by Tracy Wolff
My phone rings just as I duck behind the counter of the shop. Employee rules are we can’t take calls while on the floor, but when I glance down, I realize the call is from Logan’s home health care aide. I don’t have a choice. I glance at Mandy, the girl who’s been working the counter with me all morning. She’s finishing off her shift—as soon as I get back from break, she gets to go home. But I have to take this.
She can see it in my face, and though she rolls her eyes a little, she motions for me to take the call. I mouth a quick thank-you, then dart back out to the hallway to answer.
“Yeah? Is everything okay, Sarah?” Even as I ask the question, my blood is turning to ice in my veins. She never calls me unless there’s a problem, so even as I ask, I know something’s not right.
“Everything’s fine,” she tells me in her soothing voice. Of course, that’s another clue that it isn’t—she only uses that tone when she’s getting ready to break the bad news.
“Where’s Logan?”
“He’s in the car, with me. He’s fine, but we had a little accident and I’m taking him in to Urgent Care to have him looked at.”
My palms start to sweat. “What’s wrong? His back?” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I knew I shouldn’t have left him this morning, knew I should have stayed home. He wasn’t happy, wasn’t feeling right and—
“No, no, his back is fine. He was outside, shooting baskets, and he ended up losing his balance. He fell out of his wheelchair and hit his head pretty hard. The doctor and I agree he should have an X-ray.”
“Shooting—” I cut myself off before I spew obscenities all over her. What the fuck was my paralyzed brother doing outside, shooting baskets? “Where are you taking him? I’ll meet you—”
“No, you won’t.” Logan’s voice comes through the speakerphone. “I’m fine, man. Just finish work and I’ll see you at home later.”
“You’ll see me at the Urgent Care clinic in fifteen minutes—”
“Jesus, Ash. Stop fucking mother-henning me, okay? I’m good. Just a little bump. I wouldn’t even be going except Sarah wrestled me into the car.”
“I’m not arguing with you about this. Put Sarah back on the phone.”
“I’m here. And he really is fine, Ash. We’re just being cautious.”
“Are you taking him to the clinic on Maple? Or the one on—”
“If you take off work for this, I swear, I’ll put itching powder in every pair of underwear you’ve got. You know Luc and Cam will help me.”
“Logan—”
“Say good-bye, Ash.”
The phone goes dead, and though I call back—twice—nobody picks up. Goddamnit. Stupid fourteen-year-old punk thinks he knows what’s best for everyone, even me. Especially me.
I take a deep breath, run my hand over my eyes as I try to get my shit back together. I need to go in there and try to charm Mandy into staying late so I can get to the doctor’s. She’s done it for me before—three times this month alone—and I hate to ask it of her. But Logan’s been my responsibility ever since my parents died. I have to be there for him. I have to.
Except Mandy takes one look at my face when I walk in the shop and starts shaking her head. “I can’t today, Ash. I can’t. I have to take my grandma to the doctor.”
Shit. “Yeah, of course. Go. I’ve got this.” I look at the short line of guests in front of me and want to hit something. I feel like I’m being drawn and quartered, pulled in so many different directions at the same time that I’m beginning to rip straight down the middle.
“You want me to call Alex?” she asks as she ducks out from behind the counter. “See if he can take over?”
“Nah. He’s not here right now, anyway.”
She hesitates. “Is Logan okay? I mean, maybe I can—”
I force a smile that I don’t feel. But she’s a good friend and I don’t want her to feel guilty for something that totally isn’t her fault. “He’s fine. Fell out of his wheelchair, but he’s fine. He’s with Sarah and I’m just overreacting.”
She relaxes. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
She leaves and I turn to help the next people in line. It’s an easy rental—they want some sports equipment and a stroller—but I’m so busy worrying about Logan that I fuck it up anyway. And the next order and the next one and the one after that.
By the time the line dwindles to nothing, I’m about to jump out of my skin. I call Sarah again, who answers this time and tells me they’re waiting their turn at the Maple Street clinic. She assures me one more time that things are under control, but I can’t help worrying.
My brother, my responsibility. If anything else happens to him, I don’t know what I’ll do. It’s already my fault that he’s in that wheelchair, my fault that he’s got to finish growing up without his parents. Anything else would be serious overkill.
But if I’ve learned anything these last six months, it’s that the universe doesn’t give a fuck about overkill. Sometimes it just keeps heaping on the shit until you can barely stand up under the weight. Then it heaps on some more, just for the pleasure of watching your knees slam into the ground.
I hang up from Sarah, glance behind me at the rental counter. There’s only one person in line right now, a young girl with short, bright pink hair and I hold a finger up to her in an I’ll-be-right-there gesture. Then I do the only thing I can do—call Cam and beg her to go check on Logan at Urgent Care.
“Sure, of course,” she tells me without any hesitation at all. “Is he at that one on Maple?”
“Yeah. Sarah says he’s fine, but—”
“But you just want to be sure. I get that.” I can hear her turning off the TV, then the rattle of her keys as she scoops them out of the old trophy she keeps them in. “I’ll call you once I’m there and I know something. Okay?”
