by CJ Martín
“Okay. I will.” I slide off the table. The medic puts his hand out to steady me, and I realize that with the bandage the pain is manageable. “Thank you.” My voice is sincere, smile genuine.
“Don’t thank me. Thank Vik. He’s the one who got you here.” He smiles.
And I guess I really should thank Vik. Even though he was rude. Even though he made fun of me. He did help me. So I ask, “Where is he now? Vik?”
“Your guess is as a good as mine. I’d check the café or the shop.”
“Okay, well, thanks again. I’ll be sure to get you a copy of my insurance card.” I follow him out of the exam room.
“You’re welcome, miss.” He walks back behind the desk and is already on to the next patient.
I re-bundle myself up. All three pairs of gloves go back on, as well as my scarf and hat. By the time I’m done, all that is visible is a tiny space for my eyes. I slowly make my way toward the door and begin the journey back to the hotel.
Call me a terrible person, but I didn’t go in search of Vik. My foot really hurt. The pain was manageable, but I didn’t want to push it too hard. I already had a ten-minute walk back to the hotel, and at the speed I was moving it was closer to a twenty. Limping in the opposite direction toward the café in the off chance that Vik would be there sounded unreasonable. I rationalized I could always find him tomorrow when I was feeling better. Besides, I was starving.
After twenty laborious minutes I finally arrive at the hotel. Unzipping one of the pockets in my jacket, I find my key card and continue on toward the elevators. Spotting a sign for the ice and vending machines, I hang a quick right, hoping to grab a light snack before dinner.
The machines are located at the end of a long, quiet, isolated hallway and I pass a few closed doors with labels such as “Private” and “Office”. I walk close to the wall, using it to support some of my weight as I drag my foot along. Once at the machine, I scan the contents before settling on the pretzel bites. I feed my crumpled dollar into the machine and it takes three tries before the machine actually accepts it. I enter the code for the pretzels, then grab them and my change.
I turn and slowly walk back in the direction from which I came. I’m about halfway down the hall when I hear a muffled noise. I pause at a partially opened door on my right. The light from the hallway spills in and illuminates the figures inside, although the faces are cast in shadows. I bite back my gasp as I read the name on the back of the sleek black jacket thrown carelessly on the desk—Vik.
The room is dark enough that I can’t make out fine details, but it’s clear what they’re doing. His back is against a metal shelf at the end of the room, head thrown back, eyes closed. His shirt is pushed up slightly, revealing the rippled muscles underneath, and his pants are unbuttoned and shoved down. Shielding his most private parts is the blonde from earlier. She’s on her knees. Her hands and mouth are full of him. And from the sounds he’s making she’s doing a really good job. I stare a moment longer than I should, watching the muscles in his belly jump. My mouth hangs open as I stand rooted in place, completely overcome with the way his ab muscles clench with every stroke of her mouth. His arms are spread wide and his hands grip onto the metal shelf. I hear him groan once, twice, and then…
I drop my bag of pretzels.
Shit. Double shit. He brings his head forward and opens his eyes, but by the time his eyes circle in my direction I’m already halfway gone. I walk as quickly as my injured foot will allow, which is not very quickly, but it must be quick enough because they never catch up with me. Either that or they ignored me and finished the job.
I’m completely mortified. A wave of heat sweeps over my face, and my jacket is suddenly too hot. My fingers fumble over the zipper and my belly churns.
Please God, please God. I send a silent prayer upward. Please don’t let him have seen me. I don’t know what embarrasses me more: that I’m officially a creeper or that I’m turned on.
Chapter 2: Vik
The panicked voice startles me and I see her just in time to angle my board to avoid her. I continue on my path down the rest of the slope and I almost keep going. The blonde standing by the fire pit in front of the lodge has been giving me the eye all day. I knew she was down to hook up.
It was just too easy.
But watching as the woman plowed snow with her face, on the bunny slope, I found myself turning back around to help. I wasn’t that much of an asshole. At least not yet. With one last look toward Blondie, I board over to the fallen skier.
A young kid—Carson, I think his name is—is there too. Awesome. Maybe he can deal with this situation and I can get back to… Christ, what did Blondie say her name was?
Just as quickly as my hope escalates, it deflates when Carson skis away. Can’t say I blame him.
“You okay?” I clench my jaw, trying to suppress my irritation.
No response? Good enough for me. I turn to leave, almost free and clear when I hear her squeak. “No.” Followed by, “I can’t get up.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter to myself. Amateurs. I give her a quick once-over. She’s dressed like the Michelin man. It’s no wonder she has no balance. Every inch of skin is covered and I can barely make out her eyes. How the hell can she even see? I hold my hand out to pull her up and I’m surprised by how little effort it takes. She’s much lighter than I anticipated. She looks so round that I expected her to weigh much more.
