Up in the Air

by Rebecca Sharp

  He leaned in close to my ear. “Are you sure about that, Channing?” His finger dropped an inch lower, teasing me with its proximity to my nipple – the aching peak painfully hard against the lace bralette that I had on.

  No. Not by a long shot. “Yes.” Liar.

  He didn't say have to say it for me to see in his gaze that he knew I was lying. But, he didn't push any further and I was glad, because I would have given in.

  Maybe a few days was enough to make me stronger.

  His hand dropped back to his side and he walked towards the living room where the TV was on, Netflix waiting for me to make my choice.

  "So, what's on the schedule for tonight?" He turned and asked.

  "I already planned on watching ‘The Notebook’ so..." I trailed off, grinning at him with a small shrug as I followed him into the room.

  He laughed, taking a seat on the couch. "Your house, your rules, Miss Ryder. I have no car, so I am at your cinematic mercy."

  “You just have all the luck don’t you, Mr. Olsen?” I teased. “The truth is I have a borderline unhealthy addiction to the sappiest chick-flicks ever produced. However, if you mention this in public or to my friends I will have to go after your boards again.”

  Chick-flicks were a weakness – just like lacy lingerie, but I was only going to admit one of those to him – for right now at least.

  I sat down a respectable distance from him, scrolling through the titles until I found the Nicholas Sparks film. Dimming the lights, we settled into the couch, letting the movie distract the both of us from attraction that lay patiently waiting in the air.

  I made it to the part where my exhaustion won its first battle. Tipping over – in the opposite direction of what I really wanted – I lay my head on the pillow at the end of the couch, bending my knees and scooting my legs and feet onto the sofa, carefully avoiding any contact with Wyatt.

  "Rough rides this week?" I heard him ask softly.

  I turned and looked up at him. "Yeah, pretty brutal. As evidenced by the fact that I'm asking for your help. Why?" The movie continued to play in the background while I waited for his answer.

  "Give me your foot." I stared blankly at him. "I'm going to rub your feet. Unless you're weird about that." Ryan Gosling's voice hid the soft groan that escaped from my lips.

  That sounded incredible.

  "No, I don't," I murmured, sliding my legs out. Wyatt grabbed my ankles and pulled my feet onto his lap, adjusting himself underneath their weight. I immediately refocused my gaze on the TV, grateful that the dimmed lights meant he couldn't see me blushing. I could feel his erection underneath my left foot as he picked up the right one and began to rub.

  It felt so good.

  And I felt so guilty. I bit my lip to conceal my moans as he rubbed the aching soles of my feet; it felt incredible – even better than my bubble bath. I felt guilty knowing that while I was relaxed and enjoying every second of his touch, my proximity was only making his predicament worse. Even just from the brush of my foot, I could feel how hard he was, constrained in his jeans.

  No, Channing. Just watch the damn movie.

  I refocused on the screen, letting the pleasure of his touch radiate through me, trying to ignore the discomfort it was causing him and the guilt it was causing me. A few minutes later, exhaustion finally won the war. It was a good thing I'd seen the movie before, because the next thing I knew, I woke up alone on the couch with a blanket over me; the TV and the lights were off and Wyatt was gone. Holding the afghan tight around me, I pushed myself up, seeing a note on the coffee table.

  My eyes squinted in the dark.

  'Monday morning. 6AM. Cup of Joe. Sweet dreams, gorgeous.'

  Chapter 10

  Wyatt

  "Hey, mom," I answered my cell.

  "Wyatt! Honey!" Mary Olsen's voice exclaimed over the phone. "Oh, I'm so glad you called. How's practice going? Your dad and I can't wait to see you!" I smiled at her enthusiasm. Even after just about thirty years in the medical profession, my mother's energy and love of life hadn't been diminished by the demands of her job. Dr. Mary Olsen was the chief oncologist at the Royal Victoria Hospital in Montreal. Maybe it was because she encountered death on a daily basis that made her appreciation of life seem more vibrant than most.