“Yeah, that’s great.” I close my eyes as relief sweeps through me. I really do have the best fucking friends in the world. “Thanks.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
She hangs up before I can say anything else.
I’m still jumpy, still freaking out about the whole thing, but at least I can breathe a little now. At least I can focus. Maybe.
I turn back to the counter with a smile I don’t even try to make look real. And come face-to-face with the little girl with the pink hair. Except, one good look tells me she’s not so little, despite her small, short frame. A second look tells me she’s fucking beautiful—all big, hazel eyes, pale, smooth skin and pink, puffy lips that would look great wrapped around my cock, or any other part of my anatomy.
Maybe the afternoon isn’t a total loss, after all. Especially not if I can get laid in the supply closet by the prettiest girl I’ve seen in a long, long time. If nothing else, it’ll take my mind off my brother for ten minutes.
Maybe longer if this girl is as athletic as I’m hoping she is …
Chapter 2
Tansy
“How can I help you?” Ash asks, leaning against the counter with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
I swallow a little, try to talk, but my throat suddenly feels like a desert. But who can blame me? I’ve seen pictures of Ash Lewis—of course I have. He’s one of the most talented, and popular, snowboarders in the world and he’s been on a million magazine covers. Or at least he was, before he walked away from last year’s X Games, the 2014 Winter Olympics and everything in between. Since then, nobody seems to know what Ash is doing, or who he’s doing it with.
After the assignment came in, I spent an hour Googling him during the snowtrain ride up here. I’d wanted to read about him, to figure out what makes him tick so I could prepare myself for this meeting. Instead I found myself staring at picture after picture of him—some in full snowboarding gear, some in regular clothes, some with his shirt off. I even saw a few of him in the half-pipe wearing nothing but his underwear and snowboarding boots.
I might have spent a little too long staring at t
hose pictures. But again, who can blame me? I’ve never seen anyone rock a pair of red boxers the way Ash Lewis can. Even when it’s twenty degrees out.
And still, all that research—all those pictures—haven’t prepared me for my first face-to-face meeting with the guy. How could they when they didn’t capture the deep, crazy blue of his eyes, a blue that reminds me of the water off Maui, where my parents took me for my sixteenth birthday.
And then there’s his jaw and cheekbones, both of which look like they could cut glass.
And his biceps, which look even bigger in real life.
And those jeans, with the strategically placed tears at the top of his right thigh and over his left knee.
And—
I cut myself off before I end up drowning in my own praises—or is that my drool?—for Ash Lewis. He’s hot enough that I totally could, but that’s not why I’m here. I have much more important business to deal with than trying to find the perfect color to describe his blond hair.
With that thought in mind, I clear my throat, try to remember the spiel I worked up on the train. But I’m so nervous that nothing’s coming. This is my first big assignment, the first time anyone’s trusted me to do this on my own. And while I know it has more to do with my proximity to Park City than it does faith in my abilities, I’m determined not to blow it. This is too important for me to make a mistake.
“Hey,” Ash says, laying a hand over mine where it rests, trembling, on the counter. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I squeak out. “Everything’s fine.” Except for the fact that Ash freaking Lewis is rubbing his thumb softly over the back of my hand. That is definitely something, but I don’t think fine is the right word.
“Good.” He reaches up and tugs on a lock of my messily cut hair. “You look good in pink.”
“Umm … thanks?”
He laughs. “You’re welcome.”
He stares at me expectantly, and there’s a part of my brain that is shouting at me to speak. To tell him why I came. But the rest of my brain is barely functioning. It’s too dazed by the fact that he touched me. That he complimented me. That he’s looking at me, even now, one brow raised inquisitively while those eyes of his—those crazy, beautiful eyes—rake over me from top to toe.
“So,” Ash says after a minute where I continue to gaze blankly at him. “Is there something I can help you with?”
About a million inappropriate answers float through my head, but—thank God—so does the right one. Just the thought of why I’m here, of Timmy, snaps me to attention and finally, finally, gets the blood flowing to my brain again.
“Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you for a few minutes.”
That eyebrow of his goes even higher. “You want to … talk?”
“Umm, yeah. If this isn’t a good time, I can come back later …”
“No, this is fine. This afternoon seems to be pretty slow around here.”
“Great.” I smile a little in relief. This is turning out to be easier than I thought it would be. I mean, as long as I remember to breathe. And not to look him in the eye for longer than a second or two. And don’t swallow my own tongue. If I do all that, then it should be easy-peasy. Or at least, that’s the story I’m sticking to.
But before I can get anything else out, the bell on the door rattles and a young couple comes in with their two small children.
Ash straightens up from the counter, and after directing a smile and a wink—a wink!—my way, he asks the parents, “What can I do for you?”
“We were hoping to rent a boat,” the father says. “But we’ll need life jackets for the little ones and anything else you think necessary.”
“Life jackets should do it,” Ash says with a lazy smile. This one actually reaches his eyes and I feel my knees tremble a little at the power of it. “You’ll also get your oars here, then when you get to the dock, they’ll give you a motor and point you to a boat. Sound good?”
