Page 5 of Seduction on the Slopes

Crash

That could’ve gone better. But it also could’ve gone worse. And now I’ve got my secret off my chest, there’s a chance Miles might actually be able to help me. I’m not so optimistic, but it’s better than what I’ve been doing about it myself, which is nothing. It’s weird that ignoring a problem didn’t make it go away . . .

I’m sitting in a microbrewery near the SIG village, and I was early for once since I basically threw my gear into our room and then headed out, while Miles was looking scrunch-faced at his cellphone and told me he’d see me at eight.

Well, it’s eight o’clock, and there’s no sign of . . .

Ah, there he is. I would’ve ragged on him so hard if he’d been even a minute late. But, of course, he’s not.

He thanks the waitress, throws her one of his uber-charming white-teethed smiles. No wonder the guy doesn’t mind doing press. He’s charismatic as fuck. And of course even though she didn’t recognize me, she asks Miles to sign a coaster to add to her collection. He generously points out that I’m also on the SIG team, and she hands over the coaster with some reluctance, like my grimy paws touching it might make it less valuable. Which it might. But I sign the thing anyway, and try to look charming as I hand it back. The waitress’s wrinkled nose says I’m not terribly successful.

I fidget with my hands as Miles slides into the other side of the booth, and I look for something, anything to say. “Well aren’t you Mr. Johnny-on-the-spot, showing up precisely at eight?”

Miles looks at me from across the table, his sporty and probably expensive zip-up sweater clinging to him in kind of a ridiculously hot way, and with a crease between his brows.

“I . . . was supposed to meet you at eight. I’m here at eight. Why is that remarkable?”

This guy has got a ski pole wedged so far up his ass I’m surprised I can’t see it when he opens his mouth.

“Never mind. So you’re going to cure my press anxiety, huh?”

He gives me one of those don’t-be-an-idiot-Crash looks. It kinda looks the same on everyone, and I know it well. “I never said that. I said we’d try to figure something out. But I’m not a therapist, and my understanding is that anxiety is something that takes significant amounts of time, energy, and in some cases medication to overcome. Plus, even if I had the training, we don’t have the time.”

He’s cute when he takes everything so damn literally. “Okay, Freud.”

His whole face crinkles in a frown. No, crinkle isn’t the right word, more like his smooth brown skin forms lumps and ridges where there shouldn’t be any. Like when you’re on a slalom course and suddenly there’s a mogul in the middle. His face shouldn’t look like that—Miles is never confused. He’s always in control, always knows exactly where he’s going, and how and when he’s going to get there. Uncertainty is for lesser men.

“You understand that Freud was the father of psychoanalysis, and—”

“Oh my god, I was making a joke. Aren’t you impressed I know who Freud is at all?”

He tries not to laugh. He tries so hard. But the thing is, I’d feel better if he laughed. If people are laughing, it means they don’t hate me. I’m used to people thinking I’m not that bright, and maybe I’m not. If people aren’t going to think I’m smart, at least they can think to themselves,Yeah. Crash Delaney, I know him. He’s not a giant ass-muffin. And one of the ways you get people to like you is to make them laugh.

I’m hanging on the edge, hoping he’ll let it go—even just a reluctant bark would be better than nothing—but he swallows it and tries to look stern. Which is its own kind of sexy, but not what I was looking for. Maybe next time.

“This is serious. I’m not sure you understand what’s at stake here. It would be difficult but not impossible for Coach Miller to replace you on the roster. Sully is here, and it’s not for the microbrews.” He eyes my half-empty pint glass meaningfully, and I feel the urge to tug at my collar but resist. He’s not my nanny, though I bet he had one growing up in that big-ass house in Greenwich. Even from pictures I can tell his childhood home is bigger than everywhere I’ve lived put together, and my parents moved around a lot. Though to be fair, we stayed in the van in most places . . .

Then what he’s said hits me. Hard like a kick to the stomach when you’re not expecting it. “That’s why Sully is here? In case I fuck up so badly Coach wants me off the team?”

Miles’s eyebrows quirk in this annoying way that make me want to punch him. But then Sully would really get my place.

“I didn’t realize . . .” I don’t know what’d I’d thought Sully was here for, but never had I considered that it was to replace me.

“Look, kid, you have to follow the rules. You can’t behave like some prima donna. You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Not like you.”

He points a finger at me, which makes his sleeve pull up enough to bare some of his forearm. His sculpted forearm that I’d like to bite. Not hard, just appreciate the muscles. With my teeth and, yeah, some tongue. “I am not a prima donna. I’m staying in the village, aren’t I? I show up on time, do the full workouts if not more than that. I don’t ask for special treatment even though I could probably get it. So don’t pull that shit on me.”

Whoa. Okay then, hit a sore spot. “No, you’re right. You’re not a diva.”

“Damn right I’m not. And this is about you, not me. So let’s get to work. Is this just about press or is it bigger than that?”

I feel like I should be lying back on some leather coach while he jots notes, nods, and asks “How does that make youfeel?” But I answer him anyway, because I feel like he really is trying to help. “It’s the worst with the press. It happens other times, too, but I can handle that. It’s not that bad.”

Basically any time I come into contact with people who treat this SIG stuff like it’s second nature. Like they’ve been here before or they’ve been training for it their whole lives. I only decided a couple of years ago that this was something I might be able to do, and there are a lot of people who are not happy that some scrubby upstart has taken their place, or who feel like I haven’t earned this in general.

But the thing is, if I hadn’t earned it, I wouldn’t be here, right? Maybe I haven’t dedicated every waking moment of my life to downhill, but if I weren’t one of the fastest people in the country, I wouldn’t have made the team.

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