James Lowell arrives exactly when he said he would, with Connor Wong in the passenger seat. Owen, Dean and I squeeze into the backseats.

The party is being held at the recreational center of the Astor Ski Resort, the polyvalent rooms used to host meetings and fundraising events alike. And the occasional party whenever one of the Lake City kids manages to rent it.

The Astor Ski Resort is basically a fantasy land of cottage-style wooden buildings climbing up the slope of the snow-covered mountain. Shops and rooms and full cabins to rent make up almost a little town of their own, shining homely orange lights from the windows as soon as night falls. 

From afar, the warm lights paint the snow-covered roofs a pale gold, creating a perfect Christmas postcard, reflected on the frozen lake that gives the city its name. The lake stretches wide and smooth like a large floor of thick crystal across the southern border of the city.

Behind the winter wonderland landscape that serves the touristic purposes of the resort, taller and more modern buildings rise to give structure to apartment complexes and mansions for the Lake City elite, the Resort's more wealthy clients and, of course, the Olympic ski team.

The long, bungalow-type building that encompasses the recreational center stands next to The Lodge, the more intricate construction scaling up a steeper corner of the mountain in elegant wooden levels. We step inside, behind James and Connor, letting the thick warmth envelop us. Shaking our bulky jackets off our shoulders, we walk deeper inside to clear the entryway.

I think Dean spots her right away. 

My eyes and Owen's follow his line of sight.

Mackenzie Pruitt, cheerful as she can only be seen off school, sits on the arm of a smooth black leather couch, the kind that furnishes the lobby of every Astor Ski Resort building. A group of figure skaters sit around her, including Natalie and the kid who took Liam Astor to The Lodge that night he got the crap beaten out of him.

Because Brunson is a small town, there is no such thing as high school parties. Only large gatherings that the Lake City kids put together, for the younger layers of the Lake City-Brunson areas. That includes ex-Brunson High students as well. Like the tall, handsome guy letting Mackenzie use his shoulder as an arm rest while he rests one elbow on her thigh.

I recognize him from the Ice Arenas too, I think. Maybe Dean does too. Maybe he doesn't. But his shoulders definitely deflate and he gets this look on his face, like the Puss In Boots when he is trying to disarm his enemies. Except Dean looks like the one who just got disarmed.

Owen laughs, slapping a hand over Dean's shoulder to slide his arm around him. "Come on. Let's get you a drink," he says, shaking Dean softly before letting go.

"I think I'm just gonna go find the guys," Dean murmurs.

Owen shrugs. "Want anything, Eli?"

"Yeah, just whatever. I'll take your jackets." I reach out my hands before heading for the coat racks.

On my way, I spot Hannah, standing to a corner with a couple of girls who work at some part of the Astor Ski Resort. I return her grinning, enthusiastic wave with an acknowledging head nod, making a point to hurry back, before she has time to think about coming over to talk.

Takes me less than half a minute to find Dean sitting next to James and Connor. To my surprise, Connor's sister and Trey Coleman are with them. To my absolute shock, Trey looks completely sober.

"Designated driver," he explains before I can ask. Not that I would.

Owen comes back with a cup in each hand, handing one to me and another to Dean. Like Trey, he is also the designated driver for James's car.

Dean looks at the palish orange liquid inside his cup before taking a sniff and wrinkling his nose. After a quick look, I down mine in a single go. It burns on the way down, tasting like tropical juice strongly diluted in a little water and lots of rum.

"You were thirsty," Chloe Wong mutters dryly as I put my cup down. Her dark eyebrows arch up and, although she couldn't be more different from her twin, it's impressive how alike that one judgy expression they both have is.

Next to me, Dean tries a sip at his drink. He has never been much of a drinker. The only reason he is not designated driver is because he can't drive. He has a license, but he should never be allowed to use it. We would actually be safer with a drunk driver.

Trey takes over the conversation in the group. Owen and Connor chime in every once in a while. Dean is too busy feeling sad, James is occupied fidgeting and blushing next to Chloe, and I am not sure what she is doing. I would expect her to sit with her friends, but she seems fine sitting silently between her brother and James.

I can't tell how much time passes until Mackenzie Pruitt comes to us with a bottle in one hand and what looks like sticker sheets in the other.

"Heyyyyy," she cheers loudly. From that and the spacey, shiny quality of her eyes, I take it she has been drinking. "Have you tried the gin?" She asks, lifting the bottle in her hand.

"Uhm, not yet," Dean replies.

