That Hot Ski Instructor? My Cold, Jealous Crush
I asked the guy I was sort of seeing to go skiing.
He said no.
“Fine, I’ll just go with someone else!” I texted back, a childish sting behind the words.
His reply was a single, devastating letter.
“k.”
It was enough to make me see red.
In a fit of pique, I booked a lesson with a ridiculously handsome, 6’2” instructor whose profile promised he’d literally carry me down the mountain.
Later that week, flushed from the cold and the thrill of the day, I skated up to him, my heart doing a silly little flutter. “So, uh, about that lesson…”
The guy I was sort of seeing pulled down his ski goggles, his expression as frosty as the air around us.
“Jules,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Even if you’re just keeping me on the hook, you could at least pretend to recognize me.”
It all started with a video that my phone decided was crack cocaine for my algorithm.
Endless clips of girls being swept up by gorgeous ski instructors.
Princess-carried down pristine slopes.
Tucked securely in front of them, sliding through a winter wonderland.
Every frame was practically fizzing with pink, bubbly romance.
I immediately forwarded it to my best friend, Sasha.
[Babe, look at this! This is a VIBE. I need this in my life!]
A reply came back instantly.
[?]
I blinked. Sasha never replied that fast. She lived surgically attached to her work laptop.
Then I saw the contact name.
The Quiet One.
Flynn Covington.
A tidal wave of panic crashed over me. I fumbled with my phone, my fingers suddenly thick and clumsy, and hit ‘unsend’.
Too late.
[I already saw it.]
I tried to play it cool. [Saw what? No idea what you’re talking about.]
He sent a screenshot.
Of course he did. Who screenshots that fast?
“…”
[It was a mistake, okay? It wasn’t meant for you.]
[Who was it for? You call him ‘babe’?]
I was about to type out a frantic explanation when a thought, slick and opportunistic, slithered into my brain.
Sasha, with her insane work schedule, would never actually go with me.
But here was a perfectly good… option.
I cleared my throat and changed my strategy.
[Heh. Actually, it *was* for you.]
[You free to go skiing with me next month?]
It felt a little weak. I decided to double down.
[Babe?]
It took a long time for Flynn to reply.
[I’m busy.]
So blunt.
He needed a little push. A sense of urgency.
[Fine! Then I’ll just hire a hot instructor to carry me down the mountain!]
[k.]
He replied instantly this time.
That single letter was like a match to a fuse.
[You said it, not me!]
I furiously scrolled through the Emberpeak Lodge ski school website and found him: a 6’2” Adonis with a jawline that could cut glass.
I booked a private lesson, took a screenshot of the instructor’s profile, and sent it to Flynn.
[This is the guy who’ll be carrying me!]
[k.]
“Ugh, K YOURSELF!” I screamed, throwing my phone onto the sofa.
He really didn’t like me.
Not even a little bit. He wasn't even jealous.
§02
I’d met Flynn Covington six months ago, back at our alma mater, Northridge State University.
The moment I walked into Professor Davies’s office, my eyes locked onto him.
He was tall and lean, with that effortlessly cool vibe of a guy who doesn’t know how good-looking he is. He was dressed in casual clothes, a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, exuding a kind of laid-back, intellectual energy.
I was instantly smitten. I walked right up to him.
“Hey there. You a student here? Can I, like, buy you a coffee or something? Maybe you could show me around campus?”
He tilted his head, his dark eyes studying me for a moment. A flicker of something I couldn’t quite read passed through them.
“Juliana Kirby?”
My heart skipped a beat. “You know me?”
Was I really that famous?
Before he could answer, our old professor, a man who still held a grudge against me for a prank involving a glitter bomb, walked in.
“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Don’t tell me you two actually missed me.”
Two?
My gaze drifted back to the man I’d just hit on. He was shaking the professor’s hand, a small, polite smile on his face.
So, not a student.
Even better.
After greeting Flynn, Professor Davies turned his attention to me, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Kirby. You’re not here to cause another international incident, are you?”
I offered my most innocent smile. “Haha, of course not…”
I shifted my weight, jamming my hands into my pockets, and something inside my coat pocket fell out onto the floor.
Three pairs of eyes immediately shot downwards.
It was a greeting card. A very specific kind of greeting card. The kind you send to your enemies.
I’d bought it to “congratulate” Professor Davies on getting tenure.
“…”
The silence in the room was thick enough to chew on. The professor’s face went from pale to a rather alarming shade of purple.
He *hated* glitter. With a fiery passion.
A low chuckle rumbled from the man beside me. He bent down and picked up the card, a smirk playing on his lips.
“You should hide these better.”
I took it from him sheepishly.
Then I immediately shoved it into the professor’s hands. “A little something to commemorate your success. You’ve earned it.”
The professor stood there, rigid as a board, clutching the glitter bomb card as if it were a live grenade. He ground my name out between his teeth.
I pretended I couldn’t hear him and turned back to my original mission.
“So, since we’re both alumni, how about that contact info?”
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