by Sarina Bowen
“Oh, boy,” she said, laughing. “Again, I beg to differ.” She put her hands inside his jacket. “The men think you’re gay. The women’s team knows you’re not.”
Dane’s eyes widened with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. “A couple of them might have figured it out.”
“You should see your face right now.” They were nose to nose. “You’re cute when you’re freaking out.” She flicked her eyes towards a group of women standing near the press box, all wearing identical United States Ski Team jackets. “They’ve been staring at us, though. That’s the only reason I bring it up.”
“Let ’em stare,” Dane said. Then he closed his eyes and kissed her again, and it was the sort of kiss that she felt all the way to her toes.
When the next racer took the course, Willow’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She had to untangle herself from Dane’s distracted embrace to retrieve it. The text message from Callie read: You’re making out on national television.
“Geez!” Willow put a hand on her mouth and looked around. Sure enough, there were half a dozen TV cameras aimed all over the finish area. She felt her face get hot.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, his eyes on the course.
She put the phone in Dane’s hand, but he couldn’t make himself look down at it until after the next racer’s time was posted. When he read Callie’s message, he laughed. “Must be a really slow news day in sports.”
* * *
The second round of runs seemed even faster and more nerve wracking than the first. And as if there weren’t enough tension in the air, a skier blew up at the top of the course. Willow watched the screen with horror as one young guy seemed to trip, flying toward the fence, skis in the air. Then his body slammed down onto the snow, skis and poles launching away from him in different directions. Willow buried her face in Dane’s shoulder.
He clapped an arm around her with a chuckle. “That was a total yard sale. But he’s getting up. See?”
She peeked at the screen and saw him, head down, collecting his gear.
“He can try again next year,” Dane said.
“Ouch,” Willow said.
“That’s the sport, Willow. Sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug.” He held her in one arm, eyes glued to the leader board. “J.P. is up next,” he said. He leaned forward when his teammate appeared on screen in the start house. The crowd clapped and shouted encouragements, in spite of the fact that the skier couldn’t possibly hear them.
Willow held her breath as he poled onto the course, tucking himself into the shape of a human bullet. The first two turns went great, his long legs reaching out like a frog’s to grip the snow as he hurtled downhill. “Here comes the jump,” Dane said, his hands white knuckled on the fence. “Yeah!” he yelled when J.P. flew gracefully forward and then landed it.
A minute and a half later, it was over and done, J.P. came sailing across the finish line, then whipping around to see his time. He was three-quarters of a second in the lead. “Is that enough?” Willow asked.
“It might be,” Dane said, stroking his chin. “He has to sweat it out now.”
* * *
In the end, nobody could best him. And Willow watched J.P., his face lit with happiness, step onto the podium to receive a gold medal. As Willow and Dane made their way back across the snow, J.P. clomped by in his ski boots, stopping to clasp Dane on the shoulder. “We’re doing après in the Cliff Lounge,” he said. “You know, after the press conference bullshit. See you up there?”
“Yeah, I think you will,” Dane said after a beat. “Thanks, man.” When J.P. walked away, he said, “you don’t mind, do you? Some beers with the team?”
“Why would I mind?” she asked. “Sounds like the thing to do. Except, I’ll be drinking club soda.”
“Okay. I’m not that close to these people, so if you’re not having fun, we’ll leave. They can be pretty rowdy.”
“I can handle rowdy,” she said. “I suppose we need a sign, though. We don’t have one yet.”
“A what?”
Willow shook her head. “I keep forgetting that you’re from outer space. All couples have a sign—a way of telling the other person that they need to be rescued, or that it’s time to leave.”
“Huh,” Dane said. “Like what?”
“It could be something physical, like squeezing your wrist.” Willow grasped his wrist tightly. “Or it could be a word. Something you wouldn’t say all the time.”
“Like…platypus,” Dane suggested.
“That’s a little tricky to use in a sentence,” Willow said. “We’d better stick with the wrist.”
“I need to stretch for a minute,” Dane said. “Standing around all day tightened me up.” He leaned over, rubbing his knee.
“Ouch,” Willow sympathized. The sun was much lower in the sky now, though the feel of its last rays on her face was sublime. “Aw,” she pointed. “Look at that.” On the bunny slope in front of the lodge, a handful of children were having a lesson. The kids were quite small—maybe three or four years old. It was hard to tell with all the gear on them. “They look like cute little bugs. The helmets make their heads look enormous,” she said.
Dane put an arm around her waist, watching quietly. The kids were following the teacher down the hill, making S turns in her tracks, hands on their knees. “That is damned cute,” he said finally. He kissed the side of her face. “I never thought about how much fun it would be to teach a little skeeter how to carve turns.”
“I know you’re still getting used to the idea,” she said.
“I’m ignorant, but I’m not unwilling,” he said. “I never thought I could have a kid, so I haven’t looked at one. Like, ever.”
“I know,” she said. “Baby steps.”