"Give me your cup," Mackenzie demands.

Dean complies.

She takes his cup in the sticker hand, with impressive dexterity for someone who seems past sober, and pours a good measure of straight gin. Then, holding the bottle between her legs, she reaches for the stickers with her free hand.

"I'm giving you a sticker so you don't lose your cup," she announces with a tipsy smile. "It's about reducing waste and whatnot. We're getting shit-faced, but saving the planet."

When she hands Dean his cup back, it has a heart-eyed emoji on it. It's dumb, but Dean smiles a small, stupid smile when he sees it.

"Uhm, I need a chaser," he says timidly.

Mackenzie's eyes widen as she plops down on the armrest to Dean's right, non-too-gracefully. "Seriously?"

"I don't," I blurt, reaching my arm out over Dean toward her.

She blinks at me twice, looking like she's catching up, then grins wildly. "That's the spirit, Blake! You get a cool emoji."

I watch her stick an emoji with black sunglasses on my cup before pouring the gin. When she gives it to me, I chug it then reach out my arm again.

Mackenzie snorts. "By all means. It's on Gus, after all." She pours a slightly more generous dose.

Gin isn't my favorite, but anything is better than the cheap half-buzz I get at home.

To my left, Owen nudges me while I take a large sip. "Slow down maybe?" He murmurs close to my ear.

I look at him. "Designated driver, not designated dad."

His near-black eyes darken and I can see in his face the silent, reluctant decision to leave me be.

With Mackenzie around, Trey seems to get louder. Connor and Dean do too, especially as they start drinking, because they are both light-weights. Meanwhile, Chloe and James appear to shrink farther into each other, starting a quiet, almost whispered conversation.

I can feel Owen's broody gaze on everyone, just watching. Like a team captain. Vigilant and alert, ready to handle any issue. I can feel him watching me as well.

I stand up, walking away from the group.

Most of the party-goers are scattered across the lobby, but some dispersed farther inside. It doesn't take me long to find the room they are using as bar supply. I wait for a group of juniors to leave before making my way to the table where they have laid out the liquor bottles, as well as some juices, sodas and water.

By now, my cup is nearly empty so I drain the rest of the gin before reaching for a tequila bottle. Inside my head, I do a quick count of everything I have had in the past two hours and fill my cup halfway.

I really shouldn't mix so many different alcohols on a nearly empty stomach, but I have had enough to drink that I'm not too concerned about that.

It is standing by the drinks' table, nursing my last two swallows of tequila alone, that Liam Astor finds me.

He walks in and stands by the doorway looking at me, like he expects me to say something. I don't.

He walks up closer. And he is so predictable. Because half a second of that crooked smile is all the warning I need for whatever snarky jab he's preparing to throw at me.

"Looks like Mack liked your puppy," he muses.

I don't think I am past the point of failing to understand simple sentences that should make sense, but all I can say is, "What."

Liam lets the crooked smile bloom into a full smirk. "She had her tongue down Dean Miller's throat just now."

I drain the final remnants of alcohol from my cup. "Jealous?" I ask glumly.

"Why would I be?"

"You two dated."

"We did not," he delivers naturally.

"You hooked up," I counter.

He grins. "That, we did."

His answer annoys me more than I would like to admit. The fact Liam seems to catch onto that annoys me even more.

He laughs. "It was a 'friends with benefits' kind of arrangement," he tells me. And then, because he's Liam Astor and he just has to, he adds with a shitty smile, "As the name indicates, quite beneficial for everyone involved."

"That still going on?"

"No." He tilts his head, looking curious. "Why? Are you jealous?"

"No," I reply, a little too brusquely. "I just don't want her playing with my friend's feelings."

Liam's eyebrows rise on his forehead. "You might be too late then. Other people's feelings have always been Mack's favorite toy."

I give him a serious look. "Dean's the kind of guy to fall all in for a girl."

Liam shrugs. "Then he might break a few bones."

"This isn't funny."

"I'm not laughing," he shoots back immediately, neutral and poised.

I just glare at him in silence. Liam stares back, unfazed. Neither one of us says anything. At some point, the fire behind my glare melts away into a different kind of heat and we get caught up in a kind of staring contest. Gray-brown on deep-blue. Somehow I think we are physically closer now than when we started this, but I don't remember any of us moving to close the distance. I can see the near-black contours around his irises, but everything else is the color of the ocean when night is falling.

I feel him take a step closer this time, before his throat bobs with a gulp. "Wanna go back to The Lodge?"

