Chapter Nine #3
He smiles, his teeth white against his tanned face. “Last one to the bottom buys dinner. Winner gets to pick the restaurant.”
I frown. “I thought we were ordering pizza.”
“Oh, yeah. In that case, first one to the bottom picks the toppings on the pizza.”
“You’re on.”
With a hoot, he drops in first, carving a hard turn right out of the gate. Snow sprays off his edge in a clean arc, catching the sunlight. He rides aggressively, low center of gravity, quick edge-to-edge turns, confident in his weight. He knows this slope and it shows.
I follow a second later, and the board catches and releases under me, each turn sending a jolt of adrenaline up through my legs.
The snow is perfect, dry powder over a firm base, responsive under my edges.
The wind cuts past my ears, drowning out everything except the hiss of the board and my own heartbeat.
I lean into a toeside turn and accelerate, closing the gap between us. Liam glances back, sees me gaining, and tucks lower. The competitive edge in his posture makes me grin. I shift my weight and carve hard, arcing wide to take the steeper line down the left side.
The speed is exhilarating. Trees blur in my peripheral vision. The cold air fills my lungs and my muscles burn with each carved turn. For a few perfect seconds, nothing exists except the slope, the snow, and the rush of gravity pulling me forward.
Liam cuts across my line and I dig my edge in hard to avoid clipping him. Snow explodes off my board and peppers his jacket.
“Cheater,” I shout.
His laugh carries back to me on the wind.
We reach the bottom almost together, both of us skidding to a stop in a spray of powder. I’m panting, my legs shaking, and I feel more alive than I have in weeks.
“I won,” Liam announces, unstrapping his front binding.
“You cut me off.”
“I prefer to look at it as I took a strategic line.”
I laugh. “I prefer to look at it as you cheated, asshole.”
“So very judgy.” He chuckles, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead, his face flushed from the cold. His dark eyes glitter with amusement and he’s grinning like a kid.
I shake my head, unable to stop smiling. “Rematch. Right now.”
“I guess you love losing.” He smirks.
We hike back up and do it again. And again.
By the fourth run, we’ve stopped keeping score and are just riding for the joy of it, sometimes side by side, sometimes taking different lines and meeting at the bottom.
The afternoon light shifts from bright white to gold as the sun drops, lengthening our shadows on the snow.
My legs are jelly and my face is numb from the wind, but I don’t want to stop.
On the last run, we ride side by side the whole way down, carving matching turns in an easy rhythm.
No competition, no showing off. Just two people moving in sync down a mountain, reading each other’s speed and angle without a word.
It reminds me of our wolf runs, that effortless coordination, the way we anticipate each other’s movements.
At the bottom, we sit in the snow catching our breath. The sun is low now, painting the peaks in shades of pink and orange. The air has gone from cold to biting as the temperature drops, but neither of us moves to leave.
“I had fun today,” Liam says, leaning back on his gloved hands.
“Yeah. Me too. I really needed this.” I give him a cautious smile. “Thanks for coming with me, Liam.”
He bumps his shoulder against mine. “Anytime.” The contact sends warmth through me.
“I guess I shouldn’t have sold my snowboard.” I gaze up at the cloudless sky. “I definitely want to do this again.”
He looks over. “You can have that board, if you want it.”
I raise my brows. “What? No, way. This is a nice board.”
“I know, but I don’t need two. I always ride this one. Something about it suits me better.”
I frown. “How about I buy this board off you?”
He exhales. “You really don’t like accepting things, do you? Why can’t I just give you the damn board, Jude? It’s not like I’m offering you my first born child.”
I grimace. “I feel weird taking something for free.”
“Why?” He looks at me like I’m nuts. “I love free stuff. If you offered me something for free, I’d take it.”
I run my hand through my short hair, trying to find the words to explain myself. “Sometimes free isn’t really… free,” I say softly.
He’s quiet for a bit, then he says gruffly, “You think I’m like that?”
“No,” I say quickly.
“Then why don’t you accept things from me without fighting me constantly?”
I meet his muddled gaze. “I do take things from you. I accept lots of things from you, Liam. Way more than I ever have from anyone else. I mean, I’m living in your house.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like you did that without a fight.”
I don’t respond because he’s right. I do struggle with asking for or accepting help.
I’m not sure I can change that though. I grew up with manipulative parents, and nothing was free with them.