It must have, because money and oars change hands, as well as two of the most garish life vests I’ve ever seen. Bright orange and neon pink at the base, they’re decorated with wild patterns in a variety of fluorescent colors. They’re a little blinding, if I’m honest, but then I figure that’s pretty much the point. No one’s going to miss the kids if they’re wearing those.
By the time Ash is done with the family, two other groups have lined up for service. Ash glances at me as he waits on them, almost like he’s checking on me, making sure I’m still there. The thought warms me for completely unprofessional reasons, and I spend the extra time reworking my spiel into one that even an idiot could remember. I’m determined not to fall victim a second time to Ash’s intense indigo stare.
It takes about fifteen minutes before the shop is empty again, and then Ash is back, lounging indolently against the counter as he rubs a strand of my hair between his fingers. My hair is short—really short, thanks to the last round of chemo—so his hand is only a few inches from my scalp. The knowledge that he could easily brush his knuckles over my forehead or down my cheek makes the proximity even more exciting.
“You stayed,” he says.
“Yes.”
“That surprises me.”
I narrow my eyes at him, confused. “Why?”
“You don’t seem the type to wait around for something like that.”
I’m really confused now, but I’m determined not to let him see it. I’ve already made a big enough idiot of myself in front of him. It’s past time for me to act like a rational person. “I told you I wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah.” He lifts his arms palms up, gesturing to the empty room as if to say, talk away.
“I—” I pause, duck my head. “I was actually hoping we could talk somewhere a little more private.” The shop isn’t packed, but it’s definitely busy. Already I can see someone waiting next to the door, as if he’s thinking about coming in.
Ash’s brows hit his hairline this time. “Somewhere private?”
“Is that okay? Like I said, I can come back later if that’s better.”
“It’s fine, but—” He breaks off when his cell phone buzzes. He doesn’t look at me as he pulls it out of his pocket and reads a text. For a second, just a second, his face seems to crumple. Just as quickly, a blank mask settles over him and he’s typing something back, rapid-fire.
I want to ask if everything’s okay—if he’s okay—but it seems inappropriate. So for long seconds I don’t say anything and neither does he. Silence stretches taut between us.
“You still up for talking?” he asks, a strange emphasis on the last word as he ducks out from under the counter and walks toward the door.
“Yes!” God, Tansy, eager much? “I mean, of course.”
He nods, flipping the small sign on the door so that the side that reads “Will return in ten minutes” and has a picture of a clock on it, is facing outward. Then he’s grabbing my hand and all but dragging me behind the counter and into a room in the back.
“Wow,” I say after a second, my eyes struggling to adjust to the dimness. “It’s really dark in here.”
Ash doesn’t answer. I start to turn around to see what’s going on—I’m beginning to feel like I’m the only one not in on the punch line—but then he’s there, right behind me. His chest resting against my back, his palm flat against my stomach.
“What—” I squeak and I know I sound about three years old, but holy shit! Forget jokes, I feel like I’ve tumbled down the rabbit hole. “What are you doing?”
“I thought that was obvious,” Ash answers, his voice low and amused. His hand is rubbing soothing circles against my abdomen and part of me wants nothing more than to melt into him. To let him touch me however—wherever—he wants to.
“It’s … not,” I gasp after a second, using every last ounce of sanity I have. It’s harder than it should be, but I’m blaming that on his proximity.
On the heat he’s radiating.
On the fact that his lips are—right
now—skimming over the curve where my neck meets my shoulder.
I shudder before I can stop myself.
“Huh.” His lips form a smile against my skin, his breath hot against the nape of my neck. “Maybe I should try something else, then.”
And he does. Oh God, he does. One, two, three open-mouthed kisses going in a vertical line up my neck, from my collar to my hairline.
His tongue licks out a little on the third one and my brain fogs over. I mean, literally fogs over. I’ve always wondered what that expression means and now I know. Everything around me is hazy, muddled, and my body is melting into his.
This is crazy, right? I have to be imagining it because this doesn’t happen. Not in real life. Not to girls like me.
I mean, no guy has ever come close to touching me like this before—and I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do here. It’s embarrassing, really, how inexperienced I am for my age.
I’m nineteen, but I’ve spent most of the last ten years in and out of the hospital as I battled cancer. Rhabdomyosarcoma, to be exact. Which means, except for a couple very awkward kisses that came after very awkward dates—set up by my family because they felt sorry for me—I have zero experience with guys. And I certainly have no experience with guys like Ash.
Part of me wants to go for it. It’s the same part that promised myself after this last round of chemo, after the doctor told me I was finally—finally—in remission, that I was going to live my life to the fullest. To experience everything I’ve missed in the last ten years. And it’s not like I don’t want to know what sex feels like. I do. I really, really do.
But when I decided to make up for lost time, it had never occurred to me that one of the experiences I’d missed was a nice-to-meet-you fuck in what looks like some kind of storage room. With a really hot professional snowboarder who obviously doesn’t suffer from the same confidence problems I do. And who I am supposed to be asking for help.