Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“And if I skid out on the turn and go straight down?” I challenged as we approached the edge again.
“Then keep your skis angled just like this, and your rate of descent will slow. If you fall, you fall. Everyone falls. Sutton falls. I fall. Even my little brother falls, and that kid has too many X Games medals to count. You just have to get back up.”
We made another turn, and he angled us a little more steeply, his arms loosening even more.
“Ready to try it on your own?” he asked, stopping us midway across the slope.
“Why? I mean, if it’s easy with you, then maybe this is just how I ski, with you attached to me.”
He laughed softly, the sound spreading through me like a wildfire. I loved the sound of his laugh. If I was being honest, I loved that I was one of the few people he chose to laugh around.
“I’ll be right here.” He let me go, and I immediately missed the warmth, the security of him. “Not that I’m against being attached to you, but skiing is one of the most empowering things I’ve ever done besides flying, and I want you to know you’re a badass all on your own.” He stepped sideways uphill, then maneuvered himself in front of me, angling his skis in a backward version of my own.
“Badass and bunny bowl do not belong in the same sentence,” I argued, noting that we were halfway down the hill.
“They do for the first few times.”
I scoffed but followed his lead as we made our way across the slope.
“Good,” he said. “Now same thing. Lift that left ski a little, lean into the right, and make the turn.”
My heart galloped, but I did it and had the added bonus of not falling on my face.
“Excellent!” He grinned at me.
“Says the man who’s going backward,” I muttered. Every muscle in my body was tense and active. I was hyperaware of everything—my balance, my skis, the very angle of the slope—and he was skiing backward like it was as easy as walking.
“Hey, I learned on this very same hill.” He glanced behind him. “Another turn.”
“Who taught you?” I leaned and moved, executing the turn. Had to say, it was a lot easier this time without some three-year-old flying past me with the expertise of an Olympian.
“My dad,” he answered, his jaw muscle popping. “But I didn’t catch on quickly enough for him. Not like Reed. So, my mom took over. That woman had the patience of a saint.”
We pivoted through another turn. “So you didn’t have that reckless second-son energy I hear so much about from other parents?”
“Oh.” He grinned. “I had it. Just took me until the age of five to figure out I could ski out of bounds. Reed wanted speed. Crew liked to flip around. I just wanted to carve my own path, to follow only the rules I set for myself.”
“You do like your rules.” I somehow found myself smiling through the next turn.
“I keep breaking them for you,” he said softly.
“Hey now,” I challenged. “So far, we’ve only broken my rules on that list. Well, except I did make you dinner one night. But the rest of the broken ones are all mine.”
“You’ve only seen a fraction of the rules I keep for myself,” he replied with a wicked little smile.
We made it through another turn. Weston’s arms were at his side, his whole body relaxed like this was a spa trip, his eyes teasing through the tinted shield of his goggles. Nothing phased this man.
“Sutton is spending the night at Betty’s tonight,” I said as we neared the bottom of the slope.
He cocked his head to the side.
“That means we’ll be alone.” I smiled. “All night. Alone.”
He slipped, his whole body wobbling before he straightened his skis and caught his balance, coming to a complete standstill.
I laughed as I passed by him, then slowly made a turn all on my own. I fought off the urge to fist pump. Like hell was I doing anything to lose my balance now.
He caught up to me easily, moving so quickly I couldn’t help but stare in appreciation as he cut down the slope and sprayed snow everywhere in a quick stop a few feet below me but out of my path. So controlled. So precise.
Guess one thing got to him, and it was me.
I was more than okay with that.
I leaned up against the kitchen island in what I hoped was a seductive pose and watched the door. It was five thirty, Sutton was already at Betty’s, and I’d just heard Weston’s truck pull into our driveway.
My pulse leapt. There wasn’t exactly an extensive collection of lingerie at my disposal, but I did have a soft spot for pretty, matching underwear sets, so I’d put on my favorite lavender one and hoped he’d like it.