As they moved on, she saw Dane’s head still turned to watch the children. “Those are some seriously short skis,” he said, holding up his hands about two feet apart. Then he chuckled. “Awesome.”
* * *
The Cliff Lounge had beautiful peaked ceilings, exposed beams and a stuffed elk’s head on the wall. Willow sat on a leather sofa with Dane. J.P. and a few other guys sprawled on the furniture around them, drinking beer and blowing off steam.
“Let’s see the sore knee,” Willow said, patting her own lap. She reached down for his ankle and guided the recovering leg up where she could reach it. “Tell me if this is too much,” she said.
Dane closed his eyes as she began to work his lower quadriceps. “Christ. You are a superior being, and I am not worthy of your excellence.”
“That sore, is it?”
He nodded with a grimace.
“Danger!” called a gruff voice. A giant guy with a red beard appeared over them.
Dane reached up to give him a fist bump. “Folger, that was some sick air you caught on the jump.”
Folger had a laugh that was as big as his enormous head. He dropped himself down onto the sofa next to Willow. “I got a little more than I bargained for on that one. Cost me two-tenths of a second that I couldn’t afford.” He held his hand out to Willow. “I’m Folger. You must be Willow.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, breaking off Dane’s massage to see her hand disappear into Folger’s hairy paw.
“We’re all curious as hell about you.” Folger shook her hand. “We can’t figure out who would put up with Danger for more than a half hour.”
Willow looked at her watch. “Well, we’ve only been here a few minutes. You never know.” The whole group guffawed at her answer.
“If you get tired of him, I’m available,” Folger offered. “The women are in short supply this evening, since their event is tomorrow.”
“Get your own, asshole,” Dane said. But his smile was amused.
“Ah, there’s the Danger we’re used to,” J.P. said, kicking his feet onto the coffee table. “I think we’re almost ready for another round of beers,” he said. “Folger needs a beer. And so does Willow.”
She shook her
head. “I’ll have to pass.”
“I hope you don’t have a bad case of altitude sickness,” he said, signaling the waitress. “If it’s your first trip to Tahoe, that can be rough.”
“Nah,” Dane said. “She’s got a bad case of being knocked up.”
“Whoa!” The men erupted into cries of amused surprise. “Like a boss!” somebody called out.
But Willow gasped, her face getting hot. “You,” she pointed at Dane, “had better find a more polite way of making that announcement.”
“Go easy on him,” Folger said. “The man is proud of himself. His swimmers made it onto the podium.”
“In this crew,” J.P. added, “we’re not known for being polite. But if you want to teach him a lesson, hide his cane.”
“Good idea,” she said, reaching across to touch her water glass to J.P.’s beer bottle.
Dane eased his leg to the floor. And then he slipped his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. His lips drew down to her ear. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
She gave him a quick smile. “It’s a little too early to tell people.”
“You’re the authority on that,” he said, his voice low. “It’s just that I’m starting to get excited about it.”
She felt her eyes mist as she met his gaze. The fact that he told the truth was reflected in his face, and in the warm look waiting there for her.
He leaned in, whispering. “When Finn died, I thought there would never be any more family for me. But I was wrong.” He kissed her then, and his lips were soft, filling her heart with unexpected joy.
“Great goblins!” Folger cried. “Aliens have stolen Danger and left this guy in his place.”
Well before their kiss broke off, Dane’s middle finger was raised in Folger’s face.
“Okay, maybe it’s still him,” Folger corrected. “How’s the knee, anyway?”
“It’s fine.” Dane reached for his beer. “You know the drill—lots of tedious therapy. But I’m just so glad to get off crutches.”
Folger nodded his oversized head. “Ain’t that the truth? All those weeks where you can’t drive your own car.”
“Wait—do all of you spend time on crutches?” Willow asked.
“Hell, yes,” J.P. agreed. “But we’re not as bad as the freestyle guys. Watch a mogul competition on TV, and the announcers spend half their time talking about who’s had the most recent ligament surgery.”
“Crutches are the pits,” Folger went on. “You can’t carry anything in two hands. I wore a backpack around my own goddamned house. By the end, you’re stoked to move around like a normal guy. I couldn’t wait to lay my girlfriend down, climb on top of her and fuck her properly. Am I right?”
That earned him a howl of laughter all around.
“Am I right?” Folger asked again, reaching behind Willow to smack Dane on the head. “Though with a baby on the way, you two must be making it happen.”
“Dude, I think leisure agrees with Danger,” J.P. said, tipping his beer bottle back. “I never saw him smile twice in one day before.”
“I was just saving them up,” Dane said, adjusting his bad leg.
J.P. shook his head. “You know, I never did get you.”
“What’s there to get?”
J.P. pointed his beer bottle at Dane. “You have the whole world hanging off the end of your dick, and you never seemed to enjoy it.”
“Huh,” Dane said, squeezing Willow’s hand. “Everybody’s a shrink.”
