Almost Perfect: A Frenemies to Lovers Romance

by Claudia Burgoa

  During those moments when I was being rammed by a semi, I knew it wasn’t my time. But part of my life was over, and what made everything worse was the fact that there was nothing I could do to stop it. Everything was already in motion.

  The world didn’t end.

  I didn’t die.

  But my entire world imploded.

  I loved my life. I lived to compete. To win. Skiing was my first love. Snowboarding was my passion, and when I couldn’t find a mountain with fresh powder, I surfed.

  As long as I can remember, I loved the rush of adrenaline running through my veins whenever I rushed down the slopes. I thrived in the world of extreme sports.

  Not to be a show-off, but according to World Snowboarders magazine, I’m still one of the ten most influential snowboarders of the last twenty years. I was a hero to many—for some I still am. Others just think of me as a jock.

  Snowboarding and skiing aren’t just about the speed. It’s a physical and mental challenge. There’s a lot more to stepping into a pair of skis or onto a snowboard: it requires concentration, practice, and determination. You can’t second-guess yourself. The minute you take off, you have to see everything through.

  At thirty-one, I was on top of the world. Everything I achieved was beyond my wildest dreams.

  Like many great stories, though, things come to an end. The night of the crash, I was going to celebrate the end of the season. It was the best season of my life.

  The morning of the accident, Mom asked when I’d be hanging up my snowboard.

  “I’ll retire when I die,” I answered.

  Indeed, the biggest irony.

  It wasn’t just an accident as the papers reported it. It was a life-changing moment.

  I went from being at the top of my game to a man fighting for his life. As my car spun out of control, my life played like a movie in fast forward.

  Clearly, I had done a lot. In those seconds, I realized I had lived plenty but not fully. There’s a difference, and just as I knew I wasn’t going to die, I also knew a part of me was missing.

  There were holes in my life story, and I didn't know if I’d be able to fill them. Because if I were to die that night, I don’t think I’d like what was left of me or my legacy. During the accident, I thought, if this was it, I’d hate the way everything ended.

  In mere seconds, after the impact, I became a survivor who might never walk again. Another irony was Samantha, my live-in girlfriend, left me. She wasn’t strong enough for my new reality.

  The accident changed me. I had to grow a thick skin for my own sake, and I sustained one too many losses. It took a miracle, the best orthopedic surgeon, and all my willpower to walk again. I went from living the dream to facing a reality that left me scared, anxious, and nauseous.

  Sometimes, fate has a way of sneaking up and fucking us seven ways to Sunday. The cocoon I lived in for years suddenly broke, and my wings were damaged, and there was no chance I could ever fly again.

  Denying that my future had changed didn’t change the truth.

  But you know that saying, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

  So, don’t feel sorry for me and don’t judge me for changing. At thirty-four, I’m on top of the world again. I’m challenging myself. I found a new game. There are no more competitions or gold medals for me. Still, I work hard and play harder and never go out with the same woman twice. Sex…well, that’s a story I’m not allowed to tell.

  Don’t hate me, either. I just do what’s necessary for survival. The world is a jungle. Either eat or be eaten. It’s simple.

  My biggest challenge is my body. There’s always a small twinge, a bit of soreness, the random pain that brings the memories of everything I lost. I ride it out, embrace it, ignore it, and push through it until I’m back to normal.

  Today is just like every Tuesday, which means I could use a little pick me up. The X-Games happen this upcoming weekend. The world of sports will focus in Aspen. I was invited by not one, but several, television channels to be a commentator during the event.

  June, my sister, insists I should take those gigs. Maybe even becoming a key media commentator, but she doesn’t get it. Watching just reminds me of what I can’t do. I’m happy with designing and producing snowboards and surfboards.

  When I arrive at my place, I grunt. June’s car is parked in the visitor’s spot. Most days, I love that my sister is my manager. Except when she takes management to the extreme and instead of my professional career, she tries to manage my life. Finding her at my studio organizing my place isn’t cool.

  “Aren’t you retired?” I ask her fiancé, Sterling. “Why is she here?”

  He shrugs and shoves his hands inside his pockets. “She has a few loose ends to tie.”

  “Leave Sterling out of this,” she orders.

  Her fiancé is cool. I like him. He’s also whipped.

  “Why don’t you guys go back to Colorado and leave me the hell alone?”

  “You’re in a mood,” June says.

  “What are you doing here?” I look around my place and ask, “Other than organizing my place, of course?”

  She taps the papers on my tidy desk. Fuck, it’s going to take me forever to find where she put my bills. “This week you have two events. One is in Los Angeles and the other one in New York.”

  “I didn’t agree to that.”

  “These aren’t optional,” she says. “There are also a couple of charities asking for your support. Two are questionable; the rest are up to you. Once you go through the list, let me know how you want to proceed.”

  Rubbing my temples, I stare at her and then the pile of stuff I have to do. “I hate paperwork.”

  She shrugs. “You asked to be more involved.”

  “Shouldn’t you be in Vegas, eloping? The children are going to pop out before you say I do.” I look at Sterling, who actually laughs.

  She rubs her belly and smiles. I grunt. Look, I have nothing against babies or pregnancies before marriage; I just can’t think of my little sister pregnant and engaged.

  “We aren’t eloping,” she says. “Just make sure you pencil me in for the second half of February.”

  That’s code for ‘I’m going to ambush you but not yet.’

  Since we’re talking about her, I might as well find out what’s in store for me. “Are you moving to Colorado with the rest of the family?”

  It all started with Jackson, my eldest brother. After his divorce, he moved out to Denver. He said it was best for his company. Before my accident, Mom hoped he’d come back to California. But then he met the woman of his dreams.

  Jason, who’s a couple of years older than me, followed right behind. First, he moved to Denver, then he too found the girl. I’ve toyed with the idea of moving closer to them. June and the shop were the reasons I kept hesitating, but now that she’s leaving...I’m still not sure.

  “We’re still undecided...who knows,” she answers as she looks at Sterling, who takes her into his arms and kisses her.

  I clear my throat. “Seriously, keep your PDA away from me. You two make me sick with all that fucking sweetness.”

  June grabs a manila envelope. “Can you do something for me?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Nope, start writing things down because I have a long list.”

  I pull out my phone and as I tap to find the notes app, several alarms begin to sound inside my head.

  “No,” I say, without hesitation.

  “You haven’t even heard what I’m going to ask you to do.”

  But I do. I know the date better than she does. Next week, she wants me to do it all over again. “Your list includes delivering shit to Lucifer’s girlfriend, and the answer is no.”

  Sterling cocks an eyebrow. “Who is Lucifer’s girlfriend?”

  June waves her hand. “Hannah, and she’s Lucifer’s spawn.”

  I turn to Sterling, who is lost in the conversation. “Your fiancée likes to play with Hannah’s name
, which, if you ask me is stupid.” My attention shifts to June. “I’m not going to do it. She’s your best friend. Not mine.”

  “Give me one good reason why you won’t do it,” June says, challenging me.

  “She hates my guts,” I remind her.

  There are other reasons, but June doesn’t need to know them. Being close to Hannah is just not something I want to do in the foreseeable future.

  Maybe never. That’s a lie, but if I repeat it enough times, it might come true.

  “Fine, let’s go through the list, and we’ll circle back to Hannah later.”

  She’s not going to take no for an answer. Will there ever be a day that I won’t say yes to my sisters?

  Three

  Hannah

  Two and a half years ago …

  “That’s not the best brand.” I hear someone say in a husky, amused voice. “Unless you’re giving it to someone you don’t like.”

