Page 17 of The Season
“I’ll be back at the lineup tomorrow morning,” I say, probably a little harshly. “I’ve got my advanced kids and I’m not letting someone else teach ’em, they’ll just fuck it up.”
“Eddie,” she says carefully. Gently. “I don’t think that’s the best idea…”
“I’m fine,” I retort, injecting forced cheerfulness into my voice. “Totally fine. I’ll be on the snow tomorrow.”
I end the call before she can tell me how wrong I am.
I’m not fine though. I glare at my phone, then throw it on the bed.
I wish it had been my mum on the other end of the line. God, it sounds stupid and childish, but I just wish my mum was here to give me a hug, to wrap me up in her arms and tell me that it’s all going to be fine. To tell me that I’m not a complete fuckup, even though my brother’s a lawyer and my sister’s a doctor.
I can’t even become a ski instructor without dropping two kids off the ski lift on my first week teaching overseas.
There’s a short rap on the door, followed by Seth calling out from the other side, “Eddie? You in here?”
I plaster on a grin, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Yah. I’m here.” I pull the door open. My gaze drops to the bottle of bourbon clutched in his hand, and I force my smile wider, until my cheeks hurt. “Thanks for picking that up. How much do I owe you?”
I can hear Lily and Matty talking down the hall, can hear Matty’s stupid laugh at whatever Lily is saying, and Lily’s breathy chuckle in reply.
“There’s cola in the kitchen,” Seth continues, his rich-brown eyes fixed on me with knowing sympathy. “I’m pretty sure Matty hasn’t used up all the ice in the freezer. Want me to mix you a drink?”
I take the bottle from his hand, pulling it toward my chest. “Nah, I got it. Thanks, bro.”
I push past him, doing my best to ignore everyone as I head to the kitchen to mix my drink.
The front door flies open, just as I’m lifting my glass of sweet bourbon and cola to my lips, and a guy I’ve never seen before in my life comes waltzing in. He lingers in the open doorway, the icy wind gusting behind him as he surveys the flat with a look of mild interest, a cocky grin curving his lips.
“Hey,” he drawls, running his hand through shaggy, dirty-blond hair. “So this is the condo, huh?”
Brown eyes that are a little too close together rove around the living room, his lip curling slightly at the sight of Antoine sprawled out on the couch, then pressing into a smirk at the sight of me.
Whatever the fuck that means.
I smirk right back at him, take a deep drink of my bourbon and cola before setting the glass on the table. “You gonna close the door or what?” I say, never dropping my gaze from his. “And then, maybe tell us who the fuck you are and why you’re standing there, letting all the heat out.”
I know heating isn’t as expensive as it is back home, but still, rude. You can literally see the snowflakes landing on the doormat at his feet.
He widens his beady eyes, his smile dropping as his lips part in surprise, but makes no move to close the door or explain who he is.
“Oh, guys, this is Tom,” Seth rushes forward, practically sprinting from the kitchen to close the front door, then casts me a look from behind Tom’s back. I can’t tell if it’s aplease be nicelook orsorry this guy’s such a douchelook, but I decide I don’t care.
Tom is clearly an idiot.
My grin widens as all my ire from my supremely shitty day finds itself a target. “Oh. Hi Tom. Welcome.”
Already my mind is racing, scanning him for all signs of weakness, cataloging them for future use.
Below-average features, slightly pudgy build. Boots that look too new, too clean, considering we’re in the middle of winter. Lots of sports-brand gear—again, new. For all he looks like he’s missing a few brain cells, he stands with his chin jutted out, his hips forward, his brow furrowed in confused disappointment. Like he grew up thinking the world belonged to him, only to find out he actually had to share it with people better qualified than himself.
Dark excitement curls in my stomach, edging out some of the bitterness from earlier, mingling with the warmth of the bourbon.
I’m going to have so much fun with him.
Lily and Matty emerge from Lily’s room, pulling my attention away from my target. Her room is the first down the hallway, and I can just make out the edge of her now-inflated air mattress from my seat in the kitchen. For some reason, the sight of it—of that pale purple blanket spread over her bed, and her clothes spilling out from her open suitcase on the floor—it has my heart skipping a beat.
Matty and Lily are both smiling, their cheeks flushed from carrying and unpacking Lily’s things. Actually, Matty’s cheeks are closer to red, and I don’t think it’s just from exertion. Not when his eyes are practically heart emojis every time he looks at Lily.
I want to rip him out about it, but I can’t blame him. Because Lily really is hot.