  "Good, mom. Good." I took a sip from my water bottle, eyeing up the sandwich in front of me. Zack ditched me for lunch again to take Ally out, so after our morning ride, I was in the lodge eating alone; figured it was a good time to check in with my mom. "I told you that you and dad didn't have to take off to come out here again." My parents insisted on coming to every one of my competitions as though I were still in high school, instead of twice that age. Both for support and probably to be safe in the knowledge that if something did happen to me, there were two doctors in the immediate vicinity that would be able to help.

  "Don't even start with me Wyatt James Olsen; you know we wouldn't miss it." She harrumphed on the other end of the phone and I heard some shuffling and groaning.

  "Are you trying to take in all the groceries in one trip again?" I laughed. My dad hated when she did that.

  "Don't you dare tell your father." I laughed harder. My parents had been happily married for thirty-nine years. They were one of those couples that everything just seemed to work out for – the kind you secretly want to hate because of how perfect their life together had been, but can't because they are just so genuinely nice that it's impossible. "You know I hate leaving them in the car. Plus, I have a Bunko game tonight with the girls, so I can't just leave them sitting. I can't."

  "Alright, alright. But you owe me," I teased. My eyes glanced out the window of the lodge into the distance where the ski and snowboard lessons were being given, searching for her.

  I hadn't been lying when I told Channing on Saturday night that I couldn't stop thinking about her. Her slightly awkward, unfiltered thoughts, the way she insisted on one thing, only to turn around and kiss me in the exact opposite fashion. She was everything that drew me to the mountain – the beauty, the surprises, the adaptability, the constancy, the challenge. Channing stood there, challenging me to find out more about her, daring me to work my way closer to her, and drawing me deeper into her magic.

  After my last serious relationship – that ended amicably – with Emelia, I'd sworn on everything that was holy that I would never watch that godforsaken chick-flick, The Notebook, again. But, as soon as Channing had mentioned it, my first reaction was 'perfect'. Not because I wanted to see the damn thing again or even that I wanted to see it with her; no, I wanted to see her – the woman who was always with the guys, always one of the guys, the woman who didn't seem to have any interest in trying to be attractive (not that she needed to try), and the woman who was more focused on riding than relationships – I wanted to watch her; I wanted to watch her face and know why she picked a movie that was so fucking focused on only a relationship – focused on a couple that couldn't or shouldn't want each other. I wanted to see it in her face that that was what she wanted.

  Because if she did, I knew I'd fucking move the whole goddamn mountain to make her want it with me.

  I hadn't given a shit that my cock throbbed against the hard denim of my jeans, begging for her. Well, I did give a shit, but I ignored it.

  It was my own fault anyway – I shouldn't have gone down the 'no touching,' 'no kissing' road, but I couldn't stop myself; I'd been playing with fire, putting myself that close to her inferno. I could see in those seductive, sapphire eyes of hers that she wanted me – that she wanted more – but I wasn't about to coerce it from her. I wanted her to say it; I needed her to tell me it was ok to take - and fuck, did I want to take... But more than that, I wanted to be the winner in her war against herself.

  I wanted to win her want.

  I wanted to take that tight body of hers up onto the countertop, get rid of her t-shirt that was far too big and, more surprisingly, far too sexy. My finger had moved lower onto her shirt, torturing myself, along wit
h her. I wanted to take her small, pert breasts – breasts that I would have normally considered lacking – and cover them with my hands; the thought of them being encased in my grasp, completely possessed by my touch, did things to my mind and my dick that were beyond comprehension.

  And then those legs. I bit my cheek at the memory. Even though her t-shirt had hidden all the benefits of the yoga pants that she'd had on, I knew her legs were strong from riding. And I wanted them locked around my shoulders as my mouth devoured her sweetness.

  I shifted in my seat, glancing down to confirm that my snowpants and jacket were doing an acceptable job of hiding my raging hard-on. Fuck, Wyatt. Pull yourself together.

  I was on the phone with my mother for fuck's sake.

  I cleared my throat, hoping it would clear my mind. "Did you always know you wanted to be a doctor?"

