by Tracy Wolff
Unlike with Cam, I listen to her. I don’t know why. It’s not like we have any real history together, not the way Cam and I do. It’s just, there’s something about her expression, something about the look in her eyes that tells me she’s been where Logan and I are. And that she somehow has a road map to get me out of it, if only I’ll listen to her.
“Well, then, get up there!” she tells me, giving me a little push toward the pipe. “I want to see a backside rodeo 1080 done the hard way. And maybe even a Lando-roll or two.”
My mouth literally falls open, as do Cam’s and Logan’s and even Timmy’s.
“What?” Tansy asks after a second of being stared at like she grew an extra head.
“I just—I didn’t know you followed snowboarding,” I tell her.
She smiles serenely. “I’m pretty sure there’s a lot about me you don’t know, Ash.”
“She’s got you there,” Cam says with a laugh, even as she links arms with me and starts dragging me up the edge of the pipe.
I can’t help looking back at Tansy as we climb. She’s settled herself between Timmy and Logan, an arm around each of their shoulders. And she must be telling a joke or making fun of me or doing something funny, because the boys are literally howling with laughter.
I can’t help smiling along with them, just because it’s good to see my brother so happy. Tansy, too, especially after the way last night ended.
She didn’t seem weird when she came up to me down there, which I have to admit I was expecting after that strange, awkward walk back to her room last night. I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what I want to do about her. I don’t have time for a girlfriend, don’t have time to be distracted from Logan and all the factors that go into his recovery.
At the same time, holding Tansy—kissing her, going down on her—was incredible last night. So much better than fucking random snowbunnies like I’ve been doing for the last seven months. And if this was a different time or Logan and I were at a different place in our lives, I would be all over Tansy. All over trying to make something work between us.
But it isn’t a different time and it isn’t a different place and the last thing I should be thinking about is a girl who smells like vanilla and tastes like the sweetest, smoothest sugar. The last thing I should be doing is wondering how to get her into bed.
And yet I am.
Now, she’s down there with my brother, teasing him, making him laugh, getting along with him better than I have since the accident.
I don’t know how I feel about that any more than I know how I feel about her.
By the time I get to the top of the pipe and strap my board on, I’m more confused than I’ve been in months. I glance back down at where Tansy sits with Logan and Timmy, watch as she leans into my brother and whispers something in his ear that makes him smile hugely.
She’s right. There’s a lot about her I don’t know. A lot about her I want to know.
Chapter 16
Tansy
I flop down on my bed, close my eyes and pray for the ground beneath me to open up and swallow me whole. Or for an avalanche to come and bury me. Or for one of the volcanoes this region is known for to erupt and burn me alive with lava. Any of that—all of it—would have to be easier than facing Ash again.
It’s ridiculous. I’ve spent my whole life fighting cancer and I’m going to end up dying of humiliation. Karma really is a bitch.
I mean, I’ve seen Ash all day, have faced him all day. I even managed to talk to him when he was making such a hash of things with Logan out on the half-pipe. But that was different—he was flailing around so pathetically that I had to do something to save him before the whole day went down in flames.
Besides, it was easier when Timmy and Logan were there. They’re both young enough that they really don’t pick up on things below the surface. For example, they didn’t notice the way Ash kept looking at me, kept trying to catch my eye. The way his eyes kept searching mine, like he was trying to figure out what was going on in my head.
Part of me wanted to reassure him that I was fine. That just because he gave me the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life—and then rejected me (and can I just ask how bad was I at the whole hand job thing that he not only turned me down but he actually pried my hand off his dick)—doesn’t mean that I feel awkward around him. And it doesn’t mean that I’ve suddenly fallen in love with him. Sure, I’m already the pathetic girl who agreed to sleep with him when it turns out he wasn’t even offering—I probably should have learned my lesson then—but that doesn’t mean I’m painting pictures in my head of us living happily ever after. It doesn’t mean that I expect anything from him—he has more than enough on his plate right now. And sure, maybe I have a teeny, tiny, little crush on him, but come on. Who wouldn’t? The man has a seriously talented tongue.
Still, I better get a handle on this and fast, because while I’ve spent most of today avoiding him, I have a feeling that shit isn’t going to fly tomorrow. Not if the way he was looking at me at dinner tonight was any indication. Again, not that I’m surprised. Ash isn’t exactly the kind of guy to just let things go, happy to ignore whatever he doesn’t want to deal with. No, he’s the kind of guy who meets life head-on, who takes whatever life hands him and finds a way to face it or deal with it or accept it—whatever needs to be done—and then moves past it.
It’s one of the things I admire most about him. Well, that and the way he’s trying so hard with his brother. And the fact that, despite all his objections, despite all the reasons he had to cancel, he came on this trip because he couldn’t stand to disappoint Timmy.
Okay, maybe I have more than a teeny, tiny crush on him. Maybe I have a huge crush on him. But that’s okay. It’s still manageable. Still controllable. And as long as I don’t throw myself at him again—and make him literally rip my hand off his cock in an effort to get away from me—surely things will be okay. Surely I won’t have to toss myself into a volcano. Right?
