Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
BEAU
“Look who finally decided to fucking show up and practice,” Lance says when I meet up with them at the base of the mountain.
“I mean, it’s only fifty thousand dollars of prize money on the line.
” He says it as if I have a shot of taking first place, which he believes I do, but I think is a pretty big stretch.
Last year I earned a second place finish in Slopestyle and a fourth place finish in Big Air.
I’m better now than I was then, but the competition keeps getting younger and better.
I’ve also spent less time training this year, and more time working on my photography business that not even my best friends know about.
I drop my board on the ground at my feet. “Been busy.” I bend down to strap my right foot in the binding on my snowboard.
“Busy with that hot roommate of yours?” Drew asks. From my bent over position, I give him the side-eye, but I don’t think he sees it.
“Yeah, I bet you haven’t left the bedroom for the past three days. Now we know why you aren’t crashing with us,” Lance adds.
“I was never staying with you assholes,” I remind them.
“Oh, right, because Annalise was going to hook you up with a sweet pad.” Drew rolls his eyes.
Lance coughs out a laugh. “Pad. That chick belongs in a padded cell.”
He’s not wrong. I’d let her good looks and the amazing sex lead me straight down the Main Street of her Crazy Town.
I ignored the signs that she was unstable all because she was hot, and I suffered the consequences when I tried to pull away and she told me I couldn’t stay in her uncle’s one-bedroom downtown condo with her in Park City.
Drew elbows Lance, before saying, “And only a couple weeks later he’s already shacking up with another hot blonde. What do I need to do to attract some ass like that?”
“Start with”—my voice comes out harsh—“not talking about women like they are something you deserve and start acting like they’re something you earn.
” My friends look at me like they’re trying to figure out if I’ve been possessed by someone else, which only pisses me off more.
“And then, shave that hideous porn star mustache.”
Drew rubs his light brown mustache with his thumb and forefinger like he’s some sleazebag from the seventies. “That what you did? Used that silver tongue of yours to talk your roommate right into your bed?”
“That’s my sister’s best friend,” I tell them as we all push off toward the lift line.
“You’ve always liked older women,” Lance calls after me.
It’s midweek and all the lifts are rolling so there’s virtually no one in line and we push straight up to the loading area of the 3 Kings lift.
As soon as we’re seated and heading up the mountain, I attempt to rectify their misconception.
“Sierra and I are not shacking up. We both just happen to be staying at my sister’s condo.
Repeat after me: older sister’s best friend. That shit’s never going to happen.”
“You don’t think she’s hot?” Lance asks.
“Obviously she’s cute.” Hot isn’t the right word for Sierra.
She doesn’t exude sexiness in that way that women often do when they’re trying too hard.
Like Annalise was. Instead, Sierra is sexy without trying—a combination of being cute with a smokin’ body that has curves in all the right places, and seemingly little idea of how attractive she is.
“But we practically grew up together. She’s like another sister to me. ”
God, I wish I believed half the shit coming out of my own mouth right now. It’d be a hell of a lot easier if I weren’t still attracted to her.
Nate’s warning traipses through my head.
Messing things up with Sierra would permanently damage your relationship with your family.
There is no possible happy ending for Sierra and me.
She’s a settle down and get married kind of girl, and I’m always plotting where I’ll go next.
I’m never with anyone for more than a few weeks—usually it’s more like a night or two—which suits my lifestyle, my need for constant change, and my appetite for sex just fine.
Because my relationship with my family is already fucked up, I don’t for a second doubt that Jackson and Dad would choose Sierra over me if it came down to it.
And I would never want to put my mom in the position of having to choose.
She loves Sierra, but I know she’d choose me and it would cause even more tension with my family.
“You sure?” Drew asks me. “Because the other night she looked at you like you were a cheeseburger and she was starving.”
A laugh bursts out of me, for the first time in . . . fuck, too long. “That’s a disturbing analogy. But you’re wrong. She looked like she wanted to kill me.”
“If you say so, dude.”
