I hate snow.

Of all the places to go on vacation, that bastard had to pick the mountains. I hate snow. It's cold, it's wet, and it's cold. It's a royal pain in my ass is what it is and I hate the stuff. Naturally when Justin told me he was going on vacation and would require my presence I had visions of Hawaii or the Caribbean or the Keys, or somewhere gloriously hot and sandy where I could work on my tan. I was already mentally picking out bikinis when he announced we were going snowboarding, the asshole - all my hopes were just dashed.

Let me explain the background when it comes to me and snow, okay - it's a total disaster area. It's been a complete farce. I got lost on the baby slope the first time I ever went (quite an impressive feat, even for a nine year old) and it scared the shit out of my poor young self, the second time I nearly broke my ankle, I got this big ass gash on my arm the third time I tried it, and then when Sophie forced me to go one time 'to get over my fear' there was an incident wherein the instructor nearly concussed me. Snow and Chelsea do not mix. We are a bad combination. We'd never get matched up by one of those computer personality profiles. We clash.

It was the snowboarding part which really made me question the wisdom of everything - I'm bad enough on skis and at least I have two of those. Being strapped onto one plank of wood or plastic or whatever these things are made of unable to independently move my legs is just asking for it. I lack grace as it is. Naturally I couldn't say a damn thing about this to Justin, since he seemed so excited by the prospect. He also seemed to think it'd be like a huge favour to me, getting me out of Sophie's way. I really had to work to keep my mouth shut on that one; I'm sorry, how old does he think I am? I can cope with Sophie. I'm not so childish I need to run from my problems.

The sound of Candyman comes blasting through my phone and I know it's Kennedy (normally her ring tone would be PCD but I've overdosed on them right now). Thank God, I need some sanity.

I answer the phone with a pleading "rescue me" and she laughs at me.

"You've been taken on a five star vacation and you need rescuing?"

"I hate snow!" I bitch in a particularly whiny kind of tone. "You should have seen me attempting to snowboard; I have bruises all over my legs!"

"It's only snow, it can't hurt that bad."

"It does if you manage to fall onto the only rocks or stumps for miles. Somebody needs to explain to me how that works, because by the law of averages I should have fallen on something soft at least one damn time."

Why is she laughing so hard at me? This shit is not funny! I'm stuck here until Justin decides he's had enough, I can't even count down the days until I leave because he decided we should all just stay until we get bored. "Come on babe, there's got to be something else around the resort you can do."

"They've got an indoor pool and a spa and stuff, but there are only so many facials I can have and it looks really anti social if I'm away from everybody all the time."

"Where are you now?"

"My room."

"And where are they?" She asks knowingly. Damn it, she's got me.

"Uhh… not my room?"

"So for somebody who doesn't want to look anti social you're doing a crappy job there babe."

"I needed to nurse my wounded pride," I grouch.

"And how have you done that?"

"Had a bath, stoked the fireplace and ordered a lot of chocolate from room service. I was just reading that Shopaholic book you let me borrow when you called."

"And what are they doing?"

"Umm…" I think for a second. "Justin said the tradition is they get real drunk and play cards and board games and shit."

"Sorry babe, but chocolate aside that sounds way more fun than what you're doing." Even over the phone I can tell Kennedy is rolling her eyes at me. Since she's always the life and soul of any social gathering she has a hard time empathising with my lone wolf tendencies.

"Believe me - this is way more fun than what they were doing when I left, which was laughing hysterically at my ass."

She lets down a little sigh over the phone, and I can just imagine her pacing around her apartment while we talk. Whenever I'm at her place and she picks up the phone, she won't just sit somewhere with the phone. She just kind of moseys around, fiddling with stuff.

"It's better than being here with Sophie still bugging you."

"Ken," I groan, "please don't."

"What? I was just saying."

"You've said already, about five zillion times. Please can we not?"

"Fine, fine. Anyway, I just called to say I got an audition with Robin Antin."

I nearly choke on the passion fruit chocolate I just ate. "What? You got an audition for the Dolls?" By that I obviously mean the dance troupe and not the actual music group, because Kennedy can't sing for shit.

"No, not the Dolls," she explains. "She's been asked to do this big one off cabaret show for the Palms in Vegas. It's kind of like the Dolls but kind of not. Anyway, I sent her people my resume and they just called to tell me I'm through to the first round of auditions and if I get through those I get to audition for her personally, so I thought that was pretty cool."

