Page 22 of Seduction on the Slopes

What is it about Crash Delaney that gives him the ability to get under my skin? He’s like some life-threatening parasite people pick up in tropical climates when they walk in muddy areas with no goddamn shoes on.

When I finally walk back out to our room—okay, stomp is more likely—Crash is still fucking sitting there and it brings my blood to a boil. I can’t even get my clothes on. I just stand there in my towel and yell, because dignity is my middle name.

“What the fuck, Crash? What the ever-loving fuck? I know the information I gave you is intimidating, and maybe it won’t help, but aren’t you even going to try? Why are you just sitting here, doing nothing? Even if you don’t give a goddamn for yourself—which after watching you work for the past several weeks, I could’ve sworn you did—what about the rest of us? Your team, your coaches, the people who didn’t get on this team because you showed up out of nowhere, your country? You’ve never struck me as lazy, exactly. Maybe unaware of exactly how hard it is for most people to reach your level. But let me tell you it’s infuriating to watch you sit here and do nothing with the advice I just offered you.”

Especially if part of my legacy ends up being you.The thought has jumped into my head entirely unbidden, and with it comes images of me training Crash, putting him through brutal workouts, sitting down to eat nutritious food on plates that aren’t disposable, watching proudly as he dominates competitions.

And I’m not going to lie, there are some flickers of other pictures, too—us lying in bed together some morning when he’s got a late start, him on his knees with his hands on my thighs and asking if he can take my cock in his mouth, and perhaps most disturbingly, me taking his face in my hands after he’s won yet another SIG medal and kissing him in front of the spectators, the media, fuck it all, the whole world because everyone already knows he’s mine, he belongs to me. Because he’s not just someone I coach, but also someone I love.Shit.

After all that, Crash is still sitting there. My chest is heaving with anger and frustration, and he’s sitting there. I have half a mind to pick up my desk chair and throw the thing at him. But just as I’m about to reach for the dorm-style block of wood, his mouth pulls to the side and he squints like he’s looking into sunlight bouncing off newly snowed upon slopes.

“Hey, Miles?”

Oh my god. I grit my teeth and pray he says something that makes me want to murder him less. “Yes?”

“Have you ever heard of visualization?”

Seriously? Sports psychology 101?Seriously?“Well, yes, Crash. As a matter of fact, I have. What’s your point?”

He blinks and suddenly he looks hurt, like I’ve shamed him. Yes, my tone was more acerbic than it needed to be but . . . oh.

“That’s what I’ve been doing. All those things you told me? It’s not like I’m going to have much time to actually put that into practice on the slopes, and I’ll try to practice it here, but visualization has always worked well for me. It’s like I’ve got some freaky weird connection between my brain and my muscles. It doesn’t always work, and sometimes I need to practice a lot to get it right, but it’s my best shot when I don’t have a lot of time. And I don’t. So it might look like I’ve been sitting here, doing nothing, but really I’ve been playing that movie over and over in my head, trying to adjust my stance and my timing in my head using the things you told me.”

I am the worst. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry if you thought I was ignoring you, but—”

“Don’t apologize, okay? I’m the one who flew completely off the handle when I could have asked you. I’m sorry. If that’s what works for you, that’s what you should do. And we’ll try to get you some extra time to practice, okay? I know I’m asking a lot, but it’s just because . . .”

Inexplicably, I want him to win. Not especially if it means I have to lose, but if I’m going to lose my medals, let it be to Crash. Let me start the second half of my legacy now if I have to, but just let it keep living on.

“It’s because I want you to do well, okay? It’s because I have faith in you, you deserve to be here, and I want you to show the world what you can do.”

“Well, maybe if you’re done wanting to strangle me with your bare hands, you could give me a hand?”

I take a breath and try to slow my still-pounding heart. “With what?”

“I got a lot of what you said, but I feel like I could understand it better, you know? If you gave me more detail? Maybe talked it through? I know this is hard, for you, but—”

My gaze goes to the ceiling of our suite. Yeah, he’s asking for my help. Because of course he is, and the truth is, I can’t see my way to not giving it to him. “It’s fine. Could I get dressed first?”

I’m still standing here in my towel, no longer shaking with rage, so it might be better to do this in pants.

The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Aw, man, I was hoping you’d do naked push-ups while you schooled me.”

Goofy little bastard. “I will not. This is far too serious. You need to concentrate. Visualize. And you know if I’m doing naked push-ups the only thing you’ll be visualizing is being face-down under me.”

He shrugs, but can’t keep up the façade of indifferent amusement and busts into cackles. He’s completely daft. As soon as he recovers, well, partially, he waves a hand. “Yeah, put on some clothes. I’ll never be able to concentrate with you walking around like that.”

So I quickly pull on some clothes and then sit down with him. “What was it that you needed help with?”

“What did you say, that I have flabby ankles?”

Heaven help me. “Floppy. I saidfloppyankles.”

“What does that mean? How can they be floppy when they’re inside my boots?”

Good question, because our boots are rigid and tight fitting, hugging our feet just so. They’re customized by our techs, and the right boots can make all the difference. “Well, there’s part of your problem, relying on your equipment. You need to be active, creating tension in your ankles, and using them to start your turns. Not your shoulders, not your head, not even your hips.”

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