Chapter 7
Wade
I dragged myself through the front door, my shoulders tight and aching after six hours in surgery.
Between the wipe-out I’d taken four days ago on my bike ride with Lucky, and hours of standing in awkward positions, hunched over with my arms extended just so, I was stiff as hell.
I needed to stretch before bed, or I’d regret it tomorrow.
I toed off my shoes and hung my bag on the hook by the entryway, rolled my neck, and made my way to the open space of the great room.
Outside, snow was beginning to fall in fat flakes that swirled against the darkening sky. It was only the second week of October, and it seemed early for snow, but that was life at high altitude. The thought made me smile as I reached my arms overhead, registering the satisfying pop of my spine.
“Fuck,” I groaned, bending forward to touch my toes.
The stretch burned in the best way, pulling against hamstrings that had stiffened from hours of standing in the same position.
I twisted at the waist, working through the series of movements my college soccer trainer had drilled into me years ago.
“Entertaining show.”
I straightened, realizing I wasn’t alone. Bode was standing by the hall that led to his bedroom, and he walked past me and sprawled across the couch, one leg over the armrest. His dark eyes watched me with lazy amusement, mouth quirked in what might have been the beginning of a smile.
“I’m stiff.” I stretched my arms across my chest one at a time. “Surgery days are hell on the back. The human body wasn’t designed to stand in one position for hours doing delicate and precise tasks.”
“Poor surgeon,” Bode drawled, but there wasn’t any real bite to it. He sat up, shifting to make room on the couch even though I hadn’t moved to sit. “What’d you operate on today?”
“Tibial plateau fracture. Mountain biking accident.” I rotated my shoulders, wincing at the tightness. “Tourist season never ends here, does it?”
“There should be a bit of a break in October and November, before the mountain opens. We call it mud season.”
I bent backward, hands on my lower back. “Jesus, I’m tight.”
Bode watched me for another moment, said, “We have a hot tub, right?”
I froze mid-stretch, turning to examine him. “We have a what now?”
He gestured toward the back of the house with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Hot tub. On the deck. It’s on.”
“It’s on like it’s already hot? Right now?” I walked over to the massive windows, looking out at the snow-dusted deck. Now that he mentioned it, I could see the square outline of what had to be a hot tub cover, steam rising from its edges into the cold air. “Why is it on if nobody’s using it?”
Bode shrugged, the movement fluid and almost elegant despite his slouched position. “Easier than the alternative.”
“Which is?”
“Draining it, winterizing it, making a bunch of phone calls.”
“You need to alert people before draining your hot tub?”
“Fine, just one phone call. To end my service contract.”
“Sounds horrifying.”
“It is.” He made a vague gesture that I was beginning to recognize as his ‘everything is too much effort’ signal. “Plus, I keep thinking I’ll use it.”
“But you don’t.”
“But I could,” he said, as if this reasonable explanation justified all of the expenses of a hot tub. “I’m pretty sure I’ve used it recently.”
“Not in the month that we’ve been living here,” I said.
Bode blinked. “You guys have been here a MONTH?”
“A little over, I think. Moved in September 5, and it’s October 10.”
He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “The time blindness is real.”
I couldn’t help the grin spreading across my face. “You know, I’ll use the hot tub. Help you justify the expense. Ooh, and you should join me!”
Bode raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical.
“Come on,” I pressed. “The hot water would do you good. It’ll be fun. You do remember fun, right?”
He peered at me for a long moment, and I could almost see the calculations happening behind his eyes, the weighing of effort against reward, the measuring of his desire for solitude against whatever small spark of interest my invitation had kindled.
“Fine,” he said. “Give me ten minutes.”
I didn’t wait for him to change his mind.
I bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time despite my aching body, seized by a sudden enthusiasm that seemed disproportionate to the prospect of a hot soak.
In my room, I dug through my still-not-unpacked duffel, finding the board shorts I’d bought for a surfing trip to Mexico when I was in college. They were ancient, but they’d do.
I changed quickly, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, and headed back downstairs, half-expecting Bode to have retreated to his room or found some excuse.
But to my surprise, he was standing by the back door, wearing black boardshorts and his trusty hoodie, hood still pulled up.
His eyes lingered on my bare chest for long enough to make me flex a little. To see what he’d do.
“Stop preening. Come on.”
“You’re going to wear a hoodie in the hot tub?” I asked.
Bode looked down at himself like he’d forgotten what he was wearing, shrugged, and turned towards the door.
I followed him through the sliding glass door onto the deck, a blast of cold air hitting my bare chest. The snow was falling more heavily now, big clumps of flakes floating downward, disappearing as they hit the warm wooden planks of the deck.
The hot tub was nestled in the corner of the L-shaped deck, positioned to face the slopes. It was an elaborate built-in model ringed in cedar benches and what appeared to be custom stonework, not the plastic prefab I was imagining.
“This thing is stunning.” I watched as Bode moved to one side, squatted down, and unlatched a series of clips that held the cover in place.
“Help me with this,” he said, and I moved to the opposite side, following his lead.
“So what’s the protocol here?” I worked on the last latch. “Any rules I should know about? No diving, no splashing, no horseplay?” I grinned at him.
“Yes to all of that,” Bode said dryly, gripping the handle. “The cover is heavy, but it’s hinged, so we lift it and it folds back against the wall.”
I realized that this was an ideal opportunity to study Bode’s movement, to see if there were any signs of the injury Lucky mentioned.
I’d spent years learning to spot the subtle ways people compensated when pain was present, the slight shifts in gait, the careful redistributions of weight, the unconscious protections of vulnerable areas.
I kept an eye on him as we lifted and folded the heavy insulated cover.
