by M. E. Carter
“I did. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t . . . I mean. I don’t know what I mean.”
Just as I’m about to tell her what I’m sorry for, the barista calls our names and places our cups on the counter. Stepping up to the counter, we grab the coffees and turn to walk away when I stop her.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?” she asks, taking a sip from her coffee.
“Who’s Bobby?”
“I have no idea but apparently I really fucked up killing him.”
At that, we both break out in full belly laughs as we walk toward the signing room.
Chapter 15
Aggi
Next Stop: Aspen
Home of the Winter X Games, circa 2002 – 2018
To my surprise, the “super fan” was not quite as angry as she led me to believe at first. When the signing finally started, and we noticed her standing in line, Spencer got really tense, really fast.
Not sure what that was about. He’s fast enough to get away if she started getting handsy.
I tried hard to give her the benefit of the doubt. Turns out, I was right. She was lovely. Okay “lovely” might be a stretch. She was still brash and assertive, but after she apologized for her display in the coffee shop, we got to talking and it became clear that she has an intense love of storylines and character development.
And maybe she needs to get out just a teensy bit more. But I wasn’t going to say that out loud. No reason to poke the bear. Or Bobby’s mama bear as the case may be.
Still, it had me wondering about my reaction. It’s not unusual for me to hyperventilate when I feel anxious. Hell, most of my falling incidents are probably related to me not realizing I’m holding my breath. Yeah. We’ll go with that as an explanation.
But what about that moment provoked such intensity?
It’s the thought I’ve had over the last twenty-four hours, and now that we’ve landed in Aspen and are at the condo of one of Spencer’s friends, I’ve come up with a three-part answer.
One: I’m exhausted. As a natural introvert, peopling takes a lot out of me. It’s the main reason I’m never seen at after parties or drinking in the lobby after an event.
Two: I’m even more exhausted because I don’t feel like I can relax around Spencer. Despite how nice he is and how much I enjoy being around him, he’s still my muse. My inspiration. My fantasy. That means my guard is continually up. Even when he’s in the hotel room next door, I’m always nervous. What if I snore really loudly and he can hear me through the wall? What if my key accidentally opens the wrong hotel room door and magically end up in his room only to catch him watching elephant porn or something equally traumatic?
Even worse, what if a fire alarm goes off and we all have to race down the stairs in our footy pajamas and I slip and fall and tumble down four flights of stairs to the death of my pride and inevitable internet viral stardom? I’m sure I’ll end up on the Murphy’s Law website at some point. There’s so much that could go wrong.
And three: My. Looming. Deadline.
One would think that being on the road with the man that makes all my fantasies swirl into my brain and onto paper like a wizard, this story would be a breeze to write, especially after he kissed me. Because OHMYGOD SPENCER GARRISON KISSED ME! But it’s not. Sure, I’ll get a few pages jotted down here and there, but mostly I’m so busy ensuring I’m not making a fool out of myself while trying to come up with scenarios that will require mouth-to-mouth again that my brain won’t work.
Feeling discouraged and admittedly hiding from Spencer under the guise of “working,” I pick up the phone to call the one person who might be able to get me out of myself long enough to get rolling. Making sure to mute the television while it rings, I avoid looking at the screen. For an X Games fan, I dropped the ball and dropped it hard. Not five miles away the winter games are in full swing, while I sit on a guest bed like the dumb ass who never realized she’d be in Aspen at the same time the winter athletes were competing. Instead of packing my puffy winter coat, I packed my petticoat for a little extra flair. Because flair is really going to keep me warm in winter.
Seriously, how much more can I sabotage myself?
“’Ello?” a deep British voice answers, some weird echo in the background, distracting me from self-depreciating thoughts.
Pulling the phone away, I look at the number. Did I misdial or something? I don’t know anyone with a British accent.
Nope. That’s it, all right.
“Todd?”
“Yes. ’Ello Gov’na.”
I shake my head, utterly confused already and we’ve been talking for all of two seconds.
“Are you auditioning for a role in My Fair Lady or something?” Seriously. This is so weird. Although it is Todd I’m talking to, so maybe it’s not all that strange.
“’M practisin my British accent for yer book.”
Furrowing my brow, I mentally race through the list of characters in the story he’s working on. “Uh, Todd?”
“Yes, Love.”
“There isn’t a British person in that story.”
“Oh, I know. Figured I’d spice things up a bit. Make ’em li’l more excitin.”
“Also, you don’t sound British.”
He gasps, and I can practically hear him throw his hand over his heart dramatically, eyes wide, and a look of horror on his face. So not only is he trying to be British, but now he’s channeling Nathan Lane in The Birdcage? Yes, the 90s classic is one of our favorites but I’m so confused.