  "What? Oh, I don't know about always." She laughed and I could hear her opening the refrigerator door. "I knew I wanted to help people; the doctor part came later. Why do you ask?"

  "Just wondering. Trying to figure out exactly what I want to do after this year."

  "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed like every mother would, "you know I didn't get my license until after your brother was born, right?"

  "What?" I set my sandwich down, my mouth full of the turkey, avocado, and tomato lunch special. What was she talking about? She'd always been a doctor. "You've always worked in the hospital."

  "Yes, but not as a doctor." She laughed again, surprised that I had no idea what she was talking about. "I mean, you were almost six when I became a doctor, so I doubt you would remember much before that, but I was a nurse up until I had you. So, yes, I still worked in the hospital, but it wasn't until after you were born and I was home taking care of you that I decided I wanted to become a doctor."

  I listened in complete shock. Not that my parents would intentionally keep anything from Zack or me, but somehow this had never come up in conversation before. She'd always tell us stories of when she worked at the hospital when she was pregnant with Zack, but I'd always just assumed it was as a doctor.

  "Yes, I was in my residency when I had your brother. I can't believe you didn't know this."

  I shook my head. I couldn't either.

  "Maybe I did and I forgot; I don't know."

  "Either way, I was a little older than you when I made the change. You're young, Wyatt. I don't care what your sponsors and everyone else are telling you; you have a whole life ahead of you to conquer more challenges. This was just the warm-up."

  I smiled to myself at her over-confident and calming words. I knew she and my dad would always be in my corner and I loved them for it. Her revelation had my mind reeling slightly.

  "Well, I wouldn't say that it was particularly warm..." I laughed and she did, too.

  "Very funny."

  "Speak of the devil, your other son is heading my way now, so I've got to run. Love you, mom." She returned my sentiment just before I hung up.

  "Who was that?" Zack eyed me suspiciously.

  "Mom." I chuckled, standing to put my gear back on.

  "Did you tell her that her favorite son said hello?" He smirked.

  "Well, yeah, I was the one who called her, so I did say hello," I shot back. This banter was the norm for us – always poking and prodding each other. It was a game off the slopes, but on the slopes, it had turned into a disaster – literally a full out brawl on the side of the mountain that resulted in our snowboards sliding down the rest of the trail without us. Needless to say, after that incident, Zack had signed up for ski lessons at the next opportunity.

  My little brother smiled at me with a look that said he'd get me back for that one later. "Did you know she was a nurse before she had you?"

  He looked confused for a second. "Yeah. You didn't?" What the hell. I didn't answer, pretending to be focused on my task. "You seriously need to stop stressing about this. You're going to win Slopestyle and Big Air and then you’ll have all the time and money to take a breather and figure out what the hell you want to do with your life."

  "Do you think I'd be a good teacher?" I blurted out, unable to stop the thought that Channing had planted in my mind from sprouting.

  Zack laughed in surprise. "What? What do you mean? Like teach snowboarding?"

  "Yeah."

  He stared at me, processing the thought. "Seriously?" The word was part laugh, like I was making a goddamn joke. Fuck. I grabbed my stuff and walked around him, heading for the stairs out of the building.

  Stupid idea, Wyatt. You're good at one thing and you're not going to be able to do it anymore. Get over yourself.

  "Hey, hold up there, bro!" Zack jogged up behind me, clapping his hand over my shoulder to halt my determined strides towards the board check. "Seriously, hold up. I didn't mean you wouldn't be. I just wasn’t expecting that at all and I needed a minute to think about it." I turned my head and raised an eyebrow at him, handing the kid behind the gate the keyring for my snowboard. "You know I can be slow at times... all that head trauma you inflicted on me as a child." Now I knew he was really trying to make up for his dick response.

  Grabbing my board and passing a buck to the teenager. I moved towards the lift, not waiting for Zack while he retrieved his skis.

  "Alright! I'm being serious, Wyatt!" A snowball hit the back of my head and I spun to face him, dropping my board into the powder at my feet. "C'mon. Gimme a sec."

