His fiery energy is a pain in the kitchen, but I’m pretty sure it would be explosive in the bedroom.

“Don’t look at me like that, Milla.” He says it so quietly I almost don’t catch it.

I gulp. “Sorry.”

He turns his back on me. “I only have so much control.”

I think that means he feels it, too. My body is coiled with tension. It’s been building all season, and with the Brits just over two months away, it’s going through the roof.

Curtis blows out a long breath, back still turned, and gestures to the living room. “You’d better go in there. I’ll finish the pizza.”

My feet carry me toward the sofa. He’s right—I can’t look at him like that. I wouldn’t do that to Brent or Jacinta, and neither would Curtis. He and Brent somehow manage to maintain their friendship, despite being neck and neck in the rankings, but if anything happened between me and Curtis just now, it would jeopardize that.

I shift wet clothing aside and sit down. The socky smell is particularly strong today. Three pairs of snowboard boots lean against the radiator. I lift an issue of Whitelines from the coffee table. Curtis is on the cover, jumping what looks like a bottomless crevasse. I’m flicking through the pages, hoping there’s an interview, when I hear Saskia’s voice.

“What’s for dinner?”

Great. Just what I need.

“Uh, pizza,” Curtis says.

“Yum,” she says.

Did he invite her or has she just invited herself? I can’t tell.

She enters the living room. Her face falls when she sees me, although she recovers quickly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I should make small talk, for appearance’s sake, but I’m picturing her beside me on the chairlift. With her right hand slipping behind my back.

Saskia peels off her snowboard jacket and slings it to the sofa, narrowly missing my legs. Her helmet and gloves come off next. She releases her hair from its ponytail and it cascades in waves down her back. Would she seriously have pushed me?

Something occurs to me then. It works in Saskia’s favor if I’m unnerved by her. Was that Curtis’s intention? To try to intimidate his sister’s closest rival?

Saskia pulls her pipe gloves from her snowboard trousers, perches them on top of the radiator, and leaves the room. I hear the lock slide across the toilet door.

Her lift pass lies on the floor near the coffee table. It must have fallen from her pocket. I climb off the sofa. The pass is halfway to my pocket when a sound in the doorway makes me look up.

Curtis stands there. “What are you doing?” he says quietly.

I don’t answer.

His brow lowers. “Don’t.”

How does he know what I was planning? Am I really that transparent? “What?”

“You know what.”