“’Ow could you say that? Fer yer information, the lass at the grocery thought I was really from England.”
“The cashier who only speaks in Instagram hashtags? I’m not sure she’s a reliable source. Also, you just switched to a Scottish accent.”
He huffs and gives up. “Fine. If you want to stick with boring American English, that’s what I’ll do.”
I just roll my eyes at his comment. “Todd, there is not one person in the book who is from Europe. Why would they need an accent?”
“To spice things up?”
“Todd—”
“Oh come on, Aggi! I wanna really show my range. How about if someone is Canadian, eh? You know there are lots of Canadian snowboarders, eh?”
“None of them are on my fictional American snowboarding team.”
“They will be once I add some ‘ehs’ to the sentences.”
“And then it won’t Whispersync for all my audio lovers. Todd!” I yell over him as he continues to try on new voices.
“What!”
Suddenly, I hear the echo in the background again and I come to a very gross realization.
“Are you—Todd did you answer the phone while you’re in the bathroom?”
His pause is the only answer I need. Screwing up my face I can’t help but yell “Eeeeeew!!!!”
“What? The acoustics are great in here.”
I shake my head and snuggle down onto the half dozen pillows I’ve surrounded myself with. This is why Todd and I are best friends. As odd as he is, he’s always entertaining.
“Speaking of my new gig as your numero uno narrator, how’s the new book coming?”
I groan my response, giving myself away.
“That good, huh?”
Huffing, I push my hair off my face and close the lid to my laptop, tossing it on the cloud of pillows next to me. Why pretend I’m going to actually get any writing done? “I just can’t seem to get in the right mindset. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll be able to focus until this tour is over. It’s impossible to write with Spe—so many people around.”
Thankfully, he ignores the very obvious direction change, sniggering instead. “I love you, but you’re so full of shit.”
Gaping incredulously, I quip, “How rude!”
“I’m serious, Aggi,” he says with a chuckle. “You’re in, what, Slade McConough’s ski condo?”
“Yeah.”
“Slade McConough. One of the world’s best freestyle skiers i
n the world. The guy we’ve cheered on for years.”
“Yeah,” I squeak.
“And you are in his home. He probably has medals and equipment and maybe even a master bedroom where snow bunnies have rubbed out—”
“Todd!” I yell.
“—his sore muscles, ya perv.” Okay, he got me there. “Wander around with your Spotify list on from your last book. Check out his book shelves and toiletries. Sit on the balcony and watch the skiers go down the mountains. Go through his underwear drawer.”
“I’m not going through his underwear drawer, Todd.”
I can practically hear him waving me off. “Missed opportunity. My point is, you are in Aspen, baby. There is inspiration all around you. Get out of your head and let it flow. You’re going to some of the events, right?”
“No,” I whisper, ashamed once again at my epic fail.
“Aggi! Are you kidding me? Why not?”
Throwing the covers off me I sit straight up. “I didn’t cross reference the dates and didn’t exactly pack my heavy coat for walking from the airport to the car, from the car to the building. It’s actually winter here.” I argue. “Besides, my schedule is usually pretty tight I didn’t think we’d have the downtime. Also there have to be a million people. It’s crazy here.”
“Ugh, Ags. I love you, but you are losing it.”
As much as I hate it, he’s right about one thing. I have to get out of my head. My anxieties and insecurities about this whole tour are making it exponentially harder to focus. That’s not Spencer’s fault or my publicist’s fault or the fans’ s fault. It’s my own doing.
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right, love,” he says in his horrific accent again.
“Still no to the cockney.”
“Dammit,” he mutters. “So, other than forgetting the biggest event of our lives down the street”—I roll my eyes as he continues—“tell me how the tour has been so far.”
We chat a little longer about everything from the tour to his mom to my editor Greer’s unexpected pregnancy. I had no problem shouting “I told you so!” when I got her text. Thoughts of writing a book about her pop into my head again. I jot it down on my list of storylines I’ll probably never get to.
Eventually, though, we run out of topics and I realize I’m avoiding again.
Sighing, I give in. “I guess I should actually go crank out some words now.”
“Yeah,” he adds. “And I need to start voicing this book for real.”
“Wait,” I say as a thought comes to me. “You haven’t started yet?”
A muffled sound comes through the phone, like he just shrugged with the phone too close to his shoulder. “What can I say? You’re not the only one who’s afraid of majorly screwing up for all the world to see.”
I blink rapidly a few times. “But, Todd, your audition was amazing. You could seriously be one of the greats in this industry.”
He chuckles, and I know the moment of vulnerability is gone. “Of course I could. But do I really want to put that kind of pressure on the other guys?”
