Chapter 7 #2
“Hey.” I manage and tear my eyes from the tattoo covering his upper arm.
It’s some of the most interesting ink I’ve seen, and the mix of black-and-white vines and flowers and subtle dragon imagery somehow looks like a completely different design every time I look at another part of it.
“I’m running a bit late and just got back from the gym.” He flips a hank of his long hair back from his face with a quick flick of his head. “Do you mind if I grab a quick shower?”
“Yeah. I mean, yeah, sure. That’s fine.” I hook my thumb at the door behind me. “I can come back in—”
“You’re fine,” he says, his tone as confident as his walk as he strides toward the small, attached bath on the other side of the room. “I won’t be long.” He pauses as he reaches the door and gestures vaguely at the room. “Make yourself at home.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say, making sure to keep my eyes on his and not stare at his chest like a creeper.
His smile is laced with something that looks suspiciously like heat as he ducks into the small bathroom, but I shake that insane thought off as he closes the door behind him.
A few seconds later, the water turns on, and I glance around the room.
Where should I sit? The couch is the most obvious choice, but there are several jackets and what might be a pair of ski pants draped over it.
The loveseat is covered with more winter gear, including a few pairs of long underwear made from some sort of moisture-wicking material, two sets of ski goggles, one with a shiny black lens and one with a mirrored dark blue and purple ombre lens, and a couple pairs of those insulated pants that people wear when doing winter sports.
My only other options for sitting are his desk chair or his bed, and I make a beeline for his desk. His bed is definitely not an option right now.
I’m just grabbing the back of his chair when the arms bump into his desk, causing the entire thing to shake gently.
The move wakes up his laptop, and the screen flashes to life. On it is what looks like an editing program, and there’s a video loaded into it.
Curiously, I bend down and inspect the frozen image.
It was taken on a mountain of some sort, the pristine snow bright and mostly untouched, but what really stands out are the two figures on snowboards frozen in a twisting jump, their bodies contorted dozens of feet above the ground, and another figure snowboarding under them.
Why would that be on his computer? Does Anthony edit videos as a hobby? Or maybe as a job? It’s highly unusual for people to work while attending Silvercrest, but it’s not unheard of.
Damon has a secret job as a DJ, and Liam used to work with a team that businesses would hire to see if they could hack into their systems and expose their weaknesses. Anthony doing video editing as a side gig isn’t completely out of the realm of possibility.
I glance back at the gear spread out over his sitting area. Does he ski or snowboard? Is one of the guys in the video him?
I’m so distracted that I don’t notice the water has turned off until the bathroom door swings open, and Anthony steps into his room.
“Sorry!” I instinctively blurt and jump away from his desk, my hands raised like I’m being held up.
Instead of raging at me for snooping on his laptop and accusing me of messing with his stuff, Anthony bursts out laughing.
I just gape at him. He’s not mad at me?
“Oh my god,” he says, still laughing his ass off. “You should see your face right now. I’ve never seen anyone look so innocent, and so guilty at the same time.”
“You scared me,” I say, my mouth going dry as I quickly look him up and down. He’s wearing the same low-slung sweats and slides as before, and he looks even more gorgeous with his wet hair and damp skin catching the light every time he moves.
“My bad,” he says, a big grin still on his face. “I’ll be sure to announce myself better when I enter my own bedroom.”
“I wasn’t snooping,” I say quickly.
“I didn’t think you were.”
“I just wasn’t sure where to sit, and I accidentally woke up your laptop and—”
“You're fine,” he says with a dismissive wave as he goes to the couch and gathers up his gear. “I wouldn’t have left the program running if I was trying to hide it from you.”
“Do you do video editing, or something like that?”
He tosses the pile of jackets and ski pants he’s holding onto the loveseat. “I like to tinker now and then.”
“Do you ski?” I ask, glancing at the pile of gear. “Or snowboard?”
“Both.” He motions for me to sit on the couch. “Do you?”
I snort-laugh and cross over to the sitting area. “Hell no. I went skiing once and almost died on my first run down the bunny hill.”