“You good?” I allow my eyes to drift back toward the lodge. Goddammit! Blondie is gone. She probably thinks I was out here hitting on Michelin. Fucking Christ.
“Yeah,” Michelin mumbles before falling into me, and if I weren’t so good on my board she would’ve plowed me over. “Sorry,” she says weakly. “I think I might’ve twisted my ankle.”
“Christ.” I bend forward to unbind my boots. “Lean on me,” I say as I loop her arm around me. She’s so stiff; she’s definitely not an avid skier.
We make our way over to the lodge and she’s going so slowly that I have to resist the urge to drag her along with me. At one point I contemplate picking her up just so we can get there faster. Jesus. I don’t have time for this shit.
I get her situated on a bench before I go over to see Tom, the lodge’s medic. This guy has worked on me more times than I can count. I ignore the people in line, knowing that Tom will give me his full attention. After all, everyone at this resort treats me like a god. Ever since I was instructed to lie low and stay here for a few weeks, Seven Pines has gotten busier. A pro-snowboarder on the trails every day attracts lots of guests. Not to mention the owner’s son, JJ, is one of my best friends. They even put me up in the resort’s private, premium loft. For free. All I have to do is smile and be polite. Sounds easy, but let me tell you, it’s fucking torture.
“Hey, Vik!” Tom greets me as expected, ignoring the other skiers.
“Hey, man,” I say, eager to get back to Blondie. “This girl fell on the slopes. I think she twisted her ankle. Can you take care of it?”
His eyes follow my hand gesture in the direction of Michelin sitting on the bench. His eyebrows rise and he gives me a disbelieving look. “Yeah…” he begins uneasily.
“She’s not mine,” I say on the defensive. “She almost plowed into me. Just doing my good deed for the day.”
A wave of understanding washes over his features and he smiles. “Yeah, I’ll check her out. Might take a little bit, though.”
“No worries, man.” I turn to leave and come face to face with Blondie. My eyes skim over her body in appreciation and land on her rack. I can’t wait to get my hands on her tits. Now, what the fuck is her name? Jen? Jamie? J-something?
“Hey, Jess!” Tom smiles at her.
Jessica! Thank you, my man Tom.
“Hi,” she replies, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me. “Vik,” she only says my name, but it’s as if she is saying, “Fuck me. Do it here. Now.” And the twisted thing is, I think she’d let me. That’s how all these girls are. They want a pie
ce of me. They use me for my fame, my money, and notoriety. Not that I care. I use them too.
“Jessica.” I smile as I say her name and that’s all it takes. Like I said before: Too. Fucking. Easy.
“Wanna get out of here?” She cocks her head to the side and licks her lips suggestively.
I shrug. “Sure.” I don’t want her to get the wrong idea. This is not the start of a relationship. This is a hookup. Nothing more. I slap her ass on the way out, wondering where we’ll end up.
We end up in a back office on the first floor of the main hotel building. Jessica is sharing a room with three friends, so her room was out. No privacy there.
“We can go back to your place?” she suggests lightly, a note of hope in her voice.
Hell-fucking-no. I never take hookups back to my place. I don’t allow anyone into my personal space. Of course I can’t tell Blondie that. “Baby, I don’t think I can wait.” I squeeze her tits through her sweater.
She moans in approval and I know I’ve said the right words. “Where?” She breathes, stroking me over my board pants.
“Come on.” I pull her down the long hallway. There’s a small back office no one ever uses. I know this because JJ used to take his hookups here during high school.
I pull her into the office, not bothering with the light. The door shuts behind us but doesn’t latch completely. No matter. This won’t take long. I toss my jacket over the desk and turn around to face her. I kiss her a little bit more, but truthfully I’m not feeling it. Her mouth is slippery and wet and all I keep thinking is that it’s like kissing a dead fish. Wanting to move her along a bit faster, I grab her hand and place it on my cock.
“Baby,” I breathe, sucking on her neck gently, being careful not to leave a mark. “I’m so hard for you.”
She nods in encouragement before dropping to her knees. “Let me take care of that for you,” she murmurs. She wastes no time unsnapping my button and then shoves my pants down roughly. I spring free into her hands and she grabs me around the base.
Yeah. That feels good.
I stretch my arms out behind me to grab onto the metal shelf for balance. I allow my eyes to drift closed and focus on the sensations running through my body. I block everything out in my life, and in these few minutes find a brief respite of peace. When she wraps her lips around me I moan in approval, but I don’t touch her. Too intimate. I tighten my grip on the shelf and clench my belly muscles tight.