Right?
Oh, God, what I wouldn’t give to have my bitch boots back. I could totally face Ash without flinching if I was wearing those. Then again, I’d give anything to be the kind of girl who actually wears clothes like that on a regular basis. Who feels comfortable in them. Who owns them, and the attitude that comes with them.
I loved that look, but to be honest, I didn’t feel any more comfortable in ripped jeans and leather than I do in hipster clothes and flower crowns. In fact, nothing I’ve tried so far feels right. Nothing feels like me, or like I think I should feel.
Rolling over, I bury my face in my pillow and scream my confusion and frustration straight into it. It’s a trick my mom taught me years ago when the pain of chemo got too bad, or when the unfairness of having to stay inside and rest got to me when all the other kids in the neighborhood were riding bikes and skateboards in the sunshine.
It didn’t work then—not really—and it doesn’t work now. How can it, when the problem isn’t just facing Ash, isn’t just looking him in the eye when all I really want to do is lick him all over? I mean, another girl would either try to make him like her or just move on to another guy that does like her. But I can’t do that. I mean, how can I expect Ash—or anyone, really—to like me, when I don’t like myself? When I don’t know myself? Because I don’t. I really don’t. I’ve spent so much of my life fighting to keep my life that I never learned how to live it. Not really. Not beyond the basics.
I don’t have a favorite style or a favorite subject, don’t have a favorite color or even a favorite food (I’m still just grateful that most of the time what I eat stays down instead of coming back up these days). I mean, I guess I like red and purple more than the other colors, but it always seemed silly to worry about something like that when my white blood cell count was so much more important. Plus, when I was sick, if I mentioned liking something—a dress, a color, a hairstyle—I could see my mom cataloguing it away, so that just in case I died, she could bury me in i
t. Because that’s what I want to spend eternity in: a purple coffin and a zebra striped dress. And a Mohawk. Definitely a Mohawk.
Who doesn’t?
I’m trying to fix that now, to find out who I am. To figure out what I like and how I like it. I like Ash, but that’s not enough. Obviously. Not when the guy so obviously doesn’t feel the same way about me. I mean, it takes a lot of dislike, or disgust, for a twenty-one-year-old guy to walk away from a guaranteed orgasm. Or at least, I’ve always heard it does.
I guess I should be grateful he is such a good guy. I mean, today could have gone so much worse if he hadn’t been so nice. So normal. I spent most of the night worrying about seeing him today, worrying about how awkward everything would be after what happened last night—him going down on me, giving me my first real orgasm with another human being, and then rejecting me when I tried to reciprocate—but it turns out it wasn’t so bad. At least not as long as I didn’t let myself think about it. About how easily, how completely amazing he made me feel when his tongue was on me. About how easily, how completely he rejected me when I tried to make him feel as good as he’d made me feel.
Ugh. Just the thought makes my cheeks burn and my brain threaten to explode. For what feels like the millionth time.
My phone beeps with a new text message, and I almost ignore it. It’s probably Luc or Cam inviting me down to the bar to have drinks with everyone. I should go—after all, it’s my job to make sure everyone has a good time and that things go smoothly on this trip—but the idea of going down there, of spending another three hours around Ash pretending that I’m totally fine, so doesn’t appeal to me.
I have to do it tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. I know that, am prepared for it. But I just don’t think I can face him again tonight. I just can’t.
Another text message comes in, though, followed by a third one and a fourth one and I can’t resist picking up the phone and at least looking. At this point, if it is Luc or Cam, it’d be rude not to answer. I’ll just tell them I have a headache or something. And if something is wrong, I need to know about it, too.
Except, when I look, it isn’t Luc or Cam trying to get my attention. And it isn’t Timmy’s parents telling me he’s taken a turn for the worse. It’s my sister, Anna.
Hey, big sis. You there?
How’s Chile?
Have you slept with any hot Latin guys yet? Or any superhot snowboarders?
Helllloooooo? Come on, Tansy. Inquiring minds want to know.
I can’t help smiling as I type a response. Then again, Anna always makes me smile. Even at the worst times.
Chile is great. And no, I haven’t slept with anyone but myself.
:(
How’s home?
Boring. And I want details. You mean no one’s even tried to feel you up? What’s wrong with those guys? You’re on vacation with a bunch of super-hot, superfit guys. It should be all sex, all the time! Are you not giving out the right pheromones?
I don’t answer right away, because I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say here. I mean, Ash did feel me up. He also did a lot more than that. He just didn’t let me reciprocate. Or make any move today like he wanted me to reciprocate. Ever.
That’s a lot of radio silence. Squeee! What happened? I WANT DEETS! Tell me everything!
I debate for several more seconds, trying to decide just how badly I want to humiliate myself here. Then I decide, screw it. Anna’s had a ton more experience with guys than I have. Maybe she can help. I type my response fast, then hit send before I can think better of it.
If a guy goes down on you and then walks away before you can do anything for him, what does that mean?