Shaking my head, I don’t bother pushing. Todd is really, really good at being rock steady. That little glimpse of insecurity is all I’m going to get. “Yes. Yes you do want to put the pressure on the other guys. So hop to it. No don’t hop. You have my same lack of agility. Walk slowly and carefully to your new studio.”
“Will do gov’na.”
“No accents!” I yell into the phone, hearing his deep laugh before the phone goes dead.
Tossing it to the side I pick up my laptop, unmute the television still playing the games in the background, and hope for some sort of fog to take me over, making the words flow from my fingertips. A rookie snowboarder is making a run. I watch as he picks up speed before making his way up and over the lip, his body twists and turns, spinning like it’s the most natural movement before landing and doing it again.
Yeah, this should give me all kinds of fodder to write about, so I keep focusing.
Still focusing.
Focusing some more.
Stiiiiiill waiting.
“Dammit, Todd,” I grumble. Maybe he’s right. Maybe wandering around will do me good. But before I can decide that, I hear a soft knock on the door.
“Come in.”
Spencer’s handsome face peeks between the door and the jamb. “Hey,” he says with a smile. “I thought you might need a break.”
Dropping my head to my chest I answer honestly. “A break would insinuate I’ve actually gotten anything accomplished.”
I see the door open wider and watch him step through. “But you’ve been up here for a couple hours. I thought you were working today.”
Closing my laptop and once again tossing it next to me, I decide to level with him. “I’ve been fighting with this story for weeks and I don’t know how to fix it. Todd thinks I’m stuck in my head and maybe walking around the house will do me some good.”
He looks confused, so I elaborate. “To get some inspiration.”
“Why would walking around the house give you inspiration?”
Realizing Todd’s suggestions would sound creepy to the wrong ears, I opt to play it off. “Oh ya know. Gets the blood flowing to my brain and all.”
He nods and lets it go, thankfully. “Well, if you need inspiration, I actually know a great place to go to get it.”
“You do?”
A wolfish grin crosses his face. “Yeah I do. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. How quickly can you be ready to go?”
“Go? Go where?”
“Nu-uh. I’m not telling you. It’s a surprise.” Now he has me intrigued, if not a little nervous. “Just dress for the weather and make sure you have your camera. I’ll take care of everything else. But since there are reporters everywhere, make sure to dress like Adeline Snow.”
Before I can even ask what he’s talking about or why I should put my war paint on, he spins out of the room.
Spencer Garrison has a surprise for me. That’s what we call a major plot twist.
Chapter 16
Spencer
Using my connections, or in this case ammo on a buddy, isn’t my usual MO for a date. Okay, so reality is, I don’t date much. But, tonight I’m counting this as a date. I knew when I saw the schedule that the Winter Games were going to cross with our event here in Aspen. I’m sure that’s the entire reason we’re here. When Aggi didn’t say anything about it, I thought maybe she was only interested in the Summer Games as a spectator.
When she went upstairs to work earlier today, I did some laundry, checked in with Kate, and then went to town to scout a few possible locations for a Garrison Foundation park. The idea of seeing if she wanted to at least get out of the condo and grab some dinner was heavy on my mind all day but the moment I stuck my head in her room and saw the look of frustration and annoyance on her face, I knew I needed to step up that plan.
So, with a quick call to a friend, and a threat of posting his naked ass in a pair of chaps on social media later, I have two VIP passes to all the events for the next two days. Tonight, I thought I’d take Aggi to an exclusive club that not only has an open bar with amazing food, but the views of the various competitions is beyond anything we could see standing among the masses. Plus, we’ll get to hear some kick-ass tunes tonight with some major headliners at a concert. This is date gold for two extreme sports fans.
What I hadn’t expected when I told her to meet me downstairs and dress for the weather was for her to appear looking like a toddler spending her first day on the bunny slopes. With more layers than I could count, she looked ridiculous. And adorable. Her arms stuck out a little at her sides and the two scarves she had wrapped around her neck made it almost impossible for me to see the lips I’ve been thinking of non-stop since my attempt to calm her in Minneapolis.
I know Slade keeps a few extra jackets and pairs of snow pants around for when he has guests, so I went rummaging through the closets until I foun
d a set I thought would fit Aggi after sending her off to change.
Finally, she’s reappeared in a pair of tight fitted jeans and a snug white Henley with only one scarf around her neck. I stop walking and stare at her. Gone is the messy bun on her head that screams Aggi and in its place is a sleek side ponytail. Her glasses have been removed and while she’s wearing makeup, it’s still light and shows off her natural beauty. There’s no denying it; Adeline Snow is a beautiful woman. But Agnes Sylvester is fