now.”
“Love you,” they both shout.
I take a deep breath when they’ve disappeared from the screen—feeling torn in a lot of different directions. It was like this sometimes in the first days after the avalanche. Whenever I started feeling anything other than Danny and Ryan being dead, I would be hit with a wave of guilt.
These waves are smaller, but they feel like they’re multiplying—my friends in Colorado, Lottie’s career, my dad worrying about me, and Hunter. I don’t know what to think of Hunter at all. All I know is that I do think of him, and his soft hair and his perfect eyes and his husky laugh way too frequently. And I feel guilty about that , too.
I look in the mirror and pull on my coat. It’s a black shell, with a ski lift ticket hanging off of it. It looks stupid, but it’s all I’ve got. And not wearing a coat would be even more stupid than wearing this one.
Spaz.
I run my fingers through my hair and smile.
You look fine. Stop freaking out.
Spaz.
Grr…shut up.
I dash out of the door before the part of my brain that hates everything I do makes me change into sweatpants and call Hunter saying I’m sick.
I hesitate at his hotel doorway. Room 811—two floors up from me. And then I knock.
“One sec,” he shouts through to door.
He opens the door shirtless, with a cell phone to his ear, glances at me distractedly, and then waves me in. He turns back to the balcony. “Yeah, uh-huh.”
So much for the red getting his attention. I feel like a pizza delivery girl waiting to get her tip, for all the attention he’s paying me.
He certainly has my undivided focus. I’m not sure if I’m more impressed by the muscles rippling across his back or the monstrous size of his room.
His room is not a room at all. It’s a two-story apartment with an awesome kitchen and a Jacuzzi. Even the mountains look nicer from his windows.
I need to file a complaint with the USSA. Pronto.
“Yeah, well, Doug, that’s not going to happen,” he says in a clipped voice. I turn my attention back to Hunter’s back, which sadly begins shouldering into a pressed, white shirt. “No, I just said, it’s not going to happen…yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you, but my answer is still no,” he growls. He ends the call with a huff and tosses the phone on his bed and turns.
“Sorry about…” he smiles, stopping the apology and looking me over. “Whoa. You look good , Speedy.”
“Thanks.”
He walks towards me, buttoning his shirt up, a little smile on his face. “Yeah, you look really good. This is impressive. I almost like this as much as the hat.” I’m sad to see his abs go, but at least he’s talking to me.
“Not turtle-like enough for you?”
He grins. “Turtles are overrated.”
I flush. He saunters over to the refrigerator and pulls it open. “Gin and tonic, right?”
I look at him. “Yeah, good memory.”
“Good memory is right,” he says. He rolls up his sleeves and mixes a drink quickly, getting himself a beer. “This is an old man drink.”
“Well, I like it.”
“Do you have a secret life as a fifty year old retiree? Are you an avid golfer on the side?
“Just in my spare time.”
“Mm…that must be hard for you, torn between golf and downhill skiing.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
He laughs. “So, I have a serious question.” He puts the drink in my hands and our fingers brush. He lets his hand linger for a second and I take my time pulling the drink back to me.
“Shoot.”
“Can you tie a bowtie?”
“Um…” I cock my head. “Yeah, no.”
“Mmm…you good at watching YouTube videos?”
“Is that a skill?”
“No, but—here. Grab my laptop a sec.”
I reach for his laptop and open it. “What’s your password?”
“Ugh…let me type it in.”
He grabs the computer screen.
“Secrets, secrets,” I tease.
“Yeah, you do not want to see the movie I watched last night. Trust me,” he says darkly.
“Ew.”
“Yeah, well. The nearest city is full
“Love you,” they both shout.
I take a deep breath when they’ve disappeared from the screen—feeling torn in a lot of different directions. It was like this sometimes in the first days after the avalanche. Whenever I started feeling anything other than Danny and Ryan being dead, I would be hit with a wave of guilt.
These waves are smaller, but they feel like they’re multiplying—my friends in Colorado, Lottie’s career, my dad worrying about me, and Hunter. I don’t know what to think of Hunter at all. All I know is that I do think of him, and his soft hair and his perfect eyes and his husky laugh way too frequently. And I feel guilty about that , too.
I look in the mirror and pull on my coat. It’s a black shell, with a ski lift ticket hanging off of it. It looks stupid, but it’s all I’ve got. And not wearing a coat would be even more stupid than wearing this one.
Spaz.
I run my fingers through my hair and smile.
You look fine. Stop freaking out.
Spaz.
Grr…shut up.
I dash out of the door before the part of my brain that hates everything I do makes me change into sweatpants and call Hunter saying I’m sick.
I hesitate at his hotel doorway. Room 811—two floors up from me. And then I knock.
“One sec,” he shouts through to door.
He opens the door shirtless, with a cell phone to his ear, glances at me distractedly, and then waves me in. He turns back to the balcony. “Yeah, uh-huh.”
So much for the red getting his attention. I feel like a pizza delivery girl waiting to get her tip, for all the attention he’s paying me.
He certainly has my undivided focus. I’m not sure if I’m more impressed by the muscles rippling across his back or the monstrous size of his room.
His room is not a room at all. It’s a two-story apartment with an awesome kitchen and a Jacuzzi. Even the mountains look nicer from his windows.
I need to file a complaint with the USSA. Pronto.
“Yeah, well, Doug, that’s not going to happen,” he says in a clipped voice. I turn my attention back to Hunter’s back, which sadly begins shouldering into a pressed, white shirt. “No, I just said, it’s not going to happen…yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you, but my answer is still no,” he growls. He ends the call with a huff and tosses the phone on his bed and turns.
“Sorry about…” he smiles, stopping the apology and looking me over. “Whoa. You look good , Speedy.”
“Thanks.”
He walks towards me, buttoning his shirt up, a little smile on his face. “Yeah, you look really good. This is impressive. I almost like this as much as the hat.” I’m sad to see his abs go, but at least he’s talking to me.
“Not turtle-like enough for you?”
He grins. “Turtles are overrated.”
I flush. He saunters over to the refrigerator and pulls it open. “Gin and tonic, right?”
I look at him. “Yeah, good memory.”
“Good memory is right,” he says. He rolls up his sleeves and mixes a drink quickly, getting himself a beer. “This is an old man drink.”
“Well, I like it.”
“Do you have a secret life as a fifty year old retiree? Are you an avid golfer on the side?
“Just in my spare time.”
“Mm…that must be hard for you, torn between golf and downhill skiing.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
He laughs. “So, I have a serious question.” He puts the drink in my hands and our fingers brush. He lets his hand linger for a second and I take my time pulling the drink back to me.
“Shoot.”
“Can you tie a bowtie?”
“Um…” I cock my head. “Yeah, no.”
“Mmm…you good at watching YouTube videos?”
“Is that a skill?”
“No, but—here. Grab my laptop a sec.”
I reach for his laptop and open it. “What’s your password?”
“Ugh…let me type it in.”
He grabs the computer screen.
“Secrets, secrets,” I tease.
“Yeah, you do not want to see the movie I watched last night. Trust me,” he says darkly.
“Ew.”
“Yeah, well. The nearest city is full
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