The Winter Games

by Sharp, Dr. Rebecca

  “You look beautiful.” He flashed me a devastating smile.

  I sighed, turning in the passenger seat to look out the window; the drive mirroring the route I took to the mountain every morning. I jumped slightly when Wyatt’s hand reached for mine, holding my fingers tightly. My gaze narrowed as he made another turn.

  “Are we going to the mountain?” I spun and asked him.

  He looked over at me and smiled again.

  “But everything is closed.”

  “Not everything.”

  Instead of turning in our normal lot, he pulled in the first entrance that led to the left-most side of the mountain where the Two Rivers Café was located. My curiosity was killing me, but I knew he wouldn’t answer even if I asked.

  He parked in the main lot and I followed him out of the car. The trunk swung open and I saw snowboots, a large cooler, and another good-sized bag that was zipped shut. I raised my eyebrows at him, but still he said nothing.

  Pulling out the cooler and bag, he set them on the ground before retrieving a pair of boots. “You’ll need to put these on.”

  I recognized them as Ally’s. Little jerk was in on this.

  He grabbed the second pair while I shoved my feet into my sister’s shoes. When he was finished, he took my sneakers from my hand, set them in the trunk, and closed it. “Let’s go.”

  “Snowboots but no snowboard?” I wondered.

  “Not tonight.”

  “So this is why you said yes and no…” I mused. “I can’t remember the last time I made it over to this side of the mountain.”

  “It’s a good spot.” I partially took his word for it because everything was dark –closed because of the storm. I followed him quietly, waiting for the next clue as to what was going on while we walked through the cluster of buildings at the base.

  The Two Rivers chairlift was lit up. Weird. Then I realized that we were walking towards it.

  “Wait… where… how…” I trailed off as Wyatt turned and smiled, holding up a set of keys as he unlocked the door to the lift operator’s box and turned it on. I watched the chairs begin to move slowly up the mountain.

  “Keep moving, missy,” he teased as he walked right by me, waiting for the next chair to come around. I quickly hopped over next to him, not wanting to get stuck on the lift by myself. In the dark.

  We sat down and Wyatt set the cooler and bag on the seat between us.

  “How did you manage this?”

  “I know people.” He laughed. “I am Wyatt Olsen.”

  Even my eye roll couldn’t dampen my smile. “I’ve never been here at night. I’ve never been on the mountain after dark.” Most mountains, except those on the East Coast, closed right around four or so. I’d only been on a few that had night skiing, but this was different; the mountain wasn’t lit with trail lights. It was completely dark except for the hazy glow cast on it by the moon and the stars.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  My head spun, taking in the panorama around me as the chair took us higher; I could now see the lights of the town behind us in the distance. I looked back to him and realized that he’d been staring at me the entire time.

  My mouth parted. “Incredible,” I whispered and it was so silent that I might as well have screamed the word.

  We jogged down the slight slope when the lift reached the top and I laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten off the chair without being strapped to a board before.”

  “First time for everything.” Hoisting the bag over his shoulder he began to walk.

  “Those everythings seem to happen a lot with you,” I murmured, following his footsteps in the snow.

  “That’s what I was going for gorgeous.” He smiled at me over his shoulder.

  “Where are we going?” The light from the lift was dimming as we walked farther away.

  “Right here.” He stopped and I came up behind him. Ahead of us was one of the small warming huts that was open during the day for skiers and boarders to stop in and heat up before heading down the slope.

  “There?!” He walked up to the door and opened it. Guess there was no need to lock it when there was no lift running to bring you here. Except for tonight.

  I shivered and walked quickly inside behind him. Even though by the time we got to the top the flurries had stopped, it had still dropped to a bitterly low temperature. Inside the hut it was much warmer, having been heated during the day and slightly insulated. The inside was pretty sparse. A wide, wooden bench on one side of the room and a small window opposing that had a shelf underneath holding a first-aid kit, a few boxes of granola bars, and water bottles.

