Page 54 of I Blame the Alcohol

Moguls hit my skis at every turn, but years of practice keep my knees soft and bent to absorb the otherwise jarring impact. I use my momentum to pop over a wind lip halfway down, enjoying the fleeting moment of weightlessness as I leave the ground. I land with a light thump, quickly shortening my turns to increase my speed. I glance to the right to confirm the Olympic chair is still in my line of sight and refocus on the slope in front of me.

The discovery of this shortcut was the turning point for me in these races. When it comes to sheer speed, Mo beats me every time thanks to the extra pounds of muscle he’s got, and with Cody it would be no different. It took me a while, but once I figured out it was impossible to beat guys twice my size on a straight-away, I started looking for alternative solutions and stumbled upon this shortcut.

Lucky for me, tight tree runs are my specialty. My lack of height and shorter skis make it easier to execute the short, sharp turns needed to maintain a high speed and avoid colliding with a nearby tree. For the last four years, this shortcut has given me the extra boost I need to outski my brother, and today is no exception.

I fly over the last few moguls and pop out between the trees, folding myself into tuck position as my skis carve into the smooth surface of the groomer. Mo’s black jacket hits my peripheral, his large frame mirroring mine as we both go barreling towards the finish line.

I curl myself up tighter, willing my body to go faster as Mo starts to close the distance between us. I’m just about to claim my victory when a flash of green catches my eye.

I jerk my skis to a stop when I realize Cody’s jacket isn’t above his board like it should be. Mo speeds past me with a celebratory holler, but I’m too focused on the snowboarder cartwheeling down the hill to care.

Cody rolls to a stop near a cluster of trees and without thinking, I unclip from my skis and go running towards his unmoving figure.

“CODY!” My scream gets swept away by the wind, my clunky ski boots making me fumble awkwardly as I run towards the fallen varsity player. The terrible memory of last semester’s lacrosse tournament crashes through my head and I feel my panic rising.

“Ow.”

Cody’s goggles are hanging off the back of his helmet, every crevice of his suit filled with snow. I collapse to my knees next to him, holding back the desire to weep as his coherent brown eyes meet mine.

“Did I win?” His voice is weak but steady, a positive sign he wasn’t hurt too badly.

Yanking off my gloves, I cradle his face with my heads and gently wipe away the clumps of snow sticking to his helmet.

“No, you idiot. You were supposed tosnowboarddown the hill, not tomahawk your way down.”

He chuckles, bringing his gloved hand up to cup my bare one, “Mo should have clarified the definition of a straight line.”

“You need to be more careful, Cody. You’re still in recovery.”

“I think I’m going to need recovery after this.”

Exhaling heavily, I tilt my head back and close my eyes, letting the falling snow melt away the worry circulating inside of me.

“You are going to be the death of me.”

“Stel.” He tugs my hand, bringing my focus back to his smiling face, “I am completely fine. It was just a fall.”

Pushing himself upright, Cody shifts closer, slowly raising a gloved hand to move aside the frozen strands peeking out the sides of my helmet. He uses the other hand to unclip his helmet, letting it fall to the ground before bringing his lips to mine.

Melted snow leaves his lips cold and damp as they press against mine, soft and reassuring as he tugs me closer. I don’t notice Cody unclipping my helmet until it falls to the ground and a breeze brushes my hair.

He coaxes my mouth open, and I let him, gently moaning when his tongue snakes out to trace the seam of my bottom lip.

Time seems to slow as I deepen the kiss, my frozen fingers raking through his matted hair. Cody groans and pulls his arms tighter around me. The thick sleeves of his winter jacket do nothing to stop the heat radiating off of him, and I’m about two seconds from ripping away the layers separating us when Mo’s voice echoes in the distance.

“STELLA! ELLSWORTH!”

We break apart, breathing heavily. Our puffs of air are visible in the cold air but all I can see is the desire burning in Cody’s eyes.

“There you guys are. What the hell happened?” Mo’s footsteps draw near, and I sit back on my knees, watching Cody struggle to stand up in the deep snow.

“I ate shit. Multiple times.”

More snow falls from his jacket and snow pants when he finally makes it to his feet.

“Tell me you didn’t lose your helmet on the way down.” Mo’s expression turns concerned when he takes in the chaotic state of Cody’s hair.

“Nah, I just unclipped it to get some fresh air.”

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