"What's there?"

"My room."

"Your room?" I repeat with a frown.

"I have a room there," Liam confirms with a slow nod.

"Why?"

He gives me a pointed look, followed by a lewd smile and a lip bite.

I roll my eyes, breaking the intense eye contact. "Did Mackenzie like that room?"

Liam grins. "She did. Very much, yes."

I glare at him again and he laughs.

There is something about his inability to take anything seriously. I can't tell whether I am actually annoyed at him or jealous in some way. Jealous of his privilege to take everything lightly. Of the comfort to not have to care about the smallest details. It's an entirely different world he's living in.

Obviously, I follow him out back to the lobby, after downing the rest of my tequila. I was only ever meant to pretend to resist. I think he knew that too.

"Want me to get your coat?" He asks.

"No. You leave and I'll follow in a while," I tell him.

Liam gives me this sort of blank look that doesn't do that great of a job at hiding his thoughts. I know what he is thinking, but it's coming from that different, light-hearted world of his. In my world, I can't afford to budge. So I ignore the look.

Liam eventually nods and goes alone. I wait a few minutes before I go out. When I walk into The Lodge, he is waiting for me at the lobby. My head immediately darts to the bar room, past the wide open doorway that separates it from the lobby. I recognize the pretty blonde working behind the counter immediately.

Scarlett smiles when she sees me.

Liam rolls his eyes, when I glare at him. "Your brother isn't here," he murmurs.

That doesn't make me as happy as he would like. Scarlett and Elliott talk. And Scarlett saw us.

But I guess the alcohol has dimmed my judgement, because one look at Liam is enough to awake a familiar heat in my stomach. And I think I might as well follow him, now that I came this far.

Liam's room is exactly what I expected a luxury room at the Astor Ski Resort to look like.

The walls are all wood, styled to look rugged, not rough. The ceiling slopes down with the angle of the roof, tiled in wooden boards. There's a faux-stone electric fireplace and a large king-sized bed. Half a dozen lamps are scattered across the room, all different but within the same style and color-scheme. Brown, beige and gold paints the scene before me, rich and warm and inviting.

There's a plasma screen and, instead of a wardrobe, a large wooden chest lies at the foot of the bed. A polished wooden door leads to a bathroom I know includes a hydro-massage shower and a double sink. Across the room, large floor-to-ceiling glass sliding doors lead out to a porch-like terrace perched on the slope of the hill. From here, though, all I can see is the snowy mountains outside.

I shake my heavy jacket off my shoulders, stumbling a little as I walk into the room. A strong hand steadies me. I meet Liam's gaze. He stares back at me with a strange look.

"How drunk are you?" He asks, sounding like he is just now noticing I'm tipsy.

I give him a knowing smile. "Just enough to come up here with you."

He looks at me like that was the wrong answer. He's apprehensive. I don't like it. He is supposed to be the reckless one, taking everything with a joke. He's meant to not care at all and help me forget I used to.

I kiss him. Because that usually works. Whenever I kiss Liam, he always goes along with it.

His hands go to my shoulders, like he means to pull me off him, but I bite his lip and he slides his arms around my neck instead. I push him, making him walk backwards until we hit the sliding glass doors across the room.

He laughs, breaking the kiss. I smile too, glancing over his shoulder before I take a second look, eyes zeroing in on something on the porch.

"What's that?"

"A hot tub," Liam answers promptly. The little smile on his face shows the cockiness he didn't let sip into his tone.

"You have a hot tub?" I ask dryly.

"Almost every room has one, in this part of the resort," he says casually.

I snort. "Right."

Liam bites his lip suggestively. "Wanna go in?"

"No."

He cocks his head. "Have you ever been in a hot tub?"

"No. And I'm not getting in now."

"Why not?"

"Because it's too damn cold to get naked," I say.

Liam juts out his bottom lip in a pout.

I smile. "At least now you know I'm not too drunk to deny consent."

He rolls his eyes. "Good. I did wonder."

"Yet you still brought me up here," I muse.

"Bite me."

And, why not?

He smiles as my teeth graze his jaw, letting himself be kissed down the neck.

"You know," he says, and I can feel it vibrate against my lips as they press down on his throat. "I could keep you warm."

I pull away with laugh, shaking my head. "Could you be any more of a cliche?"

***

Little heads-up — despite what I said, I am not sure I will be able to update every day this week. I will still try, though!

Once again, thanks for reading. If you liked this, please leave a vote or a comment. I love reading about your thoughts!