  Wyatt set the bags down and walked over to the temperature control panel on the wall, turning it on. The soft hum of the heat bulbs sang above us—placed in between the two ceiling lights.

  Wyatt turned to face me, the most heart-throbbing smile spreading onto his face. Before I could even ask, he answered me, “I packed us a picnic.”

  “A picnic?” I should have seen it coming but I was completely surprised.

  “A picnic on the peak.” He grinned.

  I continued to stare, flabbergasted as the man who could have afforded to take me anywhere in town and save himself the effort, instead took me to the one place that felt like home—a home that we were making together.

  He opened the bag and out came blankets—lots of them. He shook one out and laid it in the floor. I bent down to straighten the corner that was next to me.

  “Why did you do this?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “What do you mean?” He pulled out two smaller, draw-stringed bags that opened to reveal pillows for us to sit on.

  “All of this. I mean, you said date and I figured you were going to take me to some fancy restaurant.”

  “Is that what you want?” He stopped and looked up at me.

  I wasn’t going to lie. “No.”

  “I didn’t want to be surrounded by people. I wanted to talk to you and I wanted you to feel comfortable.” He stood. “And I knew the only place you would be truly comfortable was here—on the mountain.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. How did he know me better than myself?

  “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t tried my food.” He laughed as he opened the cooler and began to unload a feast that inconceivably seemed to fit inside.

  “Wait, you made all of this?” Bread and cheese, salad, meatballs, pasta, chicken parmesan, and cannolis.

  “I’m not very skilled with ethnic food, but Italian I can do.” He looked up at me. “Sit, gorgeous. Stay awhile.”

  As soon as I bent down, I was assaulted with the delicious scents that burst into the air as he opened each of the containers—like the best Italian restaurant times a thousand. Grabbing one of the pillows, I plopped down onto it and crossed my legs.

  “So, that’s what you went to do last night—get the keys for the lift?” He nodded. “How did you manage that?”

  “I can’t give away all my secrets,” he teased. “One last thing…” Reaching back into the bag, he pulled out another thinner sheet that unrolled to reveal a wine bottle and two plastic glasses. He held one up to me, silently asking if I would like some, so I nodded.

  Watching him pour the wine, I took in the magical scene before me—the spread of food cradled amidst a sea of blankets, everything softly lit by the warm red of the heat lamps. In that moment, with the silent and stunning comfort of the mountain underneath and around us, I admitted to myself that I was falling rapidly in love with Wyatt Olsen.

  “Thank you.” The red wine fell right in the middle of dry and sweet—not that I had a preference either way.

  He handed me a paper plate. “Dig in.” I didn’t have to be told twice; I wasn’t the kind of girl that held back when it came to food—especially food that smelled as delicious as this. “I know it’s not quite the fancy food you’re used to from Breakers…”

  I laughed. “Thank God…”

  “So,” he began, biting into
the piece of Italian bread that he’d smothered with the cranberry goat cheese, “I have a question.”

  I paused and looked at him, silently encouraging him to continue as I dug into the salad on my plate.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how much would you say that your brother hates me?”

  I gulped down the massive bite of partially chewed lettuce, ironically so that I didn’t choke on it. “What do you mean?” I squeaked out—immediately wondering if he’d heard something, if Nick had said something…

  “I haven’t seen him since I got here, Channing. And I don’t mean on the mountain to train—I get wanting to practice in a private space after an injury.” Well, that was good at least. “So I don’t think I’m assuming too much to say that he hasn’t been around because he’s upset about what is going on between us—and probably between Zack and Ally, too, but I’m his biggest competition.”

  I took another bite of the meatball and pasta to give me a second to think of how to answer. My stomach rolled, revolting against the prospect of lying to him about Chance.

