Page 6 of Ski You Later
They’re fairly harmless in my opinion, with all of them having manners and good social skills. But, that doesn’t change the fact that they’re always yelling, fighting, and causing a scene wherever they go.
Aurora and I both roll our eyes at the group, returning to removing our equipment in peace. That is, until the cold wind signals more people entering from outside.
Always finding a way to command the room, the final friend group are the last to enter the lodge. Rhys strolls in and holds his ski bag with one hand, as if it didn’t weigh a million pounds. The guy is an absolute force, taking up over six feet of space as he saunters to the corner table and starts to gear down. Unclipping his helmet reveals the short black hair cropped close to his scalp, and his tan skin that contrasts his white face mask.
Landon and Xander quickly make their presence known as they both clamor into the room. The Huxley brothers are goofy and loud, pushing one another as they walk to their table. Landon’s pale blond curls oppose Xander’s dark brown hair in the starkest of contrasts and show how even on a physical level the two are Yin and Yang.
The story of Landon being brought into the Huxley family isn’t too well known, with rumors running amuck at the time. Whether Landon’s parents passed away, abandoned him, or were abducted by aliens, the only thing known for sure is that the Huxley family took him in immediately.
The Huxley’s are a big family name in this sport, having a yearly donation for the university team to decrease our fees, as well as volunteering at all the races. They run a ton of businesses within the city, from skistores to athletic wear companies. There was even a rumor that their parents owned this super exclusive bar, but no one can get anything out these boys. Either way, the Huxley family has been a friendly face on the hill ever since I was a little girl.
As the last gust of wind hits my face, the black cat of the family saunters his way through the door. Roman’s usual scowl is plastered to his face, as he brushes the snow off himself. I can’t help but notice how his muscles move with the motion since his race suit hugs him like a second skin.
The white suit is covered in blue swirls that wrap around his body, with his many sponsorships running up both calves. Similar sponsorships cover the side of my leg, but given his height, he has more room when it comes to displaying them.
I watch discreetly as he strolls towards the group, but I really start to stare when he removes his helmet. Curly brown hair so dark it looks black spills into his eyes, and he promptly runs both hands through it. Against my better judgement, I take in every inch of his form and the way every piece of him is packed with muscles. I know that everyone on this team is insanely strong, but seeing the way Roman uses them to do simple tasks is almost hypnotic.
Letting my eyes wander back up to his face, I freeze at his intense stare looking back at me. Like a deer in the headlights, I don’t move a muscle as we keep our gazes locked together. My face starts to flame immediately at being caught, and the embarrassment causes heat to flood my cheeks. As if seeing this, his gaze snaps free of mine and he returns his attention to Rhys and his brothers.
Even though he dipped his head down with impressive speed, I still catch the upward tilt of his lips when he looked away.
As Landon and Xander see his attention on them, they immediately try to include him in whatever joke they’re currently laughing about. It doesn’t surprise me when Roman promptly ignores them and proceeds to remove the rest of his gear.
With his table across from ours, it’s easy to see the smattering of freckles that explode across his wind flushed face. Before I can get a better look, he turns his back to me, and barks out a laugh at whatever Rhys just told him.
“You’re staring. Like a lot.” I jolt at Aurora’s voice in my ear, and the fact that her entire body’s pressing up to the side of mine.
I quickly lean away from her, indignation, and denial at the tip of my tongue. “No, I’m not!”
“You were a second away from drooling,” she responds immediately.
My jaw drops at her words, and I push her out of my personal bubble. “Don’t be silly,” I deadpan.
Aurora promptly puts herself back into my space, pushing into me even more than before. “Are we crushing on him now? If we are, I’ll consider being nicer to him.”
Promptly ignoring her, I shove Aurora off me again and start to remove my ski boots. Although, her words do get the gears in my brain turning.
Even though she isn’t aware of my ridiculous problem yet, her words sparks something in my brain. This idea sits promptly at the front of my mind as I smash my frozen boot shell into the floor.
Unfortunately, I’ll need an actual plan when it comes to this whole issue, and step one is to get this frozen piece of evil off my foot. I furrow my brow in concentration, and I can hear the rock-hard plastic on my feet laughing at my desire to remove it. Without any hesitation, I pull the plastic boot lip open as far as possible, and smash my foot into the ground again.
An alpine ski racer boot is different from the comfy ones that most people get to wear. Normal ski boots allow you to slip your foot in with ease, and I heard some are even fuzzy on the inside.
In contrast, our boots are specially fitted to the exact size and form of our feet. The inner fabric liner is vacuum sealed to our foot, and then a hard-plastic shell goes over that liner. Similar to putting on a figure skate, the fabric liner needs to be tied up all the way. The only difference is that our laced boot liner needs to be inserted in the plastic shell, and those two pieces combined make up our race boots.
These things make high heels feel like slippers, and after a couple minutes of smacking my frozen shell into the ground, my liner finally slips free. Lifting my foot gently, I groan at all the ice covering the laces and the sole. It takes me another couple of minutes to get the other foot free, and then I’m carefully untying both my liners and holding back tears.
Cold, frozen, broken little toes stare back at me as I remove my ski socks. I’m cringing even thinking about moving them right now, since the defrosting of my toes is the worst part of every training session. Pulling my fuzzy socks and my warm boots out of my ski bag, I brace myself as I carefully attend to my feet.
An embarrassing whimper leaves me as the shooting pain goes up my leg, wincing as the pins and needles mix with the frost bite. Closing my eyes, I try to breathe past the feeling that a million tiny monsters are all biting my feet at the same time.
Looking to my side, Aurora’s giving me the most unimpressed look I have ever seen on her face. “You are being ridiculous,” she states. Her eyebrow raising as an actual tear falls from my eye.
“Unlike you, I haven’t lost all the feeling in my feet,” I shoot back.
She grabs the metal stool under her for balance and raises both her feet. Wiggling her frozen monstrosities she calls toes in my direction, I swat her away and try not to vomit. “Aren’t they so pretty, I was made to wear open toed shoes,” she beams.
I can’t help but notice that she’s currently missing three toenails, and the cold has caused black skin to replace where they used to be.