I have never understood how these things work. With open calls anybody can go in, but with jobs like this you have to apply before they'll even meet you. I understand how that would work with an engineering job, they want to see you got the right degree and stuff first otherwise it's pointless, but when it comes to dancing how can you ever judge somebody until you actually see them do it? It also surprised me how far you have to get through the audition process before you actually meet some of these bigger name choreographers, but Kennedy says they're not going to waste their time on the people who can't even make it through one round. Even after checking resumes, you can still get a few duds. Eh, maybe I'd get it if I was in that line of work myself.

"That's amazing, honey, congratulations." I'm about to question her some more when there's a very irritating knock at the door, I bet Justin sent somebody along to drag my butt out. "Shit, somebody's here. Can I call you tomorrow babe?"

"Sure. Try to start having some fun?"

"Only 'cause it's you asking."

"Love ya." She blows a kiss at me through the phone and hangs up. I very resentfully trudge to the door and open the damn thing.

***

"Hey," Chelsea says. She looks mildly surprised to see me. I'm not sure why, since she clearly knew somebody would be outside this door. Why not me?

"Hey," I ask her chirpily. "We missed you earlier. You feeling okay?"

She gestures me in, and I think it's mostly so she can shut the door. It is pretty nippy out there. Or, okay, it's pretty damn freezing. Since our cabins are all next door to each other I figured I could just walk out here in my sweater, it was only like ten feet away. I'm an idiot, it is fucking cold. I'm really glad she's got her fire going (I know that it's gas, but it looks very real and certainly feels as warm as the genuine article). I'm not surprised she needs a fire going if she's walking around like that. She's in this little strap top thing and short shorts. I thought I told her she needed to dress warmly for this trip?

I was about to look on the bright side and the view of her legs that it gives me, but she's got some nice purple bruises on there. Huh. Maybe I should feel a little guilty about laughing at her all those times she fell on her ass. I never realised anybody could be so crap at snowboarding, but she is; a whole day later and there was not even the slightest of improvement. The instructor looked about ready to kill somebody.

"Yeah, I just needed to relax a little. Had a headache."

It's a likely excuse, but I'll let it go. I throw myself down on the couch and eye up all the chocolate I see on the table. "Jesus, woman, you got an addiction you didn't mention?"

"You knew I was female, right?"

"Yeah…" Too damn right I noticed she was female.

"Then it should have been an obvious deduction."

"Good point well made." I decide to steal one for myself, not bothering to check what I've just thrown in my mouth. It's some kind of hazelnut concoction, wouldn't have been my first pick but it works well enough. "Well, you missed out. I just creamed Nick's ass at Monopoly."

"Shame." Chelsea looks suspiciously like she doesn't mean that.

"Well, no skipping out tomorrow." I pick another and this time it turns out to be white chocolate and lemon - that's better. "We got reservations at this supposedly great barbecue place and then after we're playing Cranium."

Again, she looks less than thrilled. "I'm there. Though if it's okay for you I might nurse my bruises tomorrow instead of going back out on the slopes to get more - I hear their spa is pretty good."

"Heh, sure," I shrug. I'm not one of those sad asses who has to be around the person they're crushing on twenty four seven. In fact, I actually kind of hate that.

There's nobody in this world I could honestly be around twenty four seven, not even my beloved mother. There are people like Momma and Trace who I can spend an abnormally long amount of time with, but even with them there's a saturation point where I just have to go away and hang with somebody else a while. It was one of the things that eventually broke me and Cameron up; she was an independent woman, but when she likes you she likes to be around you a lot. All her own independent choice, but she didn't understand that my definition of independent was a little different from hers. So long as she could choose to be elsewhere if she felt like it, that was all she needed - she never quite got that I need to actually be elsewhere sometimes. I think it made her feel a little rejected.

"So what have you been doing all night?" I ask. She looks puzzled by that until she checks her watch. I guess it's later than she thought.

"Not a lot. Just reading."

People who read baffle me. I am such a narcoleptic reader; I don't have the patience for it at all. I would rather be doing things than imagining other people do them. Chelsea seems to read a lot. I wonder if it's anything to do with how standoffish she can be; maybe when you live in your own head so much reading about other people is more comfortable than dealing with them. Or maybe I just know nothing about it and so ought to shut up. I mean, books are a billion dollar industry and I doubt all readers are as anti social as she can be, so I guess there's got to be some appeal in there somewhere.

