A/N This is set pre-Chapter One. I had a few requests for EPOV so here it is. This story was so fun to write; it was great to come back to it. Let me know if there are any other requests, and I may be able to oblige.

All of the gratitude to Lisa


Off Piste Outtake 1 - EPOV

"Bro, I scored you some gold today, my friend!"

The door slams behind Emmett as his grinning face rounds the corner to my living room. He stands in front of the TV, blocking my view of today's training recording. I hit some good form today and watching it on camera helps to cement it. Fingers click at me as Em makes sure he has my attention. I relent and give it to him.

"Your girl from Sports Illustrated - that hot skiing chick - you're gonna love this." He's ceremoniously peeling a rubber band off a poster.

"Why do you say 'your girl'? She ain't my girl, you dick." I know exactly who he's talking about of course.

He pauses as he's about to unravel it.

"I say 'your girl' 'cause I tried to read the latest issue that's in your bedroom and the fucking pages with her on it were all fucking stuck together, dick."

He's got me there.

"Anyway..." he says as he holds the paper up in front of me. It's huge, covering most of Emmett's frame, which means that Isabella Swan's long, lean legs are extra long and extra glossy and -

"Put that in your spank bank!" Emmett beams proudly.

God. It's been well and truly embedded in my spank bank since that damn magazine hit the shelf. The poster was only going to increase my...problem. I sure wasn't going to admit that to Emmett though.

"I'm giving this one a place of honor." He's taken the tacks from the drawer and is pinning Isabella - naked sans skis - on the one wall previously clear of "ski porn" posters. They vary from photos of awesome tricks to tacky ski bunny chicks - it doesn't have to be a chick to be classified "porn" mind you. Anything that gets the skier's mind going is classed as porn - even my retro 80s mogul skiing instruction videos. Isabella was a shit-ton more porny than that, though.

"Now you can pretend you're watching TV, when you're actually staring at her and trying to will those skis to move aside from what are likely glorious nipples."

"Emmett! What the fuck, man?!"

He's circling her nipple area like the weatherman indicating a high-pressure area on a map.

There's a high-pressure area building in my pants, and now is not the appropriate time.

"See, you're defensive. That means I'm right. Just don't rub one out on the couch while I'm still staying here. My run-in with your sticky pages was enough for this visit."

I move to stand up and lunge at him, using violence as a tactic to impart silence. He quickly flees to the kitchen and grabs a beer.

I wasn't sure if it was sad or scary how on to it my best mate was being. I'd always been fascinated with Isabella since I first caught a glimpse of her on the skiing circuits. Since she's been in the public eye more in the last year or so, that fascination has developed into a full-blown crush, if that's what you call it. Sports Illustrated was the final straw; now my mind wandered to her constantly, and her images in that magazine were going to give me carpal tunnel syndrome.

I kind of felt guilty, but what's a guy to do?

"You do realize that I've met the chick you just plastered on my wall, right?" I ask Em as he sits down and flicks the channel.

"I figured as much. She stays up on the wall until you tap that." He wags his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm not just going to 'tap that', Emmett. I'm going to the Olympics to ski, not fuck."

"That's what they all say. Famous last words, I reckon. Why else do they provide you athletes with so many rubbers?"

"You're fuckin' hard work tonight. Stop giving me shit."

"I'm just saying, if you get the chance, do something about your little fantasy."

I sigh in exasperation and sink farther into the couch. I'd never really considered that this woman would be anything more than mental and physical torture from afar. Truth was, Bella Swan intimidated me a little. She was fascinating and feisty, and her talent was about to hit a peak. Add that to her sinful body, and you had quite the package. I certainly didn't doubt myself with the ladies; she just felt different for some reason.

Of course, I spent the rest of the night pretending to focus on The Hangover, when really I was watching the glorious glimpse of ass hanging beside the screen. Just as the loser sitting next to me had predicted.

Emmett headed back to work two days later. My first night alone again, and I found myself sprawled out on the couch, wasted from the day's training. I was leafing through the latest Skier magazine. Bella was getting quite a lot of coverage - she seemed to be a bit of a media darling for some reason. Like I didn't know why. Talented: check. Smart: check. Crazy beautiful: check. It all just served to add more fuel to the fire.

I'd had to pick up another Sports Illustrated while I was at the bookstore. Emmett hadn't merely been kidding about the sticky pages, embarrassingly enough. I didn't mean for it to get all over the magazine, but I totally lost control in the best/worst kind of way. Best because it felt fucking amazing. Worst because I shouldn't be doing that shit like a teenaged boy and leaving it for my mates to discover. I truly felt like I was sixteen again. I was starting to wonder if any other woman would ever appeal.

Basically, I was fucked. And now I kind of wanted it to be literally.

Could I get it out of my system and move on...?

In the meantime, I needed a cold shower. Which was a fucking joke, because as the water hit my dick, I realized it wasn't going to be calming down about Swan anytime soon. All I could do was give myself over to it, lather up, and grab hold. All the while moaning her name.