Slashed (Extreme Risk 3)

“January,” I tell her, ducking my head because I’m still freaked out by the whole lack of clothing thing. “Which is why photographing me in a bikini made absolutely no sense considering I’ll be spending the whole month boarding down mountains.”

“Are you kidding?” Ophelia shouts to be heard over the jukebox someone just turned on in the corner of the bar. “Guys get to wear athletic clothes. Girls get to wear bikinis—even if it means freezing their asses off. Haven’t you ever noticed that before?”

“Bikini?” Ash asks, lifting his brows at Luc.

“Not just any bikini. An itsy-bitsy lime-green bikini that’s more decoration than actual clothing,” Luc tells him. “Among others.”

“Niiiiiiice.” Ash winks at me. “When do we get to see these pictures again?”

Tansy punches him lightly in the shoulder. But she’s laughing right along with Ash and Z, Luc, and Ophelia. It hurts a little, but I laugh too. After all, how can I blame them? The idea of me in a skimpy bathing suit is patently absurd, no matter what they told me at the shoot. Especially when I think about Ophelia’s generous curves and Tansy’s tiny, feminine frame. Next to them I look like an ungainly Amazon—if I’m lucky.

I try not to let it bother me that Luc is laughing too, like the idea of me looking sexy is a joke. I mean, he talked me through it earlier—told me how hot he thought I was—but that was just to relax me. Just to get me through the shoot. And it worked, which I suppose is all that matters. And if a small part of me wishes he’d actually meant all those things he whispered in my ear as he fucked me, well then, that’s nobody’s business but mine. It’s not like I’ve spent so much time thinking about how attractive he is or anything….

But that’s not strictly true either, because I’ve always thought Luc was hot. Even when I thought I was in love with Z, I still found Luc totally hot. Totally attractive. And now that I’ve seen him naked—now that he’s been inside me—hot doesn’t begin to cover what I think of him. Or how often I think of him.

A new song comes on the radio—“Pretty Girls” by Britney and Iggy—and Ophelia jumps to her feet. “Dance with me,” she says, grabbing onto Z’s hand, and pulling him toward the makeshift dance floor at the back of the tiny bar we’re hanging out in tonight. He groans, but there’s a huge smile on his face as he willingly follows her.

I can’t help watching, marveling at the difference nine months has made in him. At the difference Ophelia’s made. The brooding bad boy I’ve known my whole life isn’t gone exactly, but his pain is tempered with the happiness Ophelia brings him and that’s an amazing thing to see. Especially after so many years of watching him die a little more with each day that passed.

For a long time, I wanted to be the girl who eased his pain, who brought that smile to his face. But seeing him with Ophelia, I don’t feel any regret or jealousy about the way things have worked out. How can I when my best friend no longer has a death wish? When he smiles more than he ever has before?

I take a sip of my wine, and glance over at Luc to see what he’s doing. Turns out he’s watching me, the intensity in his dark eyes a direct contrast to the lazy way he’s leaning back in his chair, his beer bottle dangling from between two fingers. My mouth goes a little dry at the directness of his stare and suddenly I can’t help wondering if he’s thinking about this afterno

on, too. Or last night. I can’t help wondering if he’s thinking about being inside me again. God knows, having him there is pretty much all I’ve been able to think about all night.

I can’t help wondering if it shows on my face, can’t help wondering if the others can see it. And if they can, what they think about the two of us being together. If that’s what we are.

God, this whole friends-to-lovers thing is a total pain in the ass. If Luc weren’t my best friend, I’d say definitely all signs point to the fact that we’re together. But he is, and though he fucked my brains out earlier, right now he’s just chilling, acting like he always does toward me. And I don’t have a clue what that means. Does it mean we’re just fuck buddies? Does it mean he’s ashamed of being with me and doesn’t want anyone else to know he’s bagging plain, tomboy Cam? Or does it mean something else entirely?

Before we slept together the first time, I would have just asked him. Then again, before we slept together feeling anything beyond friendship for Luc wasn’t something I’d ever considered. And now that I am feeling—something, it’s too late. Too late to say something to him without humiliating myself. Too late to go back to just being friends, at least in my own head. Too late, I’m afraid, for this to go any way other than badly.

“Hey, guys. How ya doin’?”

The familiar voice jerks me out of the crazy kaleidoscope of my thoughts, and I glance up just in time to see Josh Greene smiling at me before he slides into Z’s vacant chair. Josh is another snowboarder on the pro circuit, and though he’s a few years older than us, he lives in Salt Lake City so we know him pretty well—especially since he’s been Ash and Z’s main competition for their whole careers. He’s super-talented and super-crazy, an adrenaline junkie who puts even Z at his worst to shame.

But he’s also a really nice guy.

“Hey, Josh.” I smile at him as he reaches out, slaps Luc on the back with one hand while he shakes Ash’s hand with the other.

“Hey, Cam.” He smiles back, waggles his brows at me as he nods toward my just emptied glass. “What are you drinking?”

“The house red.”

“Aw, come on, we can do better than that.” He looks at the others. “How about you guys? Next round’s on me.”

“I think it’s our turn to buy you a drink, isn’t it?” Ash asks. “Didn’t you just sweep the competition in New Zealand?”

“Only ’cause you guys weren’t there,” Josh answers.

“Nice,” I say, with a roll of my eyes. “Does that false modesty ever get you anywhere?”

He shoots me a grin.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. But it’s looking good so far.”

“Is that a Top Gun line?” Tansy demands. “Did you just use a Top Gun line on her? Because I have to say, that takes balls, man.”

“You know I can’t answer that,” Josh says, totally deadpan.