Jack looked glumly at the trees under the ski lift.

Goodbye, sweet world, he thought. It was nice knowing you.

He was so dead. The jig was up. His brother wasn't exactly a pro, but Chloe was expecting Jack to be a decent skier. In reality, Jack hadn't skied since the horrific T-Bar incident when he was young, when he face-planted down a mountain and ate at least four pine tree branches on the way down.

Nope.

He couldn't do this.

"Do you want coffee?" he asked hopefully. "There's a lodge up top."

Maybe Jack could convince Chloe to stay indoors. Where it was safe. And free from T-Bars.

"Let's do a few runs first," she said.

Ah, fiddlesticks.

"Maybe a few cruisers?" Jack suggested. "To warm up?"

Preferably green runs. Or whichever runs were flattest. Jack wasn't entirely certain how the whole ranking system worked.

"Let's start with a blue."

"Sure." Jack swallowed. "That sounds good."

"With moguls."

He had no idea what on earth those were. They didn't sound good, though.

Chloe kicked her legs gently, humming under her breath. She looked unfairly adorable in ski gear, Jack thought sourly. Her dark braids poked out from beneath her helmet, and her ski pants were sculpted to her legs. He didn't even realize that ski pants could be sculpted.

"Logan?"

"Hmmmm?"

"You're staring."

"Oh." Jack tore his gaze away. "Right."

Chloe shot him a cheeky grin. She seemed more relaxed on the ski lift, although Jack had a minor heart attack when she slipped trying to get on to it. Honestly. Chloe's clumsiness would be the death of him.

He swallowed hard, staring down at the pine trees below. God, they looked far away. Were ski lifts always this high up? He balled his glove into a fist, fighting back a rising sense of nausea. Oh, god. He had vertigo. This was vertigo, right?

Screw Logan.

Jack gritted his teeth. He was never agreeing to one of his brother's stupid articles again. You couldn't pay him enough.

Come to think of it, he wasn't even getting paid for this one.

Why had he agreed to it again?

He glanced sideways. Oh, yeah. Chloe. She was scanning the hill absently, her eyes running over the rocky ledges and neon orange fences.

"You know," Jack said, "if you're looking for Ed Westwick, he isn't here."

Chloe spun around. "What?"

"Chalet Girl?" Jack prompted. "The film?"

"No, I know." Chloe shook her head. "But how do you know I like that film?"

Ah. Crumbs.

Jack swallowed. He knew because Chloe insisted on watching it every December, usually accompanied by ugly Christmas jumpers, hot chocolate, and popcorn with so much butter that you could use it as moisturizer.

"Jack told me," he lied.

Chloe flushed. "Well, Jack needs to stop running his mouth."

Ouch. Jack scowled.

"He seems to like Kate," he said pointedly. "A lot."

He knew that he was being a dick, but he couldn't help it — Chloe was irritating him. She nibbled her lip, staring hard at the packed snow.

"He barely even knows Kate," she said.

"So?"

"So Jack doesn't date just anyone."

"Maybe he does." Jack shrugged. "Maybe he just doesn't tell you."

That was a dirty lie; Jack told Chloe everything, right down to what brand of toothpaste he was using (Crest, at the moment — it was a 2-for-1 deal, and he never could resist floss sticks). Besides, Jack hardly ever dated girls. None of them had been able to compare to Chloe. Not even a little bit.

Let her sweat, though. He was feeling sadistic.

Chloe cleared her throat. "What do you think they're doing right now?"

"Jack and Kate?"

"Yeah."

"Roasting marshmallows," Jack offered. "Having a hot-tub."

At least Logan was happy, Jack thought bitterly. He was probably kicking back in the chalet, drinking mulled wine and playing board games.

The traitorous prick.

"Do you think he likes her?" Chloe demanded.

"Probably," Jack said, shrugging.

Logan tended to like most women, didn't he? Chloe's face fell.

"Oh," she said. "Well, that's good." Her grip tightened on the restraining bar. "I'm really happy for Jack. I am. I just..." She blew out a breath. "I don't want to lose him, you know? It's so selfish of me, but he's my best mate. I can't imagine being relegated to second best." She stopped, smiling at him sheepishly. "Sorry, I sound like a knob, don't I? I'll stop."

Immediately, Jack felt guilty.

"No," he said hoarsely. "It makes sense."

He felt exactly the same, in fact.

"It's fine." Chloe waved him off, still looking slightly embarrassed. "I'm glad he has someone to spend the holiday with. Besides, Jack would never agree to go skiing with me."

"You'd be surprised," he muttered.

"And I wouldn't expect him to," Chloe continued, ignoring him. "Jack's the least adventurous person that I know."

Jack scowled. Bit rude.

"He's adventurous," Jack said haughtily.

"And he hates the outdoors."

"He has allergies!"

Chloe shot him an odd look. "You're awfully defensive."

"I'm just saying," Jack muttered. "Allergies are a real, medical condition. That's discrimination, you know."

Chloe rolled her eyes, pulling down her ski goggles. Good. Jack didn't want to see the scorn in them; it would just irritate him more.

Hang on.

Why was she pulling down her goggles?

He whipped around just as they passed the last pole, hurtling towards the station. His stomach flew into his throat. Oh, no. No, no, no.

"You ready?" Chloe asked.

She lifted the restraining bar. Jack began to hyperventilate.

Nope.

He twisted in his seat, examining the bar. Was there a stop button on this thing? Who the hell designed a lift without an emergency break?

"Let's go left," Chloe said, clearly oblivious to Jack's minor panic attack. "It looks like better powder, don't you think?"

Jack was going to be sick.

"Whatever you think," he muttered.

