Chapter 5 #2
I study him. He's not smirking. Not softened. Just steady. Not expecting anything.
"Fair enough," I say.
Then quieter: "Thanks."
He nods. "Don't make a habit of it."
It makes the corner of my mouth twitch before I can stop it. Just barely.
“You still owe me the sit-down,” I say. “Off-script.”
“Name the time,” he says, voice low. Then, after a beat: “Bedtime works.”
My pulse trips. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
I shake my head, forcing a dry smile. “Not that script.”
And I walk away before he sees how much I wanted to stay.
Later that night, I slid a note under his door, ripped from the edge of an old call sheet.
Thanks. Don't make a habit of it.
Then I turn and walk away.
Still not sure what I owe him.
Still not sure what I'm afraid of.
I'm halfway down the corridor when I hear a door open softly behind me.
I don't stop. But I slow down.
A few steps later, he catches up. Don't rush. Don't speak. Just walks beside me, like we're reading the same book. Even if we're not on the same page yet.
The hallway is quiet. Outside, snow falls softly. The world feels like it's holding its breath.
We're alone, truly alone, for the first time since Hintertux.
I steady my breath. Any move now could be misunderstood as an invitation, because honestly, my body would invite him without my brain's permission.
I hate that he probably knows that.
And I love that he doesn't push.
We don't look at each other. Not yet.
At the far end of the hall, I stop. Lean against the cold glass. Arms loose over my chest.
He stops, too. Half a step back.
I glance at him. He's watching the snow.
The lights and distant beeping of the snow groomers crawling across the slope. Like a colony of diligent ants in a mountainside anthill.
I need to break the silence, so I slip into the role that feels safest: the journalist.
“What are you really doing here?”
He doesn’t flinch. He knows exactly what I’m asking. He’s smarter than he ever pretends to be.
“Winning races,” he says. Then, with a glance that lands too close: “And trying not to piss you off.”
I let out a breath. Almost a laugh.
So, instead of helping me do my job and shape his story, he flirts. Very professional.
"You're not trying very hard," I say. "You promised me something I could use, remember?"
He shrugs. "I'm a slow learner."
Another pause.
I should walk away. This moment isn’t helping anything.
Because his eyes don’t move off mine, steady as if I’m the only thing holding him still.
Because the corner of his mouth almost twitches into a grin, like he’s daring me to keep sparring.
Because the air between us feels thin, charged—so thin I can feel the heat of him even without touch.
My fingers itch, traitorous, like they want to close the distance.
He shifts just slightly, like he’s about to step closer. His hand flexes at his side, veins standing out, then curls into a fist. He’s holding himself back, I know it. And the fact that he has to restrain himself sends a hot shiver straight through me.
I blink first, glance back out the window. Snow falls like static, blurring the peaks into a soft mess of white and shadow. More work for the diligent snowcats.
“You’ve made it this far,” I say. “Can’t be that slow.”
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me the way people watch avalanche fences; curious if they’re there for safety… or for show.
I hold his gaze a second too long. My pulse trips. My throat tightens. His jaw shifts, teeth grazing his bottom lip like he’s stopping words, or something else, from breaking loose.
Then I shake my head. Reset.
“I’ve got a call sheet to rewrite.”
It’s not a lie.
But it’s not the reason I walk away, either.
I head back down the hall. Steady steps. Not fast.
I don’t hear him follow.
And I’m disappointed.
I wanted him to follow. To press me against the glass and kiss me like the rules never existed.
Yes, it might ruin my career. It might reduce me to the cliché I swore I’d never be.
But when I glance at my reflection in the stairwell mirror… my cheeks are flushed, my pupils blown wide. Desire written across my face.
I’m not sure I care anymore.
Outside, the snowcats keep chewing the hill, diligent ants with steel jaws, while I pretend I’m not about to let one man ruin my plans.
Two days have passed, and we haven't been alone since. Probably for the best, my reputation and my sanity thank me.
Thomas lost the downhill to Matteo but took it with the graciousness of a gentleman. Today, though, he won the Giant Slalom with his usual ease.
Two wins and a runner-up across the Colorado weekend — he leaves Beaver Creek with +240 points on the swing.
My head is about to split after the North American legs of the tour. Not to mention the emotional load. I need a break.
