Page 6 of The Season
I don’t bother to look at him. I’ve got a class to teach, a job to do, and this guy is thankfully not my responsibility.
“Coach. Answer me.” I can hear the anger in his voice now.
I roll my eyes. I could tell him that he’s been put with Stephanie because he’s a moderately less terrible rider than the students following behind me. I could painstakingly explain to him what exactly being in Group A means. Hell, I could even drop Stephanie’s last name between us like a bomb and watch as understanding slowly dawns on this idiot’s face.
Stephanie Jealouse. The most filmed female snowboarder of all time. A big mountain rider who drops into runs that would make me shit my pants. And the literal poster child for this resort.
“You’re in Stephanie’s class now,” I say, because I’m done with this dick. “Don’t be late.”
I grin mirthlessly behind my mask. Stephanie is going to eat him alive. I almost wish I could be there to watch it.
* * *
“Oh.That’s what I look like?”
“Why is my arm doingthat?”
“Shit, I’m slow. It felt a lot faster…”
I sip my coffee, silently watching the eight newbies I’m stuck with as they huddle over my phone, watching and rewatching the footage I recorded. Coffee mugs, helmets, gloves, and goggles are strewn across the table among puddles of melted snow.
“There’s no way I’m going to pass the exam, is there?” Golden Boy says mournfully, scrubbing one hand over his flawless skin, then dragging it through artlessly mussed blond hair. “I knew it was a stretch to try, but still…”
I give him a bland smile, but don’t answer. He’s probably right. His chances of passing are about five percent—if his examiner is drunk on exam day.
“I’m pretty sure I was worse,” another guy says, his eyes fixed on the phone.Akiva. That was his name.
He pauses the video, then passes the phone to the girl next to him. She takes it with a silent nod, her brow furrowed in concentration as she rewinds the clip to the start.
Lily. The only female student in this cohort. Based on her riding this morning, I’d give her a twenty-five percent chance of passing.
With her bulky coat draped over the back of her chair and her helmet and goggles dripping water on the table, there is no mistaking her as anything but a girl now. Thick, sun-kissed brown braids frame wide-set hazel eyes and a tanned face. The faintest brush of freckles peppers a slightly upturned nose and, when she smiles, there’s a little gap between her front teeth that makes her look like some Italian model.
She’s not smiling now though. Instead, she watches herself on screen in silence, expression unreadable, then passes the phone to Golden Boy.
“Want another look, Matty?”
Her voice is soft, directed only at him, but I can’t help but notice every single guy at the table looks her way when she speaks. For some reason, that observation has my fingers tensing around my coffee mug.
“Anyone going out tonight?” one of the guys across the table asks, looking pointedly at Lily. “There’s supposed to be a good party over at the Canyons.”
I shudder inwardly at just the thought of going over to the Canyons to drink. Rival territory, swarming with Canyons instructors and lift-ops, and apparently some of this season’s latest would-be instructors. The last place I’d want to let my guard down.
“Oh yah?” Akiva perks up, dark eyes flashing with interest. “Are there chicks there?”
Lily rolls her eyes. The guy across the table nods, a slow grin spreading on his face. “Depends on what your type is.”
“Hot,” Akiva replies instantly, his gaze flicking to Lily. “My type is hot.”
Lily takes a slow sip of her coffee—some disgusting-looking thing full of chocolate and whipped cream—then lets out a controlled breath.
“What about you, Matty?” Akiva asks, elbowing the Golden Boy next to him.
I don’t miss the way Golden Boy—Matty—flinches at the sudden movement, his perfect complexion flushing red with embarrassment. “I… uh…” he gives Lily a nervous look, then glances at the six guys staring at him expectantly. He clears his throat, then gives what he probably thinks is a confident, winning smile. “I like blondes.”
There are a few replies in agreement, and I force myself not to look at Lily. I don’t want to see her reaction to this, don’t want to see those freckles disappear behind an embarrassed blush, those hazel eyes dropping to her mug to hide her discomfort.
Not that I should care.