"What you reading?"

"Shopaholic."

"What's it about?" Boy, even as I said it I knew that was a dumb question.

"Somebody who likes to shop." Chelsea has that look on her face like she thinks I'm an imbecile but is too polite to actually tell me that I am. She doesn't always have that problem though; she called me a pig earlier when she landed on her head and I laughed. It was wrong of me, I know, but that fall was spectacular.

"See that sucks," I tell her. "What we were doing was way more fun."

She look sat me wryly. "And noisier. This was much better for my headache."

"I find having to concentrate on shit makes my headaches worse."

"Chick lit is designed precisely so you don't have to concentrate," she ripostes.

"Well if it's anything like chick flicks, I'd hate it."

"A man who doesn't like chick flicks? What a shocker."

"It's true," I chuckle, slapping a hand against the arm rest for emphasis. "I always refuse to go on any date that involves a chick flick."

"Wow." She looks surprised. "And women still date you?"

"Ha-ha." I flip a finger at her. When younger it was sticking my tongue out, these days it's the finger I use to express myself. "I don't make them come to any guy flicks and they can't make me go see chick flicks. I think that's more than fair."

"Hmm, I guess. I always used to just guilt trip Will into it."

I was about to make a joke about 'and where is he now' until I realised that shit wouldn't be funny and she'd probably beat my ass for it. My butt has only just recovered from the last time she kicked me out of a room. Instead, I take the opportunity to quiz her a little about him. I don't expect her to open up much, but if I don't ask it's guaranteed she won't.

"You heard from him since New York?" I ask.

She gives a delicate little shrug of her shoulders that makes her shirt straps fall down. "No. Can't say I care to. Besides, I think I righteously pissed him off when we said our goodbye there."

"Why, what did you say?" You know, these chocolates aren't half bad. I can't help sneaking another one; it turns out to be a pretty excellent dark chocolate and strawberry cream.

Chelsea looks a little sheepishly at me, twisting a strand of blonde hair around her finger. "He was totally fishing about you and I kind of… didn't correct too many of his assumptions."

"I take it from your tone that said assumption was you and I were screwing?" Chelsea nods with a wink, and I bust out laughing. "Geez. Imagine how much you could piss him off now."

For a moment she looks at me, her brown eyes blinking in disbelief, and then she sees the truth and thus the humour in what I'm saying. She busts out into some hysterical giggles: the kind of really fast paced laugh you make when something's so amusing you can't contain it.

"God that's true. Maybe I should just make it public knowledge; I'd get him and his stupid wife and my stupid boss plus half the female population in one shot."

Huh? What about her boss, exactly? Does she mean Enrique or Sophie? I can see why Enrique would be pissed, mostly because he thinks I'm a no good son of a bitch who is out to corrupt everything and everyone and he doesn't want me anywhere near his daughter or anybody who has anything to do with his daughter. Sophie however would make no sense to me. I think I might leave that one alone, I'm not sure I want to hear anything that might involve Enrique. If he heard I'd slept with Chelsea he'd order her back with Sophie so fast it'd make all our heads spin.

"Was it okay though, seeing him?" I keep prying into her personal business like it's any of mine. I guess this is at least better than that time I eavesdropped on her phone conversation.

Chelsea breathes in deeply and then lets out a little sigh, playing with a few of the discarded chocolate wrappers. "Yes and no. Like, it just reaffirmed that I would never want that relationship back even if he called me tomorrow and said he was getting divorced, but he still makes me angry. The way he name drops her all the time when he's talking to me, the way he treats it like a shock if my life is going good… he just has this idea in his head that I'm nothing without him and it drives me nuts."

"More fool him," I shrug, stealing her glass and taking a sip of what's in it without thinking about what it might be. That was a little stupid of me, but luckily it's just some kind of flavoured water. For all I knew she was on the schnapps or something (I hate schnapps - vodka is a far manlier drink if you have to go that route). I swallow and continue what I was saying. "Honestly, babe, he's probably just acting like that because he knows the exact opposite is true. It's got to piss him off that you're better off without him."

"You think?" She smirks, rolling her eyes. "So what about you? Spoken to Monica lately?"

"Only about the tabloid shit." I shake my head and I guess my expression probably tells her how little I want to speak to Monica these days.

"Was it really that bad?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah."

