Page 43 of The Route to You

Kyle ignored her. “You know how to ski. Snowboarding’s just . . . falling . . . with style.”

Sloan eyed the board, then the jump, which looked taller and more malicious than it had a few moments earlier.

“This is a terrible idea,” she said.

Kyle’s eyes gleamed. “That’s what makes it fun.”

Alarm bells. Loud ones.

Still . . . the cold air, the speed, the way her body still hummed from movement . . . it intoxicated her.

And the way Kyle looked right now? She swallowed hard, feeling alive in a way that was reckless.

She exhaled. “If I die, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal.”

They swapped gear at the side of the run. Kyle knelt to help her with the bindings, removing his gloves as he adjusted the straps around her boots.

Then he stood and held out a hand. “Okay. Rule one: You’re going to fall. A lot.”

“Encouraging.” She let him pull her up, trying to settle the thrumming of her rapid pulse.

“Rule two. Bend your knees. Also, it’s a lot easier to break a joint that’s locked. Rule three. If you start to panic, just sit down.”

“So should I sit down right now, or wait until I’m coming down the mountain to give you a better show?”

He laughed lightly. “Nothing wrong with sitting.”

“Oh yeah, it’s very dignified.”

He grinned. “You always were.”

She shoved him lightly, not wanting to queue up any of the memories that came with being undignified around Kyle Winnick. “Shut up.”

They pushed off on a gentler section, and Sloan immediately wobbled, windmilling her arms.

Kyle slid in behind her and caught her by the waist, steadying her with firm hands.

“There you go,” he said close to her ear. “I’ve got you.”

Her heart did something stupid.

“I don’t need—” she started, and then her board caught an edge.

She went down.

Kyle went with her.

They tumbled together in a mess of limbs and snow, sliding a few feet before stopping in a heap. Sloan lay there for a second, staring up at the sky, breathless.

Kyle lay half on top of her, one arm braced in the snow, the other still around her waist.

Their faces were too close.

She could see the flecks of blue in his eyes. The curve of his mouth. The faintest line between his brows that she didn’t remember from when they were teenagers.

She shoved at his chest. “What the hell was that?”