Chapter 17 Vox
Vox
Watching Connor hand his board to me is mind-blowing. Snowboarders who compete in multiple events, like me, have multiple boards. We all have our favorites, of course, and clipping into them is like sliding into your favorite sweatshirt: comfortable; familiar.
But Connor? He only ever used one board.
This board.
It’s like he’s handing me a piece of himself. The longing and sadness in his eyes as he stares down at it make me feel both better and worse about the lie I told him.
Yes, I do want to ride this board. In fact, I’d give my left nut to do so. Yes, I want to check out its flex, camber, bindings, and hardware.
No, I didn’t ask Grey to close the easy slopes for a new trick.
At this point, I could get on any board and make it down just about any slope—not that it would be easy or smart, but I could do it. I wouldn’t need to ride a bunny hill unless I were recovering from an injury.
The bunny hill is for Connor…and this beautiful board I’m holding in my hands.
“Shall we?” I ask, hiking the board under my arm.
He nods, but stays quiet.
I realized sometime between last night and early this morning that I don’t have to know the gory details about what happened in order to help him.
Maybe we can help each other this season.
When we get back to the deserted bunny slope where I left my board, I begin clipping into his.
Connor’s board has rear-entry bindings—a name that always confused the hell out of me since you actually slide your boot backwards from the front, but whatever.
One day, when I build my own shit, I’ll give it a name that makes fucking sense.
These bindings allow for use with any standard snowboard boot, which I have on.
Looking up, I check in with him. To a lot of boarders, especially professionals, letting someone else strap into your board is more intimate than fucking.
“You sure you’re okay with this?”
He nods, but remains silent, telling me he’s probably on the fence about it more than he’s okay with it.
I hop up, and already the difference in this board is noticeable compared to my own. While my board is comfortable because it’s familiar, this board feels like it’s welcoming me home.
“Connor, this thing is incredible.”
A small, proud smile plays on his lips. “Yeah, I think so too.” Before I step on the moving walkway—also known as the magic carpet—that will take me to the top of the small hill, he adds, “Vertigo doesn’t make this board anymore.”
“What? Why?”
“With all the new safety standards, this board doesn’t pass.
It’s so comfortable because it doesn’t have a vise grip on your ankles.
It relies on your boots for that. This hardware simply holds your boot in place.
It offers more flex, but way less stability.
It forces the boarder to take responsibility for their ride, and too many boarders are idiots that can’t be trusted like that anymore. ”
A pained look passes across his features as I rock back on the edge. The board is so responsive that I almost topple over backwards.
“She’s sensitive,” I laugh.
“Yeah. She doesn’t need much guidance. You have to ride her with finesse. You can’t just manhandle her like you do your board.”
This is the coaching I’ve been wanting. I can get down a slope. I can do big jumps. I can go fast. I want knowledge that gives me an edge over my competition. There are many elements that make up a great boarder that go beyond stance and balance, although those are important too.
“I’m going to take her for a spin,” I tell him, positioning the board on the magic carpet.
Connor stays at the bottom of the small hill, his eyes never leaving me.
At the top, I clip my other boot in and begin my descent.
It’s the smoothest eight seconds I’ve ever experienced and makes me miss my old Vertigo board, even though it still wasn’t as good as this.
“You make that look so easy,” Connor says when I slide to a stop next to him.
“Physically, it is easy,” I tell him, subtly dropping the hint that I brought us here to work on his mental block about getting back on a board. “I’m going to take another lap.”
When I come back down the second time, Connor is locked in more so than he has been, and I’m unsure if it’s because we’re alone, I’m on his personal board, or because I’m finally giving him something other than a cocksure attitude.
“You’re still initiating your turns from your knees and ankles.
I know at some point someone probably told you to ‘always keep your hips pointed in the direction you want to go.’ We all know you initiate a toe-side turn by leaning forward on that front foot, pressing your shin into the front of your boot, and a heel-side turn by shifting your weight to your back foot and turning your knee out.
But your knees are much weaker than your hips.
Try initiating your movement from there instead. ”
I nod, doing as he says, but my movements are jerky, and it’s definitely a failed attempt.
“Can you dance?” Connor randomly asks me when I get back to the bottom.
“As well as I board,” I reply honestly.
“Okay, imagine you’re rolling your hips in time with the music. You wouldn’t—”
Look, a person can’t change overnight, and I interrupt him before I can stop myself.
“You mean the way I did the other night?”
Connor’s pupils dilate at my words, causing me to lick my lips.
“Focus,” he growls. I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or himself.
“You can sway your hips from side to side, but that only works for skiing since both hips are facing the same direction. In boarding, you’ve only got one hip aimed downhill at a time, so the motion looks different, but still needs to come from your hips.
This time, try rolling them forward and back…
” he trails off, his voice dropping low when he begins speaking again, “…like you would if you were…”
When he trails off a second time, I finish the sentence for him.
“Fucking you?”
“Jesus, Vox,” Connor breathes as he turns away, his face flushed with desire.
I might be concerned about overstepping, but I see his hand move lower, and I know he’s discreetly trying to adjust himself.
“Going again!” I shout happily, moving to the magic carpet.
A second later, Connor turns around to watch my descent.
It’s hard as fuck to change your mechanics when you’ve been doing it one way for so long. Especially when you know that how you currently do it is good enough to win. But I want to try.
I roll my hips back and forth, and the board feels unsteady as it quickly switches directions.
“Slow the roll,” Connor instructs. Then he looks me dead in the eye and says, “Less fucking, more making love.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’ll need a different analogy, Coach. I’ve never done the latter.”