  “He doesn’t hate you.” Not yet, at least. “He hasn’t said anything specifically to me about well… yeah… When he got injured, I think it kind of forced a change in his perspective and I think that right now, he is just trying to focus on himself and getting back to where he needs to be,” I replied, partially pleased with myself at how truthful my answer was even though Wyatt didn’t understand it fully. “So, I don’t think it has much—or anything—to do with you as much has it has to do with himself.” I took another bite, waiting for his response.

  I watched him absorb my words, the only sound between us was the gusts of wind blowing outside.

  “Ask me something.” I just stared at his demand. I’d been expecting him to say something else about Chance, but relief bloomed when I realized he was letting me change the subject.

  “About what?”

  “Me,” he answered. “Anything about me.”

  I thought for a moment. “When was the last time that you lost?”

  He burst out laughing. “Man, you like to hit where it hurts.” I grinned at him. The man won everything though. I wanted to know. “Let me think. The last time I can remember—and don’t hold me to this—was my sophomore year in high school. I honestly couldn’t tell you which competition it was; Zack might remember. But everyone thought I was going to win and I didn’t.”

  “What happened?” I was really intrigued; I wanted to hear that he wasn’t a superhuman snowboarder.

  “I fell pulling a seven-twenty.”

  “Seriously?” That was a pretty easy trick—especially for how good he’d been at the time. He nodded, but something made me ask. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “What do you mean?” He took another bite of his chicken.

  “I know that look and tone because I gave it to you a few weeks ago when I told you about what happened at the Open last year. What’s the rest of the story?” I demanded, scooping a chicken breast onto my plate.

  He chuckled. “Alright, Miss Ryder. I did it on purpose.” I raised my eyebrows, my mouth full of food. “It was Zack’s birthday that weekend and at the time, we were both competing in snowboarding. He hadn’t wanted to do this competition, but I’d baited him into it. The night before, my mom made some comment inadvertently about how we were going to celebrate ‘when I won’. Zack got pissed because it should have been a discussion about his birthday celebration, not a celebration of my win. He was so mad he wouldn’t speak to me the rest of the night or the following morning.”

  “So, you bailed so that your win wouldn’t overshadow his birthday?” I finished for him.

  Wyatt nodded. “We were just kids, but seeing his face that night—even though it had been a mistake and my mom apologized—I realized that there are some things more important than winning; there are some things worth losing for.”

  Son of a biscuit, I felt like I was about to cry. I knew what he meant—I saw it the day that Chance was invited to the X Games and I wasn’t. He wanted to refuse out of concern for me; the difference is that I knew and I hadn’t let him.

  I looked up to see him watching me intently. “I want to show you something.” He stood, quickly clearing the plates and containers from in front of us. “Come here.” He extended a hand to me, pulling me to stand.

  “What?” I watched him start to put his boots back on.

  “Shoes on, Ryder. Let’s go.” I loosely laced Ally’s shoes around my ankles, standing back up as Wyatt draped one of the blankets around my shoulders. “Brace yourself, gorgeous.” He opened the door and the bitter cold assaulted me.

  “W-why a-are we going b-back outside?” My teeth chattered as I followed him out the doorway and into the darkness of the night; the flurrying that we’d walked through at the base of the mountain had made its way to the top, the flakes gently falling around us, glimmering from the faint light of the hut like tiny sequins or sparkles shimmering in the night sky.

  Without all of my snow-gear, the cold was a different story. It was the kind of cold that another fifteen minutes outside and my nostrils would be so frozen and numb that sucking in a breath would collapse them against the inside of my nose.

  Wyatt walked maybe ten steps away from the warming hut before stopping. When I came up beside him, he wrapped his arms and blanket around my shoulders, holding my back against his hard and deliciously hot chest, creating a warm cocoon around me.

  “Look up,” he whispered in my ear.

  Tipping my head back against his shoulder, I gasped at the sight above us. Thousands of stars twinkled in the black sky above. Even though my house was a respectable distance from the center of town, the stars never looked like this. On the top of the mountain, it felt like the whole world disappeared beneath us, leaving just the two of us, the snow, and the stars.