She continues using her hands and her mouth to work me, and I’m getting close. It’s not the best blowjob I’ve ever had. But let’s face it, a blowjob is a blowjob. None are ever really bad. Just as I’m about to let go, I hear a noise in the hall and it takes me several long seconds to bring my eyes into focus. When I glance toward the hall no one is there, but for the briefest of seconds I could’ve sworn I saw Michelin. The clumsy skier from earlier. Holy Christ, I must be tired or some shit. I redirect my attention back to the hot blonde on her knees with my cock in her mouth.
I have to give Blondie credit. Even with the noise, she never stopped working me. And after a few more strokes I’m ready, so I pull back and grab a tissue off the desk and come with a quick grunt. She pulls back, her mouth wet and lips a little swollen.
“I would have… you know,” she says, still on her knees as she looks up at me.
“It’s okay,” I say casually. The truth is I never come inside a girl. Ever. I can’t stand the idea of some random stranger having any part of me. Also, I may be a bit paranoid. I don’t need another scandal.
I tuck my cock back inside my boxers and re-button my pants. “Thanks, baby. That was good.” I help her to her feet.
She smiles. “Just good?”
“Really good.” But I’m already thinking of ways that I can get rid of her. “So…” I put my hands on her shoulders. “I better turn in soon. I have an early run tomorrow.”
Her face falls a bit, but she quickly plasters a smile back on. “Me too. My friends will be wondering where I got to.”
I should feel bad for using her. But I don’t. I have no respect for this type of girl. I mean, she just blew me in an office. In public. She just met me. Where does she think this is going to go? That I’m going to invite her over to meet my mother? I don’t think so.
“I’ll walk out with you.” I grab my jacket and usher her forward. “Are you staying in the main building?”
“Yeah,” she says as she walks through the office door.
I follow and turn to close the door, but pause when I spot a shiny blue bag of pretzels just outside the door. I bend forward to pick up the tiny bag. Hmmmm. These definitely weren’t here before. Someone was here. But who? And do I even care?
I toss the bag into a nearby trashcan as we walk down the hall. When we arrive at the front desk I say good night to Jessica.
She gives me an awkward hug. “Maybe I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I say, but know that I will definitely not be seeing her tomorrow or any other day for that matter. If I remember correctly, she told me she was only here for one more day. Perfect for a hookup. She won’t have too much opportunity to cling onto me. “See ya around.” I head for the door and back to my loft.
Inside my loft apartment I strip out of my boarding gear, leaving it in a pile in the middle of the floor. I remember when I signed my first big endorsement deal. I used to delicately hang all my gear. Not anymore. Thousands of dollars’ worth of gear in a heap on the floor. No big deal.
In the shower I wash my day away. I scrub myself and although I just hooked up with Blondie, I don’t feel the same sense of relief I normally feel after sex. Or at least the feeling usually lasts a little longer. I dry myself off and pull on a pair of gray Nike sweatpants and a long sleeve white T-shirt.
A quick glance at the clock lets me know it’s still early, only nine o’clock. I find my cell phone and check my messages. I have a voicemail from my mother.
Anders, it’s your mother. I haven’t heard from you all week. Call me.
Your father and I are worried.
My mother is the only person who still calls me Anders. Everyone, even my father, calls me Vik. I let out a frustrated growl. Ever since the incident three weeks ago they’re both up my ass constantly. I secretly wish they were still back in Norway where they wouldn’t be so aware of my every move.
When I signed my boarding contract six years ago, I moved to the States. Since I was eighteen, a legal adult, I didn’t need a guardian. My parents weren’t happy, but there was nothing they could do to stop me. It worked nicely for a few years, me in the States doing my own thing. Boarding. Partying. Living the good life.
But two years ago when my sister Brit decided to attend Stanford University, my parents decided to move over too. Which would be fine. If my mother and father spoke better English. If my mother and father weren’t retired and had nothing better to do with their time than to monitor my life. And although they aren’t right in Colorado, they’re still too close for my comfort.
Throwing my phone on the table, I decide to call my mother back later. I don’t need a lecture right now about how I’m wasting my talent. How they’re disappointed in me. That they taught me better than to do drugs. No matter how many times I tried to explain. Those. Drugs. Were. Not. Mine.
I snatch the blanket off the back of the couch and roughly throw it over my legs. I click the television on and scan the channels, landing on the National Geographic channel. Ed Woods drones on during an episode of Swamp Men, but I’m not paying attention. I wake with a start at 2:00 a.m. to find the TV still on. I turn it off and find my way to my bed where I don’t awake until 6:00 a.m. when my alarm goes off.
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