Not really. It should have been, because they were my parents, and they were supposed to watch out for me.
But that wasn’t who they were, and now I’m this untrusting mess of a person.
“I’m not criticizing you,” he says softly. “I just wish you’d accept things from me without me having to force them on you, that’s all.”
“I know you’re not criticizing.” I stare at my gloves. “And I know you’re right. I’m not an easy person to help.”
He shrugs. “When you fight me all the time, it makes me feel like you think I have ulterior motives. Like you don’t trust me.”
“I do trust you.” I reach out and touch his arm. “I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone since I was damn kid.”
His scowl softens and turns into a smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I hold his gaze. “I mean it.”
He looks pleased and he relaxes again. “Well, okay then.”
We sit together for a while longer, in silence, watching the color drain slowly from the sky.
Eventually, he stands and offers me his hand. “We better head out or we’ll miss the hockey game.”
“Yep.” I grab his hand and he pulls me up.
I’m a little off balance, so I lean into him more than I intend.
My face brushes his, and his hand drops to my hip.
We just stand there for a moment, bodies touching, his warm breath skating across my ear.
My dick instantly warms and hardens at the feel of his body against mine, and I pray he can’t tell.
Liam grunts and moves away, avoiding my gaze. “You good?” he asks gruffly.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Lost my balance.” My cheeks are hot because I’m worried he can smell my arousal. But if he does, he says nothing.
We load the boards in silence, and I’m consumed with worry.
I’ve tried so fucking hard to hide how attracted I am to Liam.
Did I screw it all up in that one instance?
I didn’t mean to fall into him, and he’s the one who put his hand on my hip.
I didn’t force him to touch me. Still, I’m the one who had a stiffy, and if he noticed, he’s probably repulsed by me now.
Liam is quiet on the drive back to his place.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye, but I can’t tell if he’s upset with me or not.
My muscles ache, and my face stings from windburn, but it’s my anxiety that’s killing me.
Did I ruin everything? Does he know I’m sexually attracted to him now?
Is he going to cancel watching hockey together? Is he going to ask me to move out?
“So,” he says, glancing over. “What toppings should we get on the pizza? I think it was a draw.”
I’m so relieved at his harmless question, I could cry. I really thought he’d figured out my dirty little secret, but it seems not. “Whatever you want is fine, Liam.”
I can’t help feeling my response is a subliminal attempt to comfort him. To let him know I’d never push anything on him that he doesn’t want. Not pizza toppings and not sex.
He laughs. “Come on, there must be something you don’t like on a pizza.”
I grimace. “I hate anchovies. But other than that, I’m fine with anything.”
“Pepperoni and black olives sound good?”
“Absolutely.”
When we get home we both take quick showers because we worked up a sweat out on the slope.
By the time I get downstairs, Liam has ordered the pizza from the only place in Golden Peak that delivers.
It’s a spot called Sal’s that Liam insists makes the best pepperoni pizza in Montana.
When the food arrives, the smell of melted cheese and garlic fills the living room.
Liam grabs a six-pack from the fridge and we settle in for the game.
I’m reassured that Liam seems like his old self.
There’s no awkwardness between us, so if he noticed something out on the slope, he’s put it behind him.
Thank God. I’d have been devastated if Liam kicked me out.
Not just because I’d have nowhere to live, but because losing his friendship or respect would gut me.
The Miners are down 2-0 in the first period and Liam is not happy about it.
“Are you kidding me?” he growls, setting his beer down hard on the coffee table. “Borowitz had a clear shot and he passed it. You don’t pass on an open net. Who does that?”
“A guy who’s afraid he can’t make the shot,” I say, reaching for another slice.
“Missing is better than not trying.”
I laugh. “Is it though? If he can pass to a player who he thinks will succeed?”
“I still say he shouldn’t have passed.”
“Pfft.” I shake my head. “I thought you were all about teamwork? Depending on others and not doing everything yourself.”
“Sometimes you have to do shit alone. Like take a shot that was obviously clear.” He takes an aggressive bite of pizza. “God, the Miners are killing me this season.”
“They’ll probably come back.”
“How?” He gestures at the screen. “Look at that defensive coverage. A blind person could skate through that gap.”
I laugh and take a pull of my beer, trying not to enjoy this too much. Liam in his element — loud, passionate, completely unfiltered, is dangerously attractive.