  Startled, I look up. The man almost right next to me is Dad’s height, six-four. His hair is lazily ruffled: the brown tips haphazardly pushed, so they intertwine into beautiful chaos. His dark-blue eyes are vibrant and direct. His angular jaw emanates power and determination. His face is designed to make a woman whimper with lust.

  “If you have a low budget, I’d go with this,” he offers, using a deep, smooth voice that rumbles like thunder inside my chest.

  “Really?” I ask mockingly, challenging him to give me a cheesy pick-up line.

  He gives me a long, considering glance as I gasp, startled by him.

  The guy’s presence takes over the entire store. He’s...breathtakingly sexy. His penetrating, dark gaze jolts my heart. He’s striking. So handsome, from the depth of his eyes to the tone of his low voice.

  Stop, Hannah. Just walk away.

  This guy is so yummy, how can I let this opportunity go? Broad shoulders, corded arms...and tattoos. Is he a bad boy in disguise?

  The shirt he wears allows me to see the defined muscles underneath it. If I could, I’d take him home for the night. As his gaze sweeps over me, I know exactly what he’s thinking. Underage college girl trying to use her fake ID. It’s the casual clothes. The messy hair with rose gold stripes. The purple glasses. My ‘I’m smart, savvy, and nerdy’ look is great for work but not to pick up guys.

  Not that I’ve been doing much picking up lately. But maybe…I slide a curious glance. His eyes are still on me. Is he waiting for my next move? Should I say something?

  “Are you a winemaker?” I fill the silence surrounding us because the crackling sound of the air encircling us is making my heart beat faster.

  I don’t do fireworks, crackling sounds, or searing skin at a simple touch. That’s not my thing.

  The guy laughs and takes a bottle of a fine merlot that I love. Also, a bottle of my favorite cabernet. I stare at him, because why is a guy, like him, buying wine? Don’t get me wrong, guys buy wine every day at any time for different reasons. A date, meeting the parents, the wife asked him to pick up the wine before going back home. The options are endless.

  But why is he here?

  He’s not wearing a ring, so it’s not the wife. Maybe a live-in girlfriend? His smirk says everything, single. A player? My kind of guy for sure. I like to play but not today. Not with him.

  “Do you like what you see?” he asks, in an arrogant voice that makes me want to punch him in the face, more like the gut, because it’d be easier to reach.

  “Not really,” I lie.

  “Remember me?” he asks, and I take a second to look at him. Do I know him?

  “Oh, that's right. I've met you only in my dreams,” he answers.

  “Save your lines,” I beg him, laughing. “They’re terrible.”

  “Got a few more,” he offers. “They might be worse.”

  “You couldn’t,” I challenge him.

  The beyond perfect, sexy stranger gives me another glance and says, “Are you organic?”

  I scrunch my nose and cross my arms. This is going to be even worse; I can just feel it.

  “Because you’re a natural beauty.”

  “If you were a salad, I'd order you without dressing.”

  “Stop, I beg you. They’re terrible.” Shaking my head, I grab the cabernet he’s holding and walk to the register.

  “How about a phone number?” He calls after me.

  “What for?”

  “We can go out on a date, drink some wine.”

  “Is that what you do, pick up women at a liquor store?”

  Taking out my phone, I make a few notes. This could be interesting for an article. This is a new one, his pick-up lines are terrible, though.

  “Nah, but when serendipity strikes, you can’t let the opportunity slip out of your hands.”

  Rafa gives me the total, so I hand over some cash and walk away.

  “What about our moment?” the guy asks. “What if we’re meant to be more than two strangers choosing the same wine?”

  “If we’re meant to be together, our paths will cross again,” I answer and walk away.

  Poor guy, there’s no way we’re meant for anything. Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place. I close my eyes briefly before walking to my apartment.

  Will the hole ever shrink?

  Four

  Alex

  Two and a half years ago …

  It’s been almost a year since the accident. This is my third week walking without a cane. I spent the weekend working with my physical therapist and my brother, Jason. My entire family thinks I’m pushing myself too hard.