"You know, I look back at Will and me and in hindsight I can see how much he used to belittle me and put me last and stuff, real quiet like, but I can't imagine being in a relationship so obviously terrible as you say yours was and still sticking around." She steals her glass back and finishes the rest of her water - probably so I can't. I notice her edging the chocolates nearer to herself too.

"It was…" How do I explain this quickly, definitively and in a way that pre-empts any further discussion? "There's a thin line between love and hate and we lost sight of where it was."

"Fair enough." She stands up and stretches. It makes her shirt ride up and uncovers this little sliver of tummy that I'd really like to sweep my fingers across. I hope everybody understands how self restrained I am. "You want a drink?"

"Nah. You wanna play a game?"

"Like what?" She looks sceptical. I get up and go hunt on the shelves… this place always has some board games stacked away in the chalets, I think because they know that if the snow really kicks up too bad that occasionally they have to shut the slopes and they need to have other entertainment to hand.

"There's a pack of cards here. You play poker?"

"Only the strip kind once in college. It didn't go so well and I haven't played since."

That self restraint is coming back out, because I could really say some dirty shit right now. "Gin?"

She looks like she's debating with herself - probably about whether to say yes or to kick my ass out so she can sleep - but finally she nods and sits herself down on the floor next to the fire. Drat. I was hoping we could do this on a chair… my butt's going to go numb.

***

You know, it's surprising how much I enjoy chatting about random stuff with Justin Timberlake. He's got a very wry sense of humour, which appeals to my sarcastic nature. I never liked the whole class clown obvious humour, I like a drier wit. It probably helps that he takes clues well - if I don't want to talk about something, he catches the hint pretty quick and moves on.

He does complain a little too much for my liking sometimes though. At the moment, he's whining about how I insisted we sit on the floor. I did that because it's a little cold in the room and I'm too lazy to go grab a sweatshirt. Sitting by the fire is easier. Also, I just like the act of sitting by the fire on this nice sheepskin rug in its own right; the whole image of it is very homey and cutesy. I do have a long standing sexual fantasy about doing it in just such a place which is a little less cutesy, however; I'm weird like that. Most normal people stick to the old mile high and in the kitchen standards but not me, I get elaborate with my settings.

"So I can't tempt you back out on the slopes tomorrow?" He asks as he picks up another card. I shake my head firmly at him.

"No. I need to heal first."

"Be honest, you totally hate it here don't you?"

Damnation - I clearly need to work on my poker face. Am I that obvious? "Don't take it personally, me and snow just don't get along too well."

"If you'd have said earlier we could have gone somewhere else, somewhere you'd like better."

"Dude, it's your vacation," I tell him. "I'm just your assistant, Justin, where you go I go and if you want to go here, it's not my place to whine about it just because it's not my choice. When it comes to my holiday, then I can go somewhere I want." Maybe it's just me, but he looks a little wounded by that. Possibly it was my tone, I was a little curt.

"Don't mistake me for that kind of asshole that just bosses everyone around and doesn't take what they think into account, Chels. Maybe that's what you're used to, but I don't work like that. Next time, just tell me."

Oh, burn for Sophie there. Part of me wants to stick up for her and tell him not to be an ass about her, but considering that the overall intent of that was him trying not to be an overbearing bastard to me I'll let that one slide.

"Yes, Master." I reach forward and give him a little poke on the knee, hoping the tease lightens him up a little.

"That's not funny."

He gets another little poke. "I thought it was."

"We need to educate you then, I guess."

"I am the height of edumacation, I'll have you know."

"You're still stupid enough to work for Enrique Fuentes."

"I…" Well damn it, he's got me there. Only stupid people subject themselves to that dictator. "Well shit, I got nothing for that."

See, I should have just let him verbally get one over on me sooner. Now he's suddenly all smiles again. Wouldn't that just be typical? And there was me all this time thinking sex was the way to worm back into a guy's good graces. Note to self, Chelsea, just let him think he's smarter than you next time. That'll do it.

Justin reaches back over to fix my top, and I slap his hand away. He'd just managed to brush my skin before I did so however, and it tickled. "Hey. That was either copping a feel or trying to sneak a look at my cards."

"I was just trying to pull your shirt back up before it fell down," he chuckles. "Is that how you dress for company?"

"I wasn't dressed for company, you invited yourself over."

"Ahh. Touché."

"You do that a lot, you know."

