Chapter 5
Vox
It’s been three weeks since training kicked off, and I’m disappointed because I still haven’t seen Connor on a board.
I’ve gotten myself off like nine times thinking about watching him fly down this mountain in person, but every day, he shows up on that damned snowmobile.
I’ve asked Grey about it, but he just said Connor’s recovering from some injury.
I wonder if his injury has to do with whatever it is he can’t tell me.
Nonetheless, progress is being made, I guess. Connor pointed out that I don’t rely on my edges fast enough in the turns, and I’ve been working on making some changes…not that I let him know that, of course.
“Your edges only help you slow down when you’re perpendicular to the fall line,” he’d reminded me.
“Yes, they help you carve tight turns, but at some point, in that turn, that’s exactly the position you’re going to end up in, so you need to make sure you stay parallel to the line of gravity even as you’re carving your turn.
Think of it as changing your trajectory, not completing a full turn. ”
I’m reluctant to admit it helped, and I shaved two seconds off my slalom time, but I’m still four seconds away from his record…and in our sport, that’s a fucking eternity.
Today, the weather is too bad to train on the slopes, and the team is given the day off.
Well, everyone except Renner and me.
Around ten a.m., I get a text from Connor.
Connor
I reserved the VR simulator for today at 2:00. Don’t be late.
I send a thumbs up emoji, doing my best to ignore the butterflies that start flapping around over seeing Connor Lang’s name on my phone.
Figuring I might as well do something productive with my time, I grab a quick shower and head to the resort gym.
The mix of being sexually frustrated and nervous around Connor gives me a restless, vibrating energy I don’t like.
Pulling open the door to the gym, I scan the room for an open machine, or any piece of equipment, really—it’s fucking crowded in here—and I’m shocked to find Angel already in full-swing.
She’s got her headphones on, and she’s clearly already been through her warm-up because the girl’s repping out one hundred and seventy-five-pound back squats.
Being in here with her gives me a sense of camaraderie that I’m not used to. I don’t even hate that she’s branded with a Patterson Performance hoodie just like I am.
Not wanting to interrupt, I simply nod hello when our eyes meet in the mirror.
She finishes her rep and pushes her headphones back from her ears. Looking around, she says, “It’s a shitshow in here this morning. You’re welcome to share my rack.”
I shock the hell out of myself when the next thing out of my mouth isn’t a joke about her tits.
To be fair, I’m pretty sure it would fall flat.
I might be into both girls and guys, but I get the distinct impression that I’ve got the wrong equipment for Angel’s tastes.
“That would be awesome, thank you,” I tell her. “No rush, though.”
She laughs. “I wasn’t going to change a damn thing. I just wanted you to know you can use my weight for a warm-up if you want, and by the time you’re ready to add weight, I’ll be done.”
“Oh, yeah. That sounds good.”
Two things.
First, apparently, I’m a bigger prick than I thought, and I should definitely try to socialize more so I don’t look like a total jackass in these situations.
And second, who does she think I am that my warm-up weight would be one-seventy-five? I mean, sure, I can back squat that weight with no problem…but not as a warm-up, for crying out loud. Hell, I only weigh one-eighty-five.
When she gestures toward the rack for me to take my turn, I strip the two fifteen-pound plates on either side before getting underneath the bar.
Angel arches a brow, wearing a smug grin, but says nothing as I do my set.
Sure, I’m cocky, but I have the skills on the slope to back it up.
In the weight room, I know I’ll look far more stupid if I choose a weight that I can’t stand up in an effort to prove some arbitrary point.
Not to mention, I risk hurting myself, and that’s not an option.
Once I’m done, she and I each reload a plate back onto the sides, and I let my mind wander while she knocks out her next set.
When it’s my turn again, my mind flashes to Connor’s thick chest, and I feel like I’m lacking. The guy’s biceps are way bigger than mine, too, but I don’t focus much on my chest, back, and arms. As a snowboarder, I need power and strength in my legs.
But maybe that’s faulty thinking.
Maybe I need strength and power everywhere.
While I’m lost in my thoughts, the door to the gym opens once again.