  What they don’t see is that I beat the odds. I’m walking again. Maybe I won’t be able to compete, but soon, I’ll be up in the mountains going down the slopes.

  I remember the first time I went skiing. My parents took us to Lake Tahoe when I was three. They registered us for ski lessons. The instructor was patient. Though, he paid more attention to Jack. He’s older and the most likely to follow the instructions.

  What I gathered during his explanation was that you’re in control of your skis. Lean whichever way you want to steer. Focus on where you want to go. And most importantly—never hesitate. Once everything is in motion, there’s no turning back.

  That’s all it took for me to go down the hill. My father went right behind me. He didn’t call after me or stop me. It wasn’t a big hill, but for a three-year-old, it was a scary slope. Once we reached the bottom, Dad said, “You’re a natural.”

  That’s one of my proudest moments. It makes me want to go back up the hill. No matter how long it takes. A year, ten years, a lifetime. I’ll be sliding down slopes and flying through the sky again.

  I’m not going to give up what I love the most. In the meantime, I keep myself busy.

  More like, June’s making it impossible for me to rest. This week has been exhausting, but still, she managed to convince me to do her a favor since she’s out of town.

  She was very specific about today’s task. “Start this now because sometimes it takes longer than you think.”

  Of course, I ignored her warning. She can be dramatic as fuck.

  How hard is it to open bags of Skittles and separate the pink and purple ones?

  It’s so fucking tedious. Some of those bags don’t have more than three purples, and I have to fill two mason jars with them. This day would have gone down as the worst day of my life; except, my luck changed the moment I encountered this beauty.

  Tight denim jeans molded to her hips and thighs. Dark brown curls fell from her ponytail.

  Perhaps I should thank my sister because, let’s be realistic, if it wasn’t for June, I wouldn’t be here. That’s when reality slaps me. Fuck, I curse under my breath when I remember all the shit I have to do today. Well, at least, I’ll get her number for later.

  It’ll be so easy. Like stealing candy from a kid. But I’m wrong because no one had prepared me for this exact moment. The one when she whirls around, and my heart thumps fast when I see her face-to-face.

&n
bsp; I’ve heard it millions of times. Never experienced it before. Strange since I’ve been in several serious relationships. This time is different.

  When I see her, I see her.

  The world stops spinning. Everyone around disappears. Those brown doe eyes framed by long lashes and hiding behind a pair of sexy purple frames trap me. They bewitch me.

  She’s beautiful. Perfect really, with delicately shaped features. A fine straight nose with just a tiny tilt at the tip. Her face is beguiling. There’s something about her that has me powerfully drawn to her.

  And at first, I’m fucking confused. Let’s be clear, she’s not my type.

  I like tall, leggy blondes.

  This woman is so different. She looks nothing like a model. Yet, I want her. There’s a part of me that wishes I could pick her up and put her in my pocket, so she never leaves my side.

  How crazy is it that I feel some kind of ownership toward her?

  Everything about her is beautiful. Her eyes, her mouth...even her messy hair is gorgeous.

  And what does she do when I sound like a fool to humor her?

  She leaves me standing there. The guy behind the counter laughs at me. I pay for the bottles I grabbed and drive to the candy store. Defeated, I gave up on the fucking Skittles. I never give up, but seriously, who has the time to do that shit?

  As I’m driving to June’s place, I receive a text from her, asking for my status. She wants to make sure I’m not running behind.

  She can’t help herself. The control freak has been texting me since last week to make sure I don’t fail her.

  “This is important,” she pressed.

  Well, I hope I did enough to pacify her guilt.

  Using her key card, I enter the underground garage and park right next to a purple smart car. It’s so tiny I doubt I can fit. My mind goes immediately to the woman from the liquor store. She could fit in there. Not that I should care much about her. It’s over. The stupid serendipity line I used was so cliché.