Page 7 of Mountain Trial

Chapter 2

Kat

If somebody had told her just a couple hours earlier that she’d be so distracted by a man she’d just met that she’d fail to notice her asshole ex-boyfriend until he was almost right on top of her, she’d have called them crazy.

Yet here we are.

A huge cloud of snow from Jacques’s board sprayed at her face as he stopped inches away from her. Kat wiped snow from her cheeks and held her ground―she’d long ago vowed never to cower before any man again.

“Jacques,” she said.

“I’m back, Kat!” he said brightly. His teeth shone brightly against the snow.

Has he been whitening them?

“I can see that, Jacques,” she said. She wished he was shorter, so she didn’t have to look up in order to give him her coldest stare, but he was at least half a head taller than her five seven.

The years had been kind to him. He didn’t look a day over twenty-five, although she knew he was nearly thirty-four.

That probably helps with sponsorships.

His dark hair was long and straight. The longer bangs on the front partially covered one of his eyes―a style that would have looked sloppy and unkempt on anybody else, but on him looked boyish and a bit edgy. She knew better than to fall for it―Jacques hid a lot of stress and rage behind his handsome, carefree look.

“You’re not an easy woman to find,” he said, stepping easily out of his board.

Kat didn’t bother replying. She’d been at a party when her neighbor had called to tell her Jacques had rented an apartment in her same building. Since then, she’d been spending as little time as possible at home.

“I rented an apartment in your building,” he said.

“Was that necessary?” she asked.

He seemed taken aback by her harsh tone.

“Come on, ma poupée,” he said. His smile was back, though it seemed a little more forced now. “Let bygones be bygones. Surely we can be friends.”

Kat clenched her jaw. She wasn’t his doll. She wasn’t his anything.

“We’re not going to be friends, Jacques,” she said simply. “Why did you come back?”

“I’m here to train, of course. For the Victory Games.”

“There are competitions all over the world,” she said.

And you’ve been gone ten years.

“But not many with a hundred thousand euro prize,” he said, smiling a wolfish smile.

Ah, there’s the Jacques I know.

“And maybe I missed you,” he added.

Kat snorted. The only person Jacques would miss would be himself, if he couldn’t find a mirror.

“Come on, Katy, be reasonable. I did miss you.”

Kat hated―hated―that nickname. But to tell him not to call her that would imply she wanted him to call her something else. She didn’t.

“I can’t say I missed you, Jacques.”