Page 19 of Wedlocked

My eyes strayed to the dark-headed DJ standing in line with Kruger and Jess. His arms were full of gear, and his black ski jacket was unzipped.

“I’m glad,” I said.

“You should talk to him.”

My eyes flew back to Prism. “To Arsen?”

He shook his head quickly. “Win.”

“Win,” I echoed quietly.

“About whatever’s bothering you. He might make it a little easier.”

More surprise rippled through me. Almost incredulously, my stare whipped back to the quiet swimmer.

He half smiled. “When you’re very quiet… you hear a lot.”

My chest tightened a little.He understands.

“Sometimes talking is hard,” I said, voice low.

“Yeah, I know.” He agreed. “But he loves you.”

A lump formed in my throat. No matter how many times I swallowed, it wouldn’t go down.

The line shifted again, and Win glanced around to find me. The second he did, he smiled. Such a dopey smile. Those dimples were so extra.

Extra adorable.

He gestured for me to get in line, and I nodded. I started forward but then paused, turning back to Prism. “You made it a little easier too,” I told him.

His eyes widened.

“Thanks, P.”

His head bobbed. “Sure.”

We went through the line, got all the equipment we needed, and with passes clipped to the zippers on our coats, everyone headed out to the slopes.

The sky was gray, but the day was bright. The white powder covering everything reflected light brilliantly, and I squinted against it. After snapping into my skis and pulling on the new gloves, an unnecessary purchase, I sank the poles into the snow. The familiar crunch and glide of the skis underfoot brought a fissure of exhilaration at the idea of flying over the mountain, the wind biting into my cheeks.

“You should have brought sunglasses, angel,” Win said, stepping in front of me and angling so our skis didn’t tangle. Cupping his hands, he put them over my eyes to shield them from the glare.

He, of course, was wearing the aviators he loved so much. If he left home without them, it would probably be some sort of national emergency.

“I don’t need sunglasses. I have goggles,” I told him.

“I’m wearing both.”

“Alla höns hemma,” I quipped.You don’t have all your hens at home.

“Now why would I need hens at home, angel, when I have you?”

I sputtered.

He grinned. Dimples popping, teeth more blinding than the snow. “Surprised you, didn’t I?” he mused. “You insult me in Swedish so much, angel, I’m starting to learn the language.”

A spear of guilt pierced me. Did I insult him that much? Even after all these months, it was still hard to be so vulnerable to him. He disarmed me in ways I never imagined. I guess my sarcasm was sort of my armor.

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