Huh????????????
Oh, crap. It really is as bad as I thought.
Ash. He, you know, but then when I tried to do the same for him, he wouldn’t let me.
Huh????????????
You’re not helping!
Right. Sorry. The mind is boggling.
I’ve got it together now. Tell me everything that happened.
Everything?
Everything!!!!!!!!!!
So I do. From drinking in the bar with Luc to finding Ash on the patio to trying to talk to him about the avalanche to him kissing me to shut me up to him going down on me to him walking away.
Huh.
Still not helping.
I know, I know. It’s just … does he think his friend likes you? Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to make a move?
I kind of think if he was worried about that, he wouldn’t have gone down on me to begin with!
Hmm. Good point.
So?
I don’t know.
Do you think … do you think I wasn’t any good? I mean, I didn’t really know what I was doing.
Well, what did you do?
Seriously?
You asked for help!
I don’t know. I just … I don’t know!
Okay, okay, okay. Well, did it feel like you were doing it right?
I don’t know!
How can you not know? Was he hard?
Oh, God.
He wasn’t hard????
Of course he was hard!
Oh, well, that’s good.
Oh, God.
Stop being such a drama queen.
Anna! I’ve never done this before!
I know, but every girl has to start somewhere.
I tried. I failed.
Weird. I mean, usually I have to rip my own hand off a guy’s dick. Amid many protests.
Of course she does. Anna is beautiful and funny and sweet and so much more experienced at this than I am. Not that I’m bitter or anything. Especially when she’s not even giving me any tips here.
So. Not. Helping.
Well, are you sure your technique is correct?
How would I know?????
I don’t know. Hey, have you tried watching porn? See what they do?
?!?!?!
You know, to check out your technique. Maybe you really are doing it wrong. I mean, it’s not that difficult, but everyone has to learn somewhere.
I am not watching porn to figure out how to give a blow job!
Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you’ve never seen it before. This time, just consider it a tutorial instead of entertainment.
Of course I haven’t watched porn before.
Yeah, right.
Wait … you’re serious?
I’ve spent my life in the hospital! When exactly am I supposed to have had this great education in pornography?
Your room had wi-fi.
Seriously? With the nurses and doctors and MOM AND DAD coming in at all hours? I was supposed to watch porn?
That’s what I did most of the time we were waiting for you to get out of chemo or surgery. Headphones, man. Best. Invention. Ever. I mean, next to internet porn.
Oh. My. God.
LOL
Oh. My. God.
Oh, come on. Lighten up. You’re in a hotel room, alone. When is there going to be a better time to figure this shit out? Doesn’t the hotel have like, pay-per-view movies? Get one of those.
I’m working here! I don’t think that can show up on the expense report!
Oh. Right. Well then, do what every other kid in the world does. Download that shit off the internet.
I can’t.
You totally can.
I can’t.
You totally should.
I. CAN’T!
I’m sending you links. I won’t take no for an answer. Do it. I expect a full report when I text you tomorrow.
Oh. My. God.
Have fun! :)
Are you there?
Anna?
Fuck.
Porn? My sister expects me to watch porn to figure this out? Is she serious? I wouldn’t even know where to start! There’s no way I’m going to do that. No way. I can’t believe I even told her. I expected real help. Not porn.
Oh. My. God.
I flop back down on the b
ed, pull the pillow over my face. And try very hard to ignore the fact that my obviously insane younger sister might actually have a point.
Not that I’m going to listen to her, because … Eeew. Porn. In a hotel room. Could I be a bigger cliché?
Except … how else am I going to learn? I could ask Luc, I guess. He’d probably be willing to teach me. Except … except, no. I think I’d actually rather throw myself into a volcano.
And Ash is obviously off-limits for so many reasons.
I could find some other guy—some hot Latin guy, like Anna keeps talking about—to show me, but that seems pretty ick, too.
Maybe the porn isn’t such a terrible idea, after all.
What am I thinking? It’s an awful idea. A horrible idea. An unbelievably bad idea. Except … how else am I going to learn?
Besides, I am completely alone in a hotel room.
No one would ever know.
And maybe I could, possibly, actually learn something? I mean, presumably, these people are professionals. They know what they’re doing, right? Not that I think Ash will ever touch me again, but someone else might. Someday. And I don’t want to scare him away, too.
Oh, God. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this.
I’m not thinking about.
But I am. I totally am.
No, I’m not.
I stay where I am for another five minutes or so, going back and forth in my head, trying to decide what to do. I want to go to sleep, or to at least forget Anna ever suggested it. But I can’t forget it. It’s right there, in the front of my mind, taunting me with the possibility. Making me wonder. Making me—
Screw it. I throw the pillow across the room, then pick up my tablet off the nightstand. I don’t have to do anything. I can just check my email, see if Anna sent any links. She probably didn’t. She was probably just messing with me.
But if she did, maybe I could try one out, just to see what it’s like. And if she didn’t … well, if she didn’t, then I’m sure I can find something else to do with my time. Something that does not involve naked strangers.