My mouth goes dry as Connor walks into the space. When he sees me, a look of displeasure crosses his face. Weird. I would’ve thought he’d be proud of me for getting in an extra workout.
“Ms. Creedmore. Mr. Montgomery,” he says with a formal nod as he passes our squat rack.
“Connor,” I reply, disrespectfully using his first name instead of ‘Coach Lang.’
Okay, so I haven’t totally gotten the whole respectful, submissive athlete thing down quite yet. But I’m annoyed that I’m attracted to him, and doubly annoyed that he won’t open up. I’m used to getting what I want. People don’t tell me no…ever.
A small smirk plays on Connor’s lips as he shakes his head at my defiance.
“Let me know if you need a spot,” he throws over his shoulder.
“Same,” I mutter, not trying to be an asshole for once. I simply offer because of his injury, even though I have no idea what it is he’s supposed to have injured.
Connor chuckles because the truth is that he could very easily bench press me, but the sound goes to my dick, pissing me off even further.
Angel finishes her workout about fifteen minutes later, leaving me free to ogle our coach without prying eyes, and ogle, I do. But I only make it through two more sets before I’m so distracted by Connor Lang’s ass during weighted lunges that I rerack my barbell and angrily grab my water bottle.
If Connor’s not into guys, he shouldn’t be allowed to have an ass so round, high, and tight I could bounce a fucking quarter off it.
I duck into the men’s locker room so I don’t embarrass myself by sporting a boner in front of everyone, including the man who’s making me hard.
Since I still have a ton of time to kill before I have to be at the simulator for practice, I step into the steam room. This part of the men’s locker room is honestly hit or miss as far as crowds go, but mercifully, it’s just me in here this morning.
Finally able to take a deep breath, I allow the wet heat to burn my lungs as my back sags against the cedar planks.
My muscles have barely released the tension in them when the door to the steam room opens. Keeping my eyes closed, I try not to be annoyed by whoever is encroaching on my time and space, until a familiar voice hits my ears.
“Wasn’t much of a workout.”
My jaw clenches at Connor’s words. Is he trying to piss me off?
“Considering one wasn’t planned at all for today, every rep was extra credit…Coach,” I snark back.
I feel the sweat rolling down my bare chest, and I know if I open my eyes, I’ll see the same thing happening to Connor.
And then I’ll lose it.
Deciding not to risk that, I keep my eyes firmly shut.
Connor takes my response as some sign that I want to talk, but until he starts trusting me with his past the way he wants me to trust him with my future, we’re still at a stalemate for any real connection.
“It was nice to see you working with Angel out there,” he says, causing me to snort.
“I wasn’t working with her. I was just sharing her space. All the racks were taken,” I add unnecessarily.
“Why are you so against being part of a team?” he asks, jarring the wooden bench as he takes a seat next to me.
“Why are you so hellbent on avoiding my questions?” I fire back, eyes still closed, my head resting on the plank wall behind me.
“I already told you why I can’t answer them.”
His calm demeanor is pissing me off even more, causing me to finally open my eyes.
Big mistake.
Big fucking mistake.
Connor runs a hand through his dark hair, which is slick with sweat, and his chest is even broader without a shirt on to keep all his mass contained.
The veins on his biceps are popping thanks to the heat, and his workout shorts are riding so high there’s a distinct possibility I might see the head of his dick lying against his thigh if I squint really hard.
I’m not really concerned about making him uncomfortable with my perusal. After all, he followed me in here, and since our sport is outdoors in the winter, I don’t expect I’ll have many chances to see him in all his bare-chested glory.
“Right. The NDA,” I say, finally bringing my eyes to his, giving him a delayed answer.
He sighs and then coughs because the air is so hot it burns when you inhale.
“Besides that, it’s not professional to bring my personal matters to the job.”
Something pinches in my chest at the realization that I’m just a ‘job’ to him.
But honestly, what did I expect? I’ve given him nothing to work with.
I’ve been a dick for the few weeks he’s been here, goading him and taunting him at every turn.
And while I know my attitude has partly been in an effort to hide my lust, he doesn’t know that.
Which makes it really hard to explain why I’ve barely heard anything he’s said in the last few minutes, since I can’t stop tracing the path of his sweat with my eyes.