Page 16 of Can I Tell You Something?
“And how did you end up living together?”
“Both our leases were up around the same time. He had a lead on a nice two-bedroom place near the studio, so it made sense. Better than us each having to find new roommates who turn out to be creeps.”
That’s interesting.
So either Ryan doesn’t know about Cam’s audio erotica work, or he does, but he doesn’t find it creepy.
It’s not something I’ve ever discussed with anyone else, but it definitely seems like the sort of work some people would be judgemental of.
“And do you like living with him?”
“Yeah, sure. You’ve seen the place on video calls, it’s nice.”
I could kick myself. I’ve seen their apartment on calls with Ryan, and other parts of it on Cameron’s Instagram stories, but the walls are a generic light grey. How was I supposed to know they live together?
“Hello?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “What’s with all the questions?”
“Nothing,” I shrug. “I’m just curious about your life now. It’s worlds away from mine.”
“Well, if you’d take a break for five minutes and come out to visit, you’d get to see my side of the world too. Cam and I spotted Timothée Chalamet in a restaurant last week. You’d have loved it.”
It’s kind of funny that he assumes I’d care about spotting Timothée when in reality I’d be a puddle at the sight of Cameron, much like I was when he turned up in my bloody house without warning yesterday.
We cut our conversation short as the lift pulls into the top station. I hop off and jab my poles into the mostly untouched powder to shove past him. At the top of the piste, we get into position.
“Wait for us,” I hear Dad yell from behind us.
“Oh Mark, let them go. There’s no way I’m trying to keep up. We’ll see you back at the house, kids.”
“I’ll seeyouback at the house, sucker!” Ryan yells, digging his poles in and pushing off hard.
“Not if I see you first!”
He might have a half-second head start, but I overtake him fast and leave him in the spray from my skis. It takes at least fifteen minutes to ski from here back to the village, though you can take as long as you like if you enjoy cruising around the mountain, stopping to admire the views on your way down.
Ryan can never resist turning off to ride through fresh powder at the side of the piste, and I love that too, but it’s not the way to win this race. By the time I reach the bottom of the first run, pushing down through my poles to reach the next one, I’m a good minute ahead of him and I know I’ve won.
Still, the pressure is on. I don’t dare slow as I zoom past groups of adults taking part in lessons, snowboarders hitting ramps they’ve built at the side of the slope.
I feel safe here. Happy. I can’t mess anything up if I just look ahead, choose my line and follow it through. I know this mountain better than I know any other thing in my life. Every twist and turn, every distance marker, every flat that requires a buildup of speed to make it to the end.
I sail across the wide plateau halfway down the mountain. Past the little row of bars and restaurants where crowds are already enjoying their après-ski drinks and french fries. The smell of fat and salt and beer is a siren call after a day on the slopes, but that will have to wait for another day.
It isn’t long until I’m back at the top of the lift where I dropped Cameron off earlier. Instead of taking it down, I veer left and glide past the line of trees that lead back to our chalet, then continue down towards the village. The snow is softer here, less groomed after a day of beginners and experts alike, each giving it their last push as they head home.
My heart is racing, breath coming in hard pants as I glance back up the mountain, expecting to see Ryan gaining on me, but there’s no sign. The sun has already faded from this side of the hill, cold air pinching at my cheeks. I push out of my skis and hop down the bank into the snow covered back garden we won’t see for another three or four months.
Chapter 12
Hannah
MylegsshakeasI unbuckle my boots, stack them on the dryer in the boot room, and climb the stairs to the middle of the house. I find Cameron stretched out on the chaise with a book in his hand, looking criminally hot in dark sweatpants and a white fitted t-shirt. Nobody else ever sits in my favourite spot, and it’s jarring to see him looking so at home there.
I’d been hoping to avoid him, at least until I changed out of my sweaty clothes, but it’s impossible when you have to pass through the living area to go upstairs.
“Hey.” He drops his book in his lap, his thumb tucked between pages so he doesn’t lose his spot.
“Hey. Good afternoon?”