"Oh." Wow, this dude is really oversensitive tonight, he looks kind of embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Nah, it's okay. Any time I don't want you, you can rest assured I'll kick your ass right on out."

"That's very comforting." There's a twinkle in his blue eyes as he shakes his head at me, and I'm grateful that second little touchy moment has passed. His touchy moments aren't half as bad or as frequent as Sophie's (particularly on that monthly woman's occasion), but oddly that makes them weirder for me to deal with. He has this wounded puppy quality when he's hurt that makes seeing him in those moments very discomforting.

"I'm all heart."

"You're full of shit is what you are."

"Me and the rest of Hollywood."

"Gin," he finally says as he lays his cards out.

"Bastard." I throw mine down in disgust. "I was one lousy Jack away and where was it? In your frickin' hand."

"I win, I win!" He raises his arms above his head victoriously, a gloating grin stretching his face to reveal glistening white teeth. Clearly there's been some expensive dentistry going on there. I have never met a single Hollywood smile that was natural, in that sense - if they haven't been straightened or veneered you can guarantee they were whitened. "What do I win?"

"Umm… nothing."

"Chocolate?"

"You finished them all. Which, by the way, so wrong of you." That's a crime against God, as far as I'm concerned. My chocolates are destined for me and me only - I'm sure there's a Bible verse about that somewhere. If not, I'm falling back on 'thou shalt not steal.'

"Money?"

"You're the multi millionaire and you want my money? Ass."

"Did I mention we were playing strip Gin?"

"I can and will beat you."

"Try it, little girl."

I don't think he actually expected me to reach over and slap his arm, but I did it a little harder than I intended to because he let out a great big 'oww.' He's too much of a gentleman to hit me back, but not enough of one to refrain from poking me in the ribs. Well, I'm here to tell you that damn well hurts too so I have to give him one back. The situation quickly escalates, and before I know it I'm on top of the dude and we're both trying to poke and tickle each other while simultaneously batting attacking hands away.

Both of us are laughing our heads off, and it particularly amuses me when a strand of my hair smacks him in the eye. He squeezes it shut really tight to ease the discomfort and it screws his whole face up, makes him look like some crappy one eyed pirate from a B movie or something. I expect him to say 'ooh argh' or 'avast me hearties' any second now. He looks so stupid and I just have to tell him that he does, because I'm mean. Of course, he looks stupid but I am stupid since saying that just made him poke me even harder.

I think the turning point comes when he pretends to bite my neck like a vampire, because suddenly he's got his hands gripped around my waist and his lips on me as well as me being sprawled out on top of him. While we're talking about stupid, this is a stupid situation for me to have got myself into because (let's face it) this is a total sex pose. Getting into a sex pose with a guy at any time is practically guaranteed to change the mood instantly. Getting into sex poses with men you've already been foolish enough to sleep with despite them being out of bounds is just a really dumb idea because it's inevitably going to lead to precisely what's happening now.

That, if you didn't know, is Justin trying his luck again. It's hard to explain what is going through my head right now. My weak willed body kind of likes this - not helped by the fact that like I said before I've long had fantasies about this setting - but my head is reminding me that on top of the reasons it was a bad idea last time now Sophie wants him. I am setting myself up for a world of trouble here. Problem is… knowing that it's dangerous is actually as much of an incentive as a deterrent.

Wow… umm… gee that thought was longer than it seemed. A lot has happened while I wasn't paying attention. His hands are halfway up my shirt, resting on my stomach, his mouth has been doing some pretty nice things to my neck for a while and I've kind of curled myself around him. I did not notice me doing that; my muscles apparently have a will of their own. He's still lying beneath me, but he lifts his head from my neck to look at me with an oddly piercing glare. There's a question on his face, and before I know it I've answered it with a kiss.

My muscles are traitors. I'm pretty sure my brain has condoned none of this yet… but he is a good kisser. Hmm. This is a bad idea, yet on the other hand when I remember the last time I think it's kind of a good one. It was really nice last time. It wasn't like my best sex ever but it was just really nice.

"You know…" Justin barely takes his lips off mine to speak, so it kind of tickles when he does. His hands definitely tickle, his touch is a little too light and it almost makes me want to crack up.

"What?" I ask.

"I kind of always had a fantasy about doing it in front of a roaring fire."

Well darn it - if his aim was to get into my pants this evening… that just clinched it for him.