Crazy Over You (Love with Altitude #2) by Daisy Prescott
My savior isn’t prince charming.
I’m not that lucky.
He’s my worst nightmare.
He’s my one night stand from two years ago.
And he doesn’t remember me.
What happens on vacation doesn’t always stay on vacation. Especially in a place like Aspen. I moved to the mountains for my dream vet job. I never expected to run into the man of my dreams. Again.
I never thought I’d see her again.
My Cinderella didn’t leave me a shoe to find her.
Not that I’d need random footwear to recognize her.
Her kiss is something I’ll never forget.
Work hard. Play hard. I’m paid to be a nice guy on the slopes, but what I do in my off time isn’t always about making good choices. That’s the fun of living in a ski town. I stay while the women come and go.
Crazy Over You is a standalone romantic comedy and the second book in the Love with Altitude series.
Excerpt Crazy Over You (Love with Altitude #2) by Daisy Prescott
“Hey,” another man shouts from above me. “Are you okay? You, in the red hat. Hello?”
His deep, resonant voice and confident delivery remind me of a movie trailer narrator.
Twisting to see behind me, I lean too far to the left, shifting my body weight, and slide downhill sideways. In an attempt to right myself, I lift my left ski pole and stab it into the snow.
Now I’m lying with my head downhill and my legs spread eagle, skis akimbo. A pole rests a few feet away. Sitting up to reclaim it requires stronger ab muscles than I possess. I should’ve listened about strengthening my core.
I can’t even think “core” without cringing. I blame my grandmother’s romance novels I snuck as a kid. Her core trembled as Sir Reginald stroked her slick folds. Shudder. A girl can learn many things about the ways of love and throbbing manhoods by sneaky reading romances.
With the sun in my eyes, I can’t clearly make out the face of the speaker, but I recognize his red and black uniform. White crosses decorate the chest and sleeve.
He’s ski patrol.
Thank you, God.
“Are you injured?” he calls down to me.
“Only my pride,” I mumble into my jacket.
“Anything broken?” He continues as if I haven’t spoken.
“No, I’m fine,” I raise my voice so he can hear me.
“You don’t look fine. Think you can right yourself and uphill? Climb back to me?” I can’t see his eyes behind his reflective goggles, but I can hear the smile in his voice. I can’t tell if it’s friendly or condescending.
“I think I’m kind of wedged in here.” I use my remaining ski pole to gesture at my skis jutting out of the snow at right angles.
“I can see that. Can you pop yourself out of your bindings? Use the big long stick in your hand.”
“You use your big stick,” I mumble as I jab at my bindings. If shooting fish in a barrel is easy, spearing them must be the opposite.
“Never as easy as it looks.” He executes a small hop and glides down the mountain like a commercial for men’s deodorant. Or beer. Something manly and smooth. Razors.
He’s like a damn razor commercial with his smooth moves.