Page 8 of The Season
I’m heading over to his condo to meet some of his roommates, to make sure they aren’t serial killers before I agree to move in. If I’d known he didn’t have a ride, I would have offered before I’d left.
“I’m just over there.” I incline my head to where my beat-up red Jetta sits, looking out of place next to new-model SUVs.
“Nice ride,” he says, sounding completely genuine.
I lift a brow as I open the driver’s door. The car is tepid from sitting in the sun all day, and smells like musty fabric mixed with car freshener. Despite costing me nearly all of my savings, I have serious doubts that this car will last the winter season.
I definitely wouldn’t describe it as nice.
“I’m serious.” He shoots me an earnest look as he slides into the passenger seat beside me, then quickly buckles himself in. “It’s better than what I’ve got.” He holds out his hands, giving a self-deprecating laugh. “Absolutely nothing.”
He sits back, rests his mop of sandy-blond hair against the headrest, and closes his eyes. “Shoot, today was rough.”
I hum in acknowledgment, then key the ignition, relieved when the engine starts on the first go.
I don’t really want to talk about today. I’m still processing everything—the information Coach Liam threw at us. The names of the other guys I’m training with. All the teaching techniques and demos and lesson structures we have to memorize. The millions of ways I have to improve my riding.
And then, that weird conversation over coffee.
What’s your type?
The question has run on repeat in my head all afternoon, annoying me for all the wrong reasons.
I don’t really care that Akiva was trying to make me feel uncomfortable—men have been doing that my whole life. I always kind of enjoy watching their reactions when I throw it back at them. No, what is annoying is that I don’t actually know the answer to his question.
What’s your type?
Steve was my type. At least he was two years ago, when I was almost eighteen and fresh out of high school. He’d seemed larger than life—ten years older than me, a well-known musician, the guy every girl wanted to date. And he’d pickedme.
I’d been such a little idiot.
“You did pretty good today,” Matty says, spreading his knees wide in that way men do. Taking up space. He rubs his hands on his thighs, massaging quads that are probably as sore as my own. “Better than I did. I’m so screwed, man. Totally going to fail…”
My car rumbles out of the parking lot, my phone giving me directions to Matty’s place from the center console. Definitely no GPS system in this bad boy.
“... all the other guys are way better riders than I am. And their gear is better too.” He gives a mirthless laugh.
I purse my lips. Ihadnoticed that. It was hard not to, when most of the ski gear I’m wearing is stuff Ethan lent me before I left Hawai’i and my own snowboard is something I picked up at a secondhand shop in Salt Lake City. My fingers flex and tighten over the steering wheel.
“... and I’m locked into this lease now, so if I fail, I guess I’ll just have to pick something up at the rental shop or whatever. Or maybe lift ops or the café,” he rambles. “Which would be a bummer, but not as bad as going back to Idaho, you know?”
I do know. Except, unlike him, I don’t have a backup plan. I’m passing that exam in two weeks. And hopefully, I’m moving into this condo I’m visiting.
“I hope you like the condo,” he says, changing the topic when I don’t answer. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s got three bedrooms and the guys are pretty cool. Plus, the rent is cheap—at least, it is when we split it—and it’s close to the mountain.” He sits forward in his seat, pointing over the dash to a cluster of beige, dated condos perched on the hillside. “That’s it there.”
“Awesome,” I say, casting the buildings a quick glance before turning my attention back to the snowy road. “Itisclose.”
I turn up the driveway, slowing to look for a space in the visitor parking area, but Matty shakes his head and points to a parking space marked for residents only.
“You can just use our parking space,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “We… uh, none of us have a car, so…”
I bite back a grin at this tidbit of intel.
I need a room in this condo, almost as much as I need the instructor job. Staying in a hotel is not really a long-term option. Actually, it’s not a short-term option either, not with the rates in this area. Another couple days and I’ll have burned through all my savings.
Having a car, even one that looks like it’s about to fall apart on the road, is a definite bargaining chip.
“That’s cool.” I pull carefully into the parking space and kill the engine. “If I end up moving in, you guys can use my car if you want.” I turn, giving him a broad smile. “I don’t mind.”