Good thing I planned a coffee with Maddie. She's in Colorado, too, just for the weekend.
I managed to handle all the press chaos and pushed the rest of the work to later. As I walk down the stairs after changing, I find the guys in the lobby, singing and laughing. Apparently, the fan party has moved indoors, just without the fans.
I know I should stay. Niko made the podium for the first time, and the rest of the team has reasons to celebrate.
Lukas and Martin scored solid points in the speed races, and everyone's in high spirits.
The coaches are smiling. I even spot some of the techs, including Thomas's chief technician, Roman Gruber, holding a beer.
That's rare. The techs are like horse-keepers. While everyone else celebrates, they stay with their darlings in their dark little stables. But after a weekend like this, even they make an exception.
Still, I don't see Madison every day.
"Didn't have time to properly congratulate you, guys," I beam at them.
"Dressed for the party, are you?" Lukas whistles.
And I realize how rarely they see me in anything other than my branded team gear. Not a skirt, knee-high heeled boots, and a short fur jacket. Especially Niko is obvious he's struggling to peel his eyes off my legs. Well, that's what it's like being the only girl in a pack of athletes.
"Sorry, guys. Another time. I have a date."
In my peripheral vision, I catch Thomas choking on his beer.
His eyes flick down my legs for half a second before he drags them back up, all casual again. It’s quick. Too quick. But I catch it.
"Relax, sheepdog," I say, patting his shoulder and enjoying the moment. "A date with Maddie."
"Maddie sounds like he's weird," Lukas frowns.
"Madison," I correct. "She's my friend. A girlfriend. American. I haven't seen her since Hintertux, so…"
"Hintertux?" Martin arches an eyebrow. "Ah. So the origin story has a prologue."
I take a breath and see Thomas's smug little smile. It says: You asked for it, I'm not saving you.
"Just have fun, guys," I say a little too hastily and turn to leave.
I love them all. Love being their only girl.
But sometimes, even a clever fox gets outnumbered by the pack.
"So, here's my professional assessment," Maddie says, eyes sparkling like the wine she's swirling. "You're screwed."
"Totally," I agree, sipping my own glass.
"He wants you," she says flatly.
"Maddie, I want him so much I could cry. And it's not just sex. He's... amazing. As a person. And we get along so well."
“Too bad.”
"And the worst part is, he seems to feel the same. He flirts. I know he'd pull me to his bed anytime. But he also respects boundaries, doesn't push, and acts like he…"
"Cares?"
"Exactly."
A steel guitar leaks from the speakers; the room smells of orange peel and old wood.
Silence. Just the clinking of glasses at the nearby tables.
"To be honest," Maddie says, "this was expected. I mean, not exactly Kern, but a single girl, with a thing for world-class skiers, working this closely? You were bound to fall for one. Lucky for you, he fell back."
"Come on, Maddie." I sigh. "He's not my fairy tale. I'm not here for a happily ever after. I'm here to make a name for myself. Build connections. I see myself as a respected sports journalist one day. Or a branding genius creating campaigns for ski brands like Vektor. I've got a career to build."
"And girlfriends of athletes don't get a shot at a career."
"Precisely," I say.
I think of my mom. She used to talk about her early years as a physiotherapist. Her high-profile clients. How she dreamed of opening her own clinic.
But then she'd catch herself. Remind us all how happy she was with the life she chose—supporting a top-level coach, waiting with his kids, mending his bed, keeping dinner warm until he decided to come home.
That's not the life I see for myself.
"But why not have some fun?" Maddie shrugs. "There's no rule against it, right?"
"The federation doesn't officially care," I say. "But I don't want to look like that girl. That could ruin my reputation. And reputation, and contacts are the biggest things I'll get out of this job."
"And you care too much to treat him like a fling anyway."
"Do I?" I murmur.
Who am I kidding? Of course I do.
I'm an adult. I don't treat sex like it's sacred. But I still don't think I can separate it from feelings. I could pretend for a while... but it would get me in the end.
"I guess I do," I sigh.
"So, you're screwed," Maddie sums up.
"I can still resist," I offer weakly.
"I saw him win the Super-G on Friday. And I saw him scanning the crowd like he was looking for something. Or someone.”
“So I'd say… resistance is cute. But doomed. Good luck, honey."