The hot tub beneath was easily big enough for six people, with multiple jet configurations and built-in seating at different heights.
The water glowed blue from underwater lighting, steam rising into the night air in elegant curls.
“This is insane,” I said. “You never use this?”
“Used to.” Bode shrugged again. “Not lately.”
“Don’t you have to maintain it?” I asked, watching as Bode reached down to test the water temperature. No hesitation in his movement, no favoring of one side.
“Don’t worry, it’s not gross. The maintenance guys come every two weeks to check everything,” he straightened up with fluid ease.
“We can test the water if you want. Chlorine tabs, test strips, shock treatment. It’s all in here.
” He moved to a small cabinet built into the deck behind the hot tub and squatted down to open it, giving me a clear picture of his functional mobility.
His squat was deep and controlled, weight evenly distributed, knees tracking properly over his feet. No signs of compensation. No wincing. The smooth, coordinated movement of someone whose body was conditioned for athletic performance.
“Here.” He pulled out a plastic container. “Test strips. Make sure the pH is right.”
I took the container from him, deliberately dropping it. “Shit, sorry.” I watched as he bent to retrieve it, hip hinge clean, spine neutral, no hesitation in the movement.
“Thanks.” I took the container back. “What about temperature?”
“I like it at 103.”
Snow was collecting in my hair now, cold droplets running down my neck and chest. I shivered dramatically, watching as he bent down and dipped a test strip in the water for a few seconds, then examined it.
I looked out at the mountain. “It’s beautiful in the snow.”
Bode reached down, grabbed the hem of his hoodie, and pulled it off in one smooth motion.
My mouth went dry.
I’d expected Bode to be fit. He was a professional athlete, after all.
What I hadn’t expected was… this. His torso was a work of art; lean, defined muscle without an ounce of unnecessary bulk, the kind of functional strength that came from a lifetime of physical training.
His shoulders were broader than the hoodie had suggested, tapering to a narrow waist.
He was fucking beautiful, but what made me stare was the easy confidence with which he occupied his body, the unconscious grace as he tossed his hoodie onto a nearby chair and stepped toward the hot tub. He moved like someone who had never doubted what his body could do, who trusted it implicitly.
I thought of the videos I’d seen, of Bode in the air above a halfpipe, his body rotating through space with that same unconscious control, that same fluid grace.
I stood there, snowflakes melting on my skin, staring.
Bode turned back at me, one eyebrow raised. “You coming or what?”
He’d caught me staring. Lucky was probably right about my lack of sneakiness. Shaking myself out of it, I jogged back to the hot tub, self-conscious about my own body. I was fit, soccer and farm work had given me a solid build, but next to Bode, I felt lumbering and unrefined.
He slipped into the water, and I climbed in after him, the heat of the water shocking and delicious against my chilled skin. A soft groan escaped me as I sank down onto one of the built-in seats, the jets targeting knots in my lower back I hadn’t even realized were there.
“Oh my god.” I let my head fall back against the edge of the tub. “This is amazing.”
Bode made a sound that might have been a laugh, settling across from me. The underwater lights illuminated his face from below, casting sharp shadows across his cheekbones. Snowflakes landed on his dark hair and melted.
“So.” I tried to sound casual. “How’s your flexibility? If your back ever gets tight, I know some good stretches.”
Bode’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”
“What? Nothing. I’m making conversation.”
“No, you’re not.” His gaze was sharp, assessing. “You’ve been watching me move since we came out here. Are you terrible at flirting, or what?”
My cheeks went hot. “I—” I started, stopped.
Lying wasn’t my strong suit, and Bode was clearly more observant than I’d given him credit for.
“Okay, look. There’s a rumor going around that you’re nursing some kind of secret injury.
That’s why you’re not… you know.” I gestured vaguely. “Doing whatever it is you normally do.”
Bode stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He sank deeper into the water until it lapped at his chin. “No injury. Honestly, I wish.”
His expression made it clear that now was not the time to press.
I studied him, quickly distracted by the water droplets clinging to his shoulders, by the way his wet hair curled against his neck, by the lean strength in his forearms as he rested them on the edge of the hot tub.
“Do you ever hook up with guys?” The question was out of my mouth before my brain could intervene, hanging in the steam between us.
“Do I what?”
“Sorry, that was—fuck.” I sank deeper into the water, wishing I could disappear beneath it. “Maybe you’re right, I’m bad at flirting. I mean, you’re sexy as hell, and I’m attracted to you, but it’s always tough to tell if another guy would be into it, you know.”
“Flirting?”
“Yeah. Some people say I’m charming. So… do you, though? Hook up with guys?”
“No.” He smiled a little, meeting my eyes. “No judgement, though.”
I bit my bottom lip. “Shit. Well, thanks for letting me down easy.”
“Do you? Hook up with guys? I thought you were set on Lucky.”
“Yeah. I’m pansexual, which to me means I’m attracted to people, not gender. Someone doesn’t have to have a certain body part for me to be attracted to them. I just… I don’t know. I like a lot of things?”
“Ah.”
“Sorry, I’m terrible at explaining it. A lot of people don’t get it. You have the same expression right now that my dad did when I told my parents as a teenager.”
“Nah, it makes sense,” he said. “I mean, I’m straight, but I could see that. A lot of attraction is about who the person is on the inside. In that case, why does gender matter so much?”
“Exactly,” I said, grinning at him.
We both sank deeper into the hot tub, the silence stretching between us like a physical thing.
Under the water, our legs bumped against each other, the contact sending a jolt of awareness through me.
I waited for him to pull back, but he didn’t, so I sat there, letting my leg rest where it was, wanting him with an intensity I would not have expected.
I hadn’t felt this sort of pull towards anyone in a long time, not since I’d realized Lucky was it for me.