Page 6 of Seduction on the Slopes

Merit, I haz it.

Most of the time that’s good enough, and I can tell them in my head to shut up and get on, but sometimes that little voice sticks:You aren’t good enough. You’re going to fail. You’re going to get laughed at, because you’re ridiculous. And you’re going to do it all in front of a guy you’ve admired since you were seven years old.

It doesn’t help that my hero is sitting right in front of me, and now I have to confess I’m a head case.

But Miles isn’t wrinkling his nose, or shaking his head. He looks . . . thoughtful. “Okay. Well, I think that’s good. It’s, you know, manageable. Bite-sized.”

That’s not how it feels. It feels like a wave of sick and shame and fear crashing over me. It’s not like a goddamn fun size candy bar or something.

He must be able to tell that I don’t appreciate his down-playing this, because he backpedals. “I don’t mean it’s not a big deal, I mean you’re not dealing with it all the time. It’s discrete, not ubiquitous.”

“All right, Captain Thesaurus, could you cool it with the big words? I know you grew up with fancy-ass tutors, but I barely got my GED.”

Miles has the good manners to look a little humbled. “Sorry. I just meant it only happens sometimes, not all the time. So we just need to figure out how to get you through those times.”

Yeah, sure, easy-peasy. Why didn’t I think of that? The unimpressed sarcasm must be dripping off of me because he hurries on.

“What’s something that relaxes you, makes you feel settled?”

I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. “I swear to god if you say weed, I’m walking out.”

Fuck. I mean, I knew that wasn’t an option, but he’s not even going to let me say it? “Uh . . .”

“Come on, Crash, there’s gotta be something else. What did you do before you started smoking up?”

Oooh. “Uh, fucked?”

Miles plants his elbows on the table, and drops his head into his hands. Clearly, I’m hopeless. Welp, I’m totally screwed.

Miles

“When did you lose your virginity?” Oh, Christ, that was rude of me. But really? He started fucking before he started getting high?

“When I was thirteen.”

Holy shit. I know I shouldn’t judge, because who am I to say what other people should do in their sex lives? He’d probably be equally horrified because I didn’t have sex until I was nineteen. But that’s not the point. I need to tame the look on my face before he walks out. Or hits me. I’m not sure which would be worse.

“And you started smoking up when?”

He grins, which is unexpected. “About two weeks after I had sex for the first time. You don’t even want to know when I got drunk for the first time. There’s not a whole lot to do in Wyoming.”

“I thought you were from Colorado?”

“I am. Sort of. My parents moved around a lot when I was a kid. Montana, Wyoming, Idaho, Utah, even made it down to New Mexico for a bit. But since I was sixteen, I’ve been in Colorado.”

“Parents finally settled down?”

“No, I did.”

His comment and the way his eyes dart to the side stab into my stomach. He’s saying . . . I think he’s saying he’s been on his own since he was sixteen, and that’s just unfathomable to me. I was a disaster when I was sixteen. Could barely keep track of my acne regimen and my training schedule, never mind anything else. And he’s been on his own? For five years? Fucking A.

But one thing at a time. The most immediate thing we need to deal with is the press anxiety and the barfing.

“Okay. I think we’ve gotten a little off track. Back to ways to get you to chill before press events. Meditation?”

Crash makes a face like I just suggested he eat his ski wax.

“Okay, no meditation. Yoga?”

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