She squeezed back.
“You know, if Danger’s having a kid, that’s great news,” Folger said, stroking his goatee. “The entire circuit will be thrilled.”
“The circuit doesn’t give a rat’s ass,” Dane said.
“Au contraire, mon frère,” Folger said. “If you have a girl and a kid, maybe next year you’ll dial that death wish down a notch or two. A man with something to live for should be easier to beat.”
Dane snorted. “Have fun trying.”
“The preseason smack talk begins already!” J.P. announced.
“Bring it,” Dane laughed.
* * *
“I told you those guys were rowdy,” Dane said, stripping off his clothes in their hotel room. Willow was already in the bed, her hair spread out on the pillows, looking like an angel. Every night they spent together made him feel luckier than the last.
“They were fun,” she said, reaching for him as he slid between the sheets. “I didn’t feel the urge to squeeze your wrist or remind you to feed the platypus. That Folger has a mouth on him.”
He turned onto his side, his lips against Willow’s forehead. “I’ll never get sick of this,” he said.
“Of what?”
“Climbing into bed at the end of the day, hearing what you have to say.”
“Oh. I thought maybe you meant hotel-room sex.”
“That’s pretty good too,” he said, caressing her bare shoulder. Privately, he thought hotel sex was overrated. Willow’s bed was just about the sexiest place he’d ever been.
“This trip is fun,” she said, her fingers tracing very distracting circles on his belly. “I like visiting your strange little world.”
Dane leaned down, covering her perfect pink lips with his own. The kiss he gave her was deep and slow, the kind you have time for when the girl is for keeps. Then he said, “I’ll make you a permanent resident of my strange little world, if you’ll let me. I have a couple of ideas.”
Willow twisted a lock of his hair around her finger. “Tell me.”
“I want you come out west with me this summer.” He propped up his head on one hand. “Can you find what you need in Salt Lake City to finish your degree? I could support you, take the pressure off so that you could do your thing. And then, when the time comes, we’ll take care of the baby together.”
She blew out a breath. “Wow. Really?”
“Really. The timing is a little tricky, but that’s life.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Well, September fifteenth is your due date. And that’s when the downhill training happens in Chile.” He began to chuckle. “Coach Harvey is going to love me bailing on that. I can’t wait to see his face.”
“That sounds like a problem,” Willow said, her voice careful.
He shook his head. “No way. They’ve gotten worse excuses from me.” He slipped a hand onto her belly and began to stroke her skin. “I wouldn’t miss it, Willow. But if you won’t come to Utah with me, that means I’ll have to spend the preseason in Vermont with you. And I will, even if they threaten to kick me off the team.”
She picked her head up in alarm. “What?”
“Shh,” he said, fingertips on her belly. “Don’t panic. I’m just asking you to think about coming out west. We’d have to spiff up my condo a little bit. It’s got that bachelor look. The bookshelf is a board across a couple of milk crates.”
Willow lay still for a moment. “That’s big, Dane. But are you sure you’re ready to go there? I worry that you never got to ask yourself which girl you’d like to wake up with every morning. I don’t want you to think you didn’t have a choice.”
“Listen,” he smiled. “There’s only one way to win a downhill race. Right out of the gate, you choose your line. Then you accelerate to eighty or ninety miles an hour, and you don’t second-guess yourself. No regrets. I know more about commitment than you think.”
He paused to kiss her again and was rewarded with two warm hands gently stroking his chest. “Why would I want some other girl? Some stranger with an app on her phone to tally up my endorsement deals? You and I have been to the wars together, and now we finally have a chance to be happy.” He brushed his lips across hers. “You and Coach are the only two people who know me at all. And I don’t find Coach very attractive.”
He could see her smiling even in the dim light. “You have thought about this.”
Carefully, Dane rolled on top of her, setting his knee gently onto the sheet. “You’ve taken good care of me
. I would like to return the favor,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I love you, sweet thing. Say yes.”
Underneath him, she gave a shaky sigh. “Okay, Dane. I want us to have a chance.”
Dane moved his hips, fitting his erection between her legs. “How shall we celebrate?” he whispered. He kissed her deeply, unable to resist an experimental grind of his hips. His knee seemed to tolerate the position.
“Did Folger inspire you?” Willow breathed.
“He only read my mind. I think about this hourly.”
“Mmm,” she said, stroking his ass. “You feel amazing. Just be careful up there.”
“I’d risk reinjury,” he nipped her neck, “to do it like a boss.”
She laughed until he kissed her again. And then there was no more talking—only kisses and sighs. As she wrapped her arms around his back, he hoped she’d never let go again.
Sarina Bowen lives in Windsor County, Vermont, where her hardier ancestors first began farming and logging 250 years ago. She appreciates soft cheese, hard cider and the DSL internet service that finally arrived on her rural road last year. Sarina lives with her ski-crazy husband, two sons and eight chickens. Visit her at www.sarinabowen.com.
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