Less than five minutes later, we’re standing at the top of the terrain park.
Lance and Drew explain the layout to me since they’ve been here practicing for the last two days while I was stuck in endless phone meetings with a huge sponsor for my photography business.
I have a big giveaway coming up, and the lead up to it has been a bit more work than I anticipated.
The payout and additional visibility for my site are going to be worth it, but it’s meant I couldn’t get on the mountain until now.
Which is fine, I still have a few weeks to get ready for Aspen.
It’s just hard to explain to my friends because they have no idea that I have millions of followers for my photography account.
What started out as a pet project based on my two passions—travel and photography—has turned into a full-time job, on top of snowboarding.
And I’ve never told a single soul about it.
On our first trip down the terrain park, I take it easy, practicing a couple tricks on the rails and getting in a double cork, an inverted aerial spin with two full rotations, on the last jump.
On the second and third runs, I manage to pull out triple corks on that jump.
It’s funny, a few years ago you could win the X Games and even the Olympics with a triple cork and now it’s pretty standard.
I’ll need to land a quad cork, a full 1440 degree spin, or something equally impressive later this month if I have any shot of placing in the top of the Big Air competition.
And I’m working to up my game in Slopestyle—my favorite event—by throwing together a string of impressive tricks I’ve been working on since the summer.
“Your head in the right place?” Lance asks me when I come to a stop at the end of the terrain park after our fourth or fifth trip down.
“Yeah, why?”
“You said you were going to do the quad cork that time, and you pulled out after the triple. Again.”
“I just wasn’t feeling it.” I pull my goggles up onto my helmet and wipe the sweat off my face.
“You haven’t been feeling it since Switzerland,” Drew says, playing bad cop to Lance’s good cop. They like to keep me accountable, but it’s not like I need a reminder right now. “Was there magic snow or some shit over there?”
I was on fire this summer in Switzerland, but now even these triples are making me feel like I’m kind of rusty.
I shrug, not wanting to get into it. “I need food. Let’s grab lunch.”
I don’t know what the hell is happening, but it sounds like a whiny toddler is trying to break down my front door. I’d go investigate, but I’m trying to shred this chicken before I overcook it.
Suddenly I hear the door jerk open and Sierra’s ever-patient voice says, “Whoa there.” She sounds unsure, and it’s so unlike her that I turn off the stove and come around the corner to the entryway.
There, with his big feet running in place against the slick wood floor while Sierra holds the leash tight and attempts to shut the door behind her is an adorable chocolate lab puppy struggling to break free. He looks like he is about ready to overpower her despite their differing sizes.
“What’s this?” I ask, finding it impossible to keep the amusement out of my voice. I’m laughing at her and she knows it.
She holds her head up defiantly. “I’m fostering this guy for a few weeks.”
“How the hell did this happen?”
“Funny story,” she says, looking both mortified and amused at once.
“So, you know the other night when we were talking about photography and my job, and wanting to do something fulfilling that would make a difference?” she asks as she struggles to juggle the leash between her two hands while also getting her coat off.
I reach out and take the leash from her as the dog jumps up on my legs, then slides down.
As my sweatpants slip down my hips a couple inches, I’m thankful for the drawstrings.
Something flashes in Sierra’s eyes as she takes in the sweats and my bare chest, a look I’ve seen a few times from her over the last few days but am not sure exactly what it means.
I’m not used to having to decipher a woman’s looks.
The women I spend time with are open with their emotions.
And because I’m always honest about my intentions, there’s rarely ever anything but desire for me to see.
I don’t do relationships and I don’t stick around.
Since we’re living together, I’ve already spent more time with Sierra than I’ve spent with any of the women I’ve slept with since college.
“I remember,” I say causally, even though my mind is running through the entire experience again, remembering how close I was to her that night, only a thin veil of air between our bodies.
If she’d even leaned back the slightest bit, I’d have cradled her body in mine.
But she didn’t, and it’s a good reminder that she doesn’t see me that way.
Which is perfect, because I don’t date chicks like Sierra.