“How did you almost die on the bunny hill?” he asks, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
I sit on one end of the couch. “Skis don’t have brakes.”
He sits on the other side of it. “No, they don’t,” he agrees, his voice light with humor.
“I didn’t realize that would be a problem until I was barreling down the bunny hill at a million miles an hour and screaming for everyone to get out of my way.
” I shake my head at the memories. “The five-minute lesson my date gave me on how to slow down and stop was pretty useless while my life was flashing in front of my eyes. I was legit terrified, like so scared I almost pissed myself,” I say before I can tell my mouth to shut up.
He laughs again, and my gaze quickly drops to his bare chest, and more specifically, his pecs.
I’ve always been a chest guy, and nice pecs are just as sexy to me as breasts. Ant’s chest couldn’t be any more perfect if it were lifted from my fantasies and transplanted onto him.
Thank fuck I manage to return my gaze to his face before he catches me creeping on him again.
“I take it you survived?” he asks teasingly.
“Barely,” I say, my tone grave. “I swear the only reason I’m still alive is that I managed to ski right into a massive pile of super fluffy snow near the chairlift.
Of course I hit it so fast I went halfway through it and needed three grown-ass men to pull me out before I suffocated, but I survived. ”
Anthony lets out another loud belly laugh. “Oh my god,” he says when he can talk again. “I wish I’d been there to see that.”
“And I wish my date wasn’t there to see that,” I say with a grimace.
“I’m assuming your next date wasn’t on the slopes.”
“Didn’t get another date,” I say ruefully.
“And didn’t really get to have that date, either, considering I spent the day in the lodge waiting for her and her friends to finish.
Then she ended up catching a ride home with one of her roommate’s friends, and I drove the almost two hours home by myself. ”
“Ouch. That’s cold.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t fun. And did I mention her roommate’s friend was a guy, and they’re getting married this summer?”
“Ouch,” he repeats. “Were you guys serious?”
I shake my head. “We’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks. So, do you hit the slopes or whatever ski people say, a lot?” I ask, time to take the subject off me before I overshare even more than I already have.
“Not nearly as much now, but yeah.” He picks up a pencil off the coffee table and absently spins it around his fingers. “It used to be pretty much every weekend and most holidays, but now it’s really only holidays.”
“Every weekend?” I ask.
He nods. “Our high school had its own slopes and lodges.”
A folded navy-blue sweater on the loveseat catches my eye, and I tilt my head to read what’s written on it in small white print. It’s the name of one of the most exclusive boarding schools in Europe.
“Did you go there?” I ask, pointing at the sweater.
The school is known not only for its high academic standards, but also their winter sports programs, especially skiing and hockey.
He nods and stops spinning the pencil. “We all did.”
“We?”
“Me, the twins, and Rath.”
“Were you part of one of the sports programs?”
From what I know, they’re ridiculously hard to get into, and a lot of their graduates go on to either play professional hockey or compete in the Winter Olympics.
He nods and switches to spinning the pencil with his other hand. “But not for skiing or boarding.”
I shoot him a confused look.
“Hockey,” he clarifies. “We were in the hockey program. Skiing and boarding were a bonus, but not why we were there.”
“You played on their hockey team?” I ask like a dumbass.
For some reason, I can’t picture any of the Royalty playing hockey.
It’s weird because all four of them are in incredible shape, and it’s obvious they’re all extremely athletic, but I just can’t see them kitted up and zooming around a rink, or the boy aquarium, as a lot of the girls at school call it.
He nods again.
“What position?” I ask.
“Center.” He puts the pencil back on the table. “Did you play?”
“Not hockey,” I say with a laugh. “I can’t skate for shit.”
“You can’t?”
I shake my head. “I think I have some sort of genetic issue that makes it impossible for me to do winter sports. I almost died the first time I tried to ski, and I bruised my ass so bad when I tried to learn how to skate that I had to carry a pillow around for a week just so I could sit down. And you don’t even want to know what happened when I took my nephews and nieces tobogganing last year. ”
“What happened when you took them tobogganing?” he asks, a sexy smile tilting his lips. “You can’t cliffhanger me after an intro like that.”