Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
“So are we going to do this whole”—Kirby flicked her hand around to indicate the bedroom after about five minutes of silence—“bullshit dance again?”
Mara didn’t know what Kirby thought was bullshit. Their hookup? The possibility of a future one? Or the debrief afterward?
Mara stared at the ceiling and tried not to panic. It looked like the ceiling in her room. The room she’d escaped that morning, but this one smelled like sex. Jordan could return at any time. They hadn’t kissed. On the lips, at least.
“Why did you say that about me?” Mara said instead of asking Kirby to define bullshit like it was a word in a spelling bee.
Can you give me the definition? Language of origin? How about using bullshit in a sentence?
“What do you mean?”
“On that podcast,” Mara said. “Why did you say that?”
Kirby scrubbed a hand through her messy hair. “I can’t remember exactly what I said. Was it bitchy?”
“It felt pointed.”
“Let me see.”
Mara picked up her phone, and Kirby scooted closer. She wrapped her legs in Mara’s like it was the most natural thing in the world. Their naked skin pressed and slipped together. It was the closest to cuddling Mara had allowed herself in quite a long time.
They watched the video together. It was annoying how gorgeous Kirby looked. The camera loved her.
“That was the answer to two different questions,” Kirby said mildly. “And the first answer was basically a compliment. I said the best strategy against you is to wait for you to get tired at the end. Which is true. And usually you don’t get tired, so who cares that I said it.”
“That is not a compliment, Bonham.”
“And the rest is true. We don’t have much in common, and you are unflappable. I didn’t figure you wanted me to go on a podcast and say I had recently gotten to know your clit quite well.”
“Can’t you just stop talking about me altogether?”
“Don’t you get asked about me constantly?” Kirby said. “I can’t make it down the street without your name being shoved in my face and asked for my opinion.”
“I don’t do as much press as you,” Mara said. She almost managed to keep her hatred of “doing press” out of her voice.
Kirby laughed. “I like that part of it. The interviews and shows and attention.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“That doesn’t make me less than you. It doesn’t make you better that all you care about is the love of the sport and blah, blah, blah.” Kirby blunted her words by running her fingers through Mara’s hair, starting at the temple and brushing a long line all the way to the tip of Mara’s ponytail.
“I don’t think it does.” Except Mara maybe kind of did?
“More bullshit. It’s really piling up.”
Mara sighed and sat up. She didn’t know why she had come there.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true. She had been upset and antsy and mad. And she’d wanted to feel good again.
She hated to admit it, but Kirby made her feel good. At least when they were fooling around. The aftermath left a lot to be desired.
She’d told herself that she was there to confront Kirby about the podcast, to talk again about how to handle all the attention and media moving forward. To come up with a game plan like Kirby had originally asked for.
But instead, she had taken off her shirt.
“I know it’s hard for you to understand,” Kirby continued.
“You’ve spent your whole life chasing golds and skiing greatness and all that shit.
I’ve spent my whole life trying to scrape myself together.
I can’t squander this moment. I have to seize it because it might be the last one I ever get.
I have to set myself up for whatever comes next. ”
“You don’t think we’re all doing that?” Mara said, suddenly madder than she had any right to be. “None of us can compete forever. We all have to plan for the after.”
“Your after is going to look a lot different than mine.”
“That was your choice. You chose to do the TV shows and the Instagram TikTok influencer stuff. You milked your gold for fame. You could have—”
“Melted into the background like a nice, compliant little woman?”
“Is that what you think of me?” Mara asked, breathless and hurt. “That I’m compliant?”
Kirby made an exasperated noise. “God, why can’t we just have a normal conversation, Mara? What do you want me to do? Refuse to talk about my gold medal? Say something else nasty in the hopes it sends you right back into my bed? Because honestly, I’m quite enjoying that.”
“That’s not why—”
“You sure?” Kirby sat up too. She wrapped a tendril of Mara’s hair round her index finger.
“I don’t mind. I don’t mind if you show up every time your daddy makes you mad.
Or I hurt your feelings by saying the most innocuous things ever in an interview.
Or you have a bad practice. Or you break some sunglasses.
I can be your anger management, baby. No biggie. ”
Mara moved away. The teasing in Kirby’s voice pricked at her, made her stomach hurt. But also, that offer felt dangerous. It wasn’t safe to want it so badly.
She needed to focus. To get her head on straight.
Kirby fell back on the bed and watched Mara as she got dressed. Kirby was still half-naked, and Mara forced herself not to look.
“That’s it?” Kirby said as Mara put her shoes on.
“What do you mean?”
“You blow in here like Hurricane Mara, rip your clothes off, then act like I’ve done something wrong by making you come so hard you scream.”
“I did not scream.”
Kirby laughed. “Yeah, you mustn’t let yourself vocalize what you like even for a second, huh?”
Jesus. Sometimes Mara really hated Kirby.
“We can’t do this again,” Mara said, loathing in her voice.
“No shit.” Kirby laughed, but it sounded off. Forced.
“Racing is the most important thing. We both need to focus on that.”
“I have been, princess. You’re the one who keeps coming here.”
Sick embarrassment dropped Mara’s stomach because that was so, so true. She mustered up as much blankness as she could before responding. Compartmentalization. She was a pro at separating herself from her emotions.
It served her very, very well while skiing. Not so well while fighting with her biggest rival after an ill-advised hookup.
“It won’t happen again,” Mara said as coolly as possible. And then she left.