Page 60 of Love Me Reckless

By the time the ski lesson comes around, just putting the boots on gets me sweating, then the process of carrying my skis and poles to the base of the ski area, across ice patches, and dodging people driving like maniacs gets me fearing for my life.

Once I’ve climbed the slope to the ticket booth, I search for Kirilee in the crowd of skiers.

Just like Finn River’s setup, two lifts run from the base, each leading to various parts of the mountain. Though at Bear Mountain, instead of the steady trickle of guests in the lift line and the near-empty slopes, it’s a zoo. Clearly, Finn River locals are crazy about this sport because I’m betting every one of them is here.

What’s also different is a beginner lift that accesses a gradual, short grade, plus a conveyor belt thingy inside a plexiglass tube that takes newbies to the top of an even shorter slope.

Kirilee stands at the flat area outside the base lodge in a black jacket accented with white embroidered flowers and faux fur, and white ski pants. Her strawberry-blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, the curls drifting in the wind. She looks completely at ease, standing there watching for me, holding two lift tickets.

Huffing like a gorilla in heat, I trudge up to her and try not to look as out of place as I feel. “Hey.”

She smiles. “Hey yourself.” She slips the ski area ticket through the zipper loop on my jacket pocket, her subtle cocoa scent wrappingme like a hug. “You want to do a little pre-lesson on the magic carpet, or head up?”

“Up,” I say because after working for two months on ski lifts, my faith extends only that far. Plus if I stick around here, the audience factor increases by about four thousand.

“All righty, let’s go.” Kirilee sets her skis flat on the snow, puts a pole in each fist, and steps into her bindings with a solidclick, click.

I try to copy her. Set skis down side by side. Hold poles for balance.

“Downhill ski first,” she says when I lift my uphill leg to step into the binding.

I give her a suspicious glance. “Why does it matter?”

“When you fall, it’s easier to get upright again if you start with the downhill ski.”

“Who says I’m gonna fall?”

To my delight, she laughs. “Don’t worry, Karl, you’ve got this.”

With that, she pushes off using her poles, doing a kind of scissor-swish with her skis to move across the slope toward the beginner lift. She moves with total grace and fluidity, like a dancer. If there was an award for best-looking ass in ski pants, she would win the gold medal.

I force my attention back to snapping my boots into the bindings. It takes me several tries, but I finally get locked in. Then I push off and try to scissor-swish like Kirilee.

My skis feel like little sleds, and my swishing only seems to make me swish faster until my arms are windmilling and my thighs are on fire. The ground comes rushing up and I sprawl face-first. To make it even more awesome, both of my skis pop off.

With the cold snow down my neck and my body pretzeled, I roll to my back and start laughing. How can I not? Plus, if I can’t laugh at myself, I might cry.

I roll to my knees and stand up. This time, I pick up my skis and poles and carry them to the base of the beginner lift, where Kirilee is waiting just outside of the lift line.

“At least you’ve got your first fall out of the way,” she says with asmirk.

This time I manage to get into both skis on the first try, then I stick to Kirilee like glue as we make our way to the back of the lift line. Thankfully the slope is flat so all I have to do is use my poles for leverage with mini swishes from my skis.

“You’ve probably ridden the lifts plenty by now,” Kirilee says, leaning in close. “On skis though, when we get off, it’s important to go straight. Okay?”

“Got it.”

We’re paired with a dad and his four-year-old son for the ride up, and he chatters with Kirilee about his favorite lodge grub and his dog Daisy and his big sister Rossa here with their mom somewhere higher on the mountain.

It makes me think of my mom and the zero-budget adventures we used to have. Would she have liked skiing?

When the lift approaches the top terminal and slows down so we can unload, I’m too mesmerized by the machinery operating above us to remember that getting off the lift requires my attention. The chair slows and everyone stands up. Suddenly the chair is crossing the red UNLOAD HERE marker with me still on it.

Kirilee looks back in surprise as I push off the chair a little too hard in an effort to catch up. My skis take off, and because my poles are in my lap, I have no way to stop, so I crash into Kirilee from behind. I’m so surprised—and terrified—that I wrap my arms around her waist and hold on for dear life.

Kirilee shrieks, and we go flying down the ramp as one, past the dad and son who are watching us, mouths hanging open. Kirilee tries to slow down but my skis are stuck between hers and I’m like a lead weight and we crash spectacularly at the bottom of the ramp.

Panic floods my veins as I wriggle free because I’m sure I’ve just broken several of her bones.

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