  "Ok, answer," I replied curtly, zipping up my jacket and putting one foot on top of my board.

  He took a deep breath, knowing he had one more shot. "First, I don't know a whole lot. I do know that you taught me how to drive stick because mom was too afraid and dad was too impatient. I know that you helped me study for my exams so that I could go get my Masters. I think you tried to teach me how to snowboard before I left the darkside and came into the light, but I don't really remember that far back." I laughed and shook my head at the brief humor interjected into his answer. "I think you'd actually be a great teacher, but not because of any of those reasons."

  I raised an eyebrow. "What the hell do you mean?"

  He laughed at the memory he was about to recall. "The other day, I agreed to teach Ally to ski. Now, granted, I was a little preoccupied with more than just the skiing part, but I will willingly admit that I am a fucking horrible teacher. I could not, for the life of me, find the right things to say to get Ally to move the way that she needed to. I mean, she looked like a disaster on the bunny slope – like if she wasn't gorgeous and it wasn't completely my fault, I probably would have left her there." I glared at him. "Kidding! Calm down. But you get my point. After, I don't know, twenty minutes – maybe – all of my patience was gone. Don't worry," he put up a hand, "she felt the exact same way. Thank God, Tammy took pity on us and came over to give her some tips which immediately improved the entire afternoon."

  "My point is, is that experiencing how difficult it is to actually try to teach someone something and knowing how many things that you've taught me in my life – especially since I was probably not the best student – I really think you'd be a fucking great instructor. I mean, you sure as shit have the skills for it."

  He stopped there, stepping into his skis as I stood speechless for a second. How did he remember all that? Maybe I had fallen one too many times on my head – first, not knowing or remembering that my mom had been a nurse for years before becoming a doctor and now forgetting all the times that I'd taught, not just my brother, but friends, classmates, and girlfriends different things over the years.

  "So, do you really want to teach? Or are you just looking for another excuse to get close to Channing? Because I already helped you out there once, buddy; not my fault you didn't seal the deal."

  And my obnoxious little brother was back.

  I yanked one of his poles from his hand and tossed it behind him. "What the hell, dick!" I just laughed as he skated over to retrieve it, waiting until he'd turned around before I spoke.

  "Yes and while this do
es happen to be my other excuse, it's also not the reason I asked," I answered cryptically.

  "What are you talking about?" Zack pressed as we got on the lift, headed for the park. They hadn't even started checking passes yet, so we'd decided to risk his presence on the restricted trail.

  "Yes, I'm considering teaching or opening some sort of coaching school once this year is over. I also agreed to teach Channing the trick she's been trying to nail."

  "You sure that trick isn't you?" I smacked his arm. "Kidding!" He pretended to nurse his wound. "So, what you're saying is that this was all Channing's idea?"

  Shit.

  "Maybe," I grumbled, wishing the damn chairlift had a turbo button. Ok, it had been her thought. Not that it hadn't crossed my mind in the past, but never for more than a second. But when she mentioned about her school… As soon as the notion had crossed her lips, it had given me pause. Or maybe it was because it had crossed her lips...

  Hearing her tell me that I had potential for something other than winning, other than competing – that my skills wouldn’t go to waste and I could help people – teach people; it changed everything.

  "Interesting..." He trailed off. If he was expecting me to say more, he wasn't going to get it. "So what does she want you to teach her?"

  We pulled up to the top of Snowmass park. There were a good number of riders on the park already. Today would probably be the last day I could sneak Zack onto the trail with me; not a big deal, he had friends – and now, apparently Ally – to keep him entertained.

  "Triple Cork," I replied as I bent down to strap in. Even though he skied, Zack knew exactly what I was talking about – some trick names were universally known throughout both sports.

  Zack laughed and I should have known where this was going. "Yeah, I bet you want to triple cork her." I shot up and whipped a snowball at him, which he easily dodged, beginning to head down the slope as he yelled behind him, "That’s the one where you flip her over..." Dick. I tried to stop the laugh that was coming at his ridiculous insinuations. "And then spin her..." His voice echoed up the slope.