“Fuck’s sake, Vox, just do it again, but slow it down.”
“Show me,” I say, already unstrapping my boots at the bottom of the small hill.
My bag is down here, so I quickly pull on my regular boots, nudging the snowboard boots toward Connor.
The genius that I am, I checked the boots Connor was wearing last night when I found him hyperventilating in the snow. We wear the same size.
His eyes snap to mine, wide with fear and anxiety.
“Hey. You can do this. No one’s out here but me, and I’ve got you.”
I asked for this bunny slope over any of the others because of the privacy it offers. The slope I found him on yesterday was tucked against a condo building, so anyone looking out their windows would be able to watch him suffer, and that just didn’t sit right with me.
Out here, we’re surrounded by trees, not buildings.
I take a risk and clasp the back of Connor’s neck, pulling his face closer to mine.
“If I didn’t think you wanted to get back on a board, I’d drop it. But I think you do, and you shouldn’t have to fight for it alone.”
He’s breathing heavily again, and I wish it were due to desire instead of panic.
Connor grabs my forearm, and I feel his hand shaking. Instead of pulling my hand away from him, he’s clinging to me, keeping my hand in place.
“I never wanted the other coaches or the team to see me like this. You, least of all.”
I ignore the comment, not wanting to increase his vulnerability at this moment.
“Let’s get these boots on, yeah?”
“Okay.” His voice is so small when he says it.
“I’ve got you,” I tell him again. “Whatever this is, you can beat it.” Connor stays standing because he’s not wearing waterproof pants like I am, and I drop to my knees in the snow to begin untying his boot laces.
As he slips his first foot into the snowboard boot, I try to lighten the mood to get him out of his head a little.
“Feel like Cinderella yet?” I ask, looking up at him.
Without missing a beat, Connor says, “If I do, does that make you my Prince Charming?”
“If you get on this board, I’ll be whoever you want me to be.”
I figure strapping both feet in at the same time might be a bit overwhelming. I just want him to get one foot on the board and skate around a bit, but as soon as the first foot is in, it becomes apparent that he can’t make himself go.
I place his back foot on the board and grab his hands, locking them onto my waist. Immediately, I feel his fingers dig into my sides. I latch onto his hips and begin guiding him in a straight line, nice and slow, like this is his first time on a board.
“Look at you,” I whisper. “You’re doing it.”
He swallows hard. “Hardly. Fuck, this is humiliating.” He leans forward, and his forehead hits my shoulder.
“It’s not humiliating. It’s progress, Connor.”
I help him turn, and we go back the other direction. Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, he loosens his grip on me ever so slightly.
“I’m not letting go, but can you show me what you meant about the slow hip-rolling thing?”
Nodding, Connor demonstrates the speed at which he wants me to move my hips. The only problem is now I’m standing right in front of him, supporting him on this board, so even though he doesn’t come in contact with me, he’s still sending me into a lust-driven spiral.
“Oh-kay,” I croak. “I think I got it.”
With our faces three inches apart, Connor says, “Are you always a fast learner? Or just for me?”
I give him the sternest look I can muster—which, admittedly, isn’t very stern.
“If you had any idea how hard I’m trying to be serious and not make a pass at you right now, you’d be appalled.”
“Doubtful.”
“Fucking hell, Connor. Pick a lane.” I stop walking, so the board stops moving.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says quickly, shaking his head.
We’re almost eye to eye…which means we’re also almost mouth to mouth, and the proximity is messing with me.
It gets way fucking worse when he takes his glove off, brings his hand up to the side of my neck, and rubs his thumb across my bottom lip.
“It would appear that being back on a snowboard utilized all my good-thinking skills, leaving only bad decisions in their wake,” he says with way too much gravel in his voice for me to remain calm.
“Don’t think for a single second that I won’t fuck you right here in the snow if given the opportunity,” I tell him before sucking his thumb into my mouth.
The groan that leaves his lips has my cock harder than granite.
“What’s it gonna be, Coach? If you don’t decide in the next five seconds, my cock’s gonna do it for you.”
“Goddammit. We can’t. If anyone were to find out, we’d both be in trouble, and it would be unrecoverable. Whether it’s a written rule or not, sleeping with your coach isn’t a good look. Patterson would never drop you, but I’d be fired so fast I wouldn’t even have the chance to say goodbye.”
Connor’s right.
And it sucks. Hard.
I swirl my tongue around his thumb one more time before letting it fall from my mouth.
“Maybe one day,” I whisper, staring at his lips. We need a distraction, and fast. “You want to try getting in the other boot? I’ll stay with you.”
When he nods, my heart swells with pride.
Once his other boot is strapped in, I guide him back and forth a few more times as he clings to me. Then we do small swerves at the base of the hill. After twenty minutes of him not freaking out, I push a little harder.
“Think you can handle the magic carpet and the hill? I’d love to strap in and take that ride with you.” His eyes dart nervously to the small, almost-hill in front of us. “You don’t have to. You’ve done amazingly well today. But if you want to, I’ll be right here with you.”
I watch as he wages war with himself, and I see the moment the fighter, the competitor, the champion in him, wins.
“Let’s do it.”
“Hell yes!” I whoop.
“But I have your boots,” he points out as a smug smile plays on my lips, and I unzip my bag, pulling out a second pair.
“I came prepared.”
Realization dawns on him. “You fucking brat. You set me up.” His smile gives away the fact that he’s not really mad.
“I think you mean I set you up for success by planning ahead.”
I shoot him a wink and strap in, preparing to ride the smallest slope with my biggest idol.