the ski-school contract, it had been a dream come true. I’d been able to quit competitive skiing but still spend most of my days doing what I loved.

“I don’t know how I could ever leave Rod,” I admitted. “But now, with everything that’s happened…”

Julian’s foot nudged my leg under the table. “He loves you, Parks. He’d understand.”

Sam met my eye. “Just think about it. It’s your future, not Rod’s.”

Thankfully, Julian knew I didn’t have the mental energy to tackle more of this discussion tonight, so he changed the subject to an important finance meeting he, Tiller, and Sam had scheduled for Friday. As they talked about the logistics, I let my eyes wander around the crowded space.

I noticed a group of women at the bar giving our table the once-over with interest. I turned to Finn Heller, who was a friend of Tiller and Mikey’s and also a famous actor. “Beware the fangirls,” I teased with a tilt of my head toward his admirers.

He waved me off with a hand, but his partner, the slightly older sheriff, sighed. “This is my life now.”

Before looking away from the ladies at the bar, I noticed a man near them. He was tall and good-looking in a rugged, fit kind of way, like someone from one of the outdoor fitness accounts Julian followed on social media. He wasn’t looking at Finn. He was looking at Julian. With noticeable interest.

I forced myself to turn back to the conversation at hand. Which was a mistake.

Tiller tilted his head as he studied me. “Why don’t I have any memories of you hooking up with girls when you visited me in Houston? I don’t think you were with Erin most of those times, yet you never took any of the jersey chasers back to your room as far as I knew.”

I shrugged. “I’m not really into hookups. I always worried about getting someone pregnant or hurting the woman’s feelings somehow. Seemed easier just to… not.”

I felt Julian’s eyes on me, but I was determined to ignore him. He, too, assumed I was heartbroken over my breakup, and he’d misconstrue this little bit of information if given half a chance.

Tiller beat him to it. He leaned forward with a frown. “I always assumed it was because you were still in love with Erin, even when you were broken up.”

“No,” I said with a laugh. “Not at all. Believe me, it wasn’t some kind of old-fashioned chivalry. And I did date other people during our breakups. Sometimes. But I’m just not wired for casual hookups.” I shrugged. “Maybe that’s Erin’s point, though. Maybe I should try a random hookup and see if that’s what I’ve been missing all this time.”

It was a joke. The same one I’d used with Julian earlier. I had no interest in picking some woman up in this bar tonight, or ever. But unlike Julian, who knew not to take my nervous joking seriously and also knew hookups weren’t my speed, these guys ran with it. Within moments, they were pushing me away from the table to go to the bar for another pitcher of beer. As soon as I saw the three attractive women sitting at the bar, I knew what my friends’ motivation was.

“You’re that guy,” one of the women said as I approached the bar.

I looked behind myself to see if Finn had followed me, but he was still at the table.

“I mean, technically, I am a guy…” I said with a grin. “But I think you mean—”

“No, dude. You’re a famous skier,” she insisted, emphasizing her point with her index finger. Her nails were coated in Kelly green fingernail polish. “I remember you.”

Her two friends leaned over to check me out now that their friend had claimed me someone worth recognizing.

“I’m a skier but not famous,” I corrected. “I run the ski school in Vail.”

“No, but… you race. Or you did at one time. I remember. You did this killer move the crowd went nuts over. A wicked twist hop thing on the moguls.”