Miraculously, Jack managed to stumble off of the chair lift in one piece. It wasn't until he reached the top of the run that he realized his mistake. He should have just let the chair hit him. Put him out of his misery.

"What are those bumps?" he demanded, horrified.

Chloe shot him an odd look. "Those are moguls."

Jack groaned inwardly. Oh, for God's sake.

"Look, why don't you go first?" Chloe suggested. "I'll follow you."

Jack gulped. "Okay." He edged closer to the run. "Yeah, that sounds—"

His ski went over the edge.

Jack had only a split-second to process what was happening, and then he was tumbling down the mountain like a Helly Hansen-sponsored snowball. Snow blurred past him. Trees. Small pink jacket. A child, maybe? Someone was screaming. Oh, god. It was him.

His body collided with something.

An orange net?

Jack groaned, assuming a fetal position. Everywhere hurt. He felt winded, which was stupid, considering that he hadn't actually done much. Other than make an idiot out of himself.

"Logan!"

Chloe was there a moment later. She came to a graceful stop in front of him, and Jack scowled. It seemed supremely unfair that Chloe should trip over her own two feet and then turn into Grace freaking Kelly on skates and skis. Where was the justice in that?

"Are you alright?" she asked breathlessly.

"Fine."

"Here." She offered him a hand. "What happened?"

Jack took it. "Well, I tripped."

"I mean, I saw that. Everyone did."

"Yeah."

Chloe paused. "Do you want to try again?"

No. He sighed.

"Of course," Jack said haughtily, because that's what Logan would have done. He dropped her hand. "I've got it this time."

"I'm sure you do," Chloe said soothingly.

He didn't have it that time. Or the next time. Or the time after that. By their fifth run, Jack's tailbone and pride were bruised in equal measure. He might as well have taped a sign to his head that said "English foreigner: please approach with caution."

Chloe smirked, spraying him with snow as she stopped.

"You know," she said, "I remember you being better than this."

"I'm having an off day."

"So I see."

Jack picked up his ski poles, trying not to wince. Holy crap, his back hurt. Really, everywhere hurt, but his back was especially painful. He needed a hot bath. And possibly a morphine drip and a new left kidney.

"Come on," Chloe said, smirking. "Let's go."

Jack braced himself. "Another run?"

She shook her head. "To the bar, I think. You've earned yourself a drink."

Jack was beginning to like skiing.

Maybe it was the five pints of beer talking, but hey — he'd take what he could get. Jack sighed, leaning back contentedly in his chair. La Folie Douce was frightfully packed for 4 p.m.; a live band was in full swing, and drunk dancers swayed on top of every outdoor table, their ski boots sliding dangerously. Mountain peaks and bluebird skies formed a ring around them.

This was heaven, Jack decided sleepily.

Why had he ever hated skiing in the first place?

"You sure you don't want to dance?" Chloe asked.

She had removed her helmet and goggles, and dark hair fell out of her braid, curling around her flushed face. She looked beautiful. Beautiful, and just a little drunk.

"Bad idea," Jack said, shaking his head.

Thank god he was sober enough to realize it.

"You did good today, you know," Chloe told him, clinking his beer with her strawberry cider. "I'm impressed with you."

"You are?"

She nodded. "I kind of thought you'd pizza the whole way down the mountain, but you actually did a few turns."

He smirked. "Pizza?"

"That's what it's called!" She swatted his shoulder. "Anyways. I'm proud."

"Thanks."

Jack grinned. She thought she was praising Logan, obviously. But still. He'd take it. Jack was pretty dang proud of himself, actually.

"You know what?" He downed the rest of his pint. "Screw it. Let's dance."

"Really?"

"Really."

Jack leapt up on the table, offering a hand down to Chloe. He could feel the bass thrumming through his boots. Someone was spraying champagne, and Chloe giggled, holding up a hand to shield her eyes.

Yup.

She was definitely drunk.

But so was he. And also, who cared? Jack didn't. He couldn't remember why he should. He loved beer. And skiing. God, he just loved skiing.

He loved Chloe, too.

He watched as she swayed from side to side, her eyes closed, raising her cider like she was toasting the mountains. She was smiling a little. Her left dimple appeared, and his mouth went dry. Good holy lord. That dimple should be illegal.

Should he tell her?

Not about the dimple. That he loved her.

No. Jack couldn't tell her; he couldn't remember why, exactly, but it was a very bad idea. He frowned. How annoying.

Jack reached for Chloe, pulling her closer. She went willingly, reaching up to twine her arms around his neck. Her jasmine perfume was intoxicating. You could get high off of that stuff. He picked her up, spinning her around.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

Jack almost dropped her.

Hot desire flooded through him. His body was reacting in a way that his mind couldn't quite keep up with because — yes — that sounded like a really bloody good idea. Kissing Chloe. He wanted that. Didn't he?

No. Jack wasn't supposed to.

Chloe bit her lip, looking up at him through her lashes, and Jack's mind was wiped clean. Oh, screw it. He was going to do it.

He was already leaning forward when the sober part of his brain kicked in. Or rather, kicked him straight in the balls. Jack lurched back, his heart pounding. No, no; he remembered now. This was wrong. She thought he was Logan.

His stomach twisted.

Even if Kate hadn't threatened to chop off his balls if he kissed Chloe, he wouldn't want to. Not if she didn't know it was Jack.

Suddenly, Jack felt much more sober. Gingerly, he set Chloe back down on the table, taking a wary step backwards. Her dark eyelashes fluttered.

"Logan?" she whispered.

"Let's ski down," Jack said hoarsely. "I'm not feeling well."

And that part, at least, was true.