  “This is incredible,” I murmured, my words not even doing the scene justice; I no longer felt the cold, I was so wrapped up in this experience—so wrapped up in Wyatt.

  “You are incredible.” He nibbled on my earlobe, the static of desire shocking right down to my core. His words faded into the wind as we just stood there, his arms holding me tightly, as we were enveloped in the magic of the mountain.

  “I think I might be falling for you.” My whisper wafted into the night.

  His arms around me tightened and I knew that he’d heard. I turned in his embrace, looking up to meet his gaze. “I’ll catch you, gorgeous,” one hand slid up to brush my chin, “because I’ve already fallen.”

  The moment was frozen, our emotional confession holding us hostage with its weight. Ever so slowly his head dipped down, my breath releasing when his lips claimed mine. His first kiss was soft and tender and I felt like my entire life was up in the air. When he kissed me a second time, I wasn’t sure that I ever wanted to come back down. The gentle urgency was replaced with a demanding desire that took just as much as it gave.

  Tearing his lips from mine, both of us gasping for air, he uttered, “Let’s go inside. I want dessert.”

  I shivered—not because of the frigid temperature or more rapidly falling snow. His hands moved to my ass and lifted; quickly realizing that he intended to carry me, I wound my arms around his neck and locked my legs around his waist. Each of the ten steps back to the hut was torture as his every footfall shoved his erection against my core.

  He didn’t set me down—not to open the door nor once inside. Kicking the door shut, he pulled my boots off one at a time before moving to remove his own. I clung to his neck for dear life, chuckling as he managed to accomplish the task not only without injury but with relative ease. Slowly, he knelt, bringing us to the ground.

  I lost myself in his next kiss, barely registering the feel of the pillow underneath my head or the blanket underneath my back. I kept my legs locked around him and he answered my desire, grinding himself against my core as his tongue thrust into my mouth.

  One of his hands stayed on my cheek while the other
moved to my chest, inching its way up underneath my shirt.

  “Take it off,” I begged. His hoarse breath rushed against my neck as he growled his assent, gripping the edge of my tee and dragging it over my head. I had no idea that this was what he was planning, but I was glad that I’d chosen my black and bright blue lace bra, the underwire making what little shape I had much more attractive.

  Then his mouth was on mine again, his fingers cupping me through the lace, his thumb using the fabric to tease over my nipple that I desperately wished was in his mouth.

  “Can I taste you, gorgeous?” He rasped into my mouth.

  I moaned, “I need you to.” I didn’t have to say anything else. My legs dropped to the side as he hooked his fingers underneath the edge of my yoga pants and tugged them down, rocking back on his heels so that he could pull them completely off.

  “Fuck, Channing.” His eyes smoldered down at me, realizing that my panties matched my bra. He stared at my body like he wanted to eat me alive and underneath that kind of gaze alone, I felt like I was on the edge of an orgasm. “Did you do this on purpose?”

  “I always wear matching.” I watched how every muscle in his body looked like it was tight enough to burst.

  “Jesus Christ.” The thrill of power shot through me, hearing his words. I relished that I—the tomboy, the girl that passed for her brother, the girl with no girly clothes or habits—could make him weak.

  “Is matching underwear your weakness?” I teased breathlessly, trying to ignore the ache in my body that needed him to touch me.

  His eyes jumped to mine and my breath caught at the intensity of desire inside of them. “No, gorgeous. You are.”

  I lost my breath, my hips jerking up as the tremors of release begged to be set free.

  His hands spread my thighs, his right hand sliding up my inner leg straight to my core. He didn’t pause or tease, instead his two fingers slipped right underneath the edge of my panties and straight inside of me, curling against that magical spot that only he could find.

  “Who knew,” he groaned with a hint of a laugh, “that I could be on a mountain and be able to dip my fingers in an ocean at the same time.” I could only press myself against his hand, needing more. “You’re so wet for me.”