Page 37 of Seduction on the Slopes

“Thank you. I know what you gave up to do that for me. I want you to know you didn’t need to. I’ve been a total jackass for the past couple of days and I apologize. I would’ve wanted to be with you no matter the outcome. It’s just, feelings are hard. So don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again or I will end you. Are we clear?”

“Can we at least fuck before you do that? Then I can die happy.”

“Gladly.”

He lets me go because this hug is bordering on suspicious. Instead, he takes my gloved hand in his and raises them both into the air and the whole crowd goes absolutely wild. Including Miles’s parents who are standing super close.

Mine had texted me from the road yesterday saying they were sorry to miss the race, but something had come up. I’m guessing that means the owner of the campsite where they were staying wanted to get paid. Again. It had bothered me, yes, but I can’t say it was unexpected. It warms my heart to see that Miles’s people showed up for him, because I know where he gets that from. It’s in his blood, and if I can get him to stay, I can have some of that for myself.

Miles’s dad has got his standard flag, and his mom has her usual “Miles Can Go the Distance!” but then she flips it to the other side, and of all the things for it to say, it reads “‘And Burn’ is Not Crash Delaney’s Middle Name!” So, we’re going to have to work on her signage, but in that moment, I get the feeling that Miles and I are okay. Or at least we’re going to be okay. I will make us be okay even if he doesn’t like feelings. I’ll teach him how to deal and he’ll learn he doesn’t have to be afraid of the squishy feelings he has for me. I can be patient. He’ll come around, and it looks like I’ve got an ally in Mrs. Palmer.

There’s no way Miles’s mom would’ve made me a sign if she didn’t think he’d be okay with it. And if he’s okay with that, I think we really do have a shot. He said as much just now. Sure, he’s threatened murder, but in a nice way? Because he cares about me, he cares about my success, and if I do anything to put that in jeopardy ever again, he’ll kill me. I’ll take it. I’ll take him.

I say my hellos to Mr. and Mrs. Palmer, and then we’re getting dragged off to talk to the press. We stay as close as we can without making it blatantly obvious that’s what we’re doing, and in between talking to various media outlets, we murmur things to each other. Teasing mixed with death threats, sprinkled with filthy suggestions about what’s going down now that our events are over. While we’ve got a breather because Ted’s waxing philosophical about how he managed to have two of the most dominant skiers in alpine on one team, and the tensions that must have created on the team, we stand shoulder to shoulder and Miles tips his head to put his mouth closer to my ear.

“You’re a better person than I am.”

I want to hug him and punch him at the same time, take his cock in my mouth at the same time as I want to make him repeat kindergarten to learn what really matters. But all I can do is turn my head, and marshal every ounce of control I have not to grab him by his stupid stubborn face and kiss him full on in front of all these people.

“Not better. Different. Yes, you need some improvement, but I can help you with that. I’ll trade you for some ski pointers. Deal?”

“If you’ll still have me.”

“Anytime, Palmer. I will take you on any time.”

Then there are more cameras on us, more microphones getting shoved in our faces, more questions to process. I’ve done the right thing in the best way I know how and while Miles wouldn’t have done the same thing, I think that’s partly why we fit so well. We’ll make each other whole. We can make each other better whether that’s through pushing or reining in, we’ll do it together. Like facing this new crush of press who are starting to ask the same old, same old questions.

How does it feel to be a two-time SIG medalist after growing up in a van and with no formal training until you made Team USA? What’s it like to race with the world’s most advanced equipment after learning how to ski with mismatched gear you sometimes had to steal from resorts?

The questions aren’t any easier to answer, and I still feel the burn of humiliation rising in my cheeks though I’m comforted some by the knowledge everyone’s looking a little worse for wear because of the wind, and the flush could be mistaken for windburn. But better is that my stomach is steady, and even more satisfying, so is my heart.

Epilogue

Miles

“You know, the first time I saw you ski, I was completely horrified.”

“If this is your idea of pillow talk, you’re doing it wrong.”

It actually is. But I am not, in fact, doing it wrong. Crash, as per usual, just needs to be patient.

We’re lying side by side in my cramped bed in our SIG suite, late the morning after the closing ceremony. I’ve got him trapped between my body and the wall. We’ve just had a rather energetic fuck, and we’re both still naked as can be, resting comfortably, half under the sheet. Our body heat keeps us warm, but I’m prepared to pull the blanket from the foot of the bed over us should we get chilled. So far, though, I get to enjoy his slim, strong body pressed against mine, and the fine lines of him. Skin clinging to muscle, bone, and tendons, still too skinny.

I grab his chin, the skin rough under my fingertips, and kiss him hard. “Stop being fresh.”

He kisses me back, nipping at my bottom lip, and that thing, that indescribably delicious sensation, curls in my belly, starts heading even further south, because he’s delectable. “Would you rather I be rotten?”

My. The things I could do to him if he gave me that kind of excuse . . . “Try me.”

“Sometime. Right now I just want you to fuck me.”

“And I’m the one who’s doing romance wrong?”

There’s a rise of pink on his cheeks above that sandy scruff. “Maybe I’m just really horny.”

I roll my eyes before I lean in, take his earlobe first between my teeth and then suck on it gently before murmuring in his ear. “You’re always horny.”

There’s a hitch in his breath and I double it by skimming a finger from where the sheet’s draped around his waist, up to the hollow of his throat and back. But it doesn’t stop him from talking, because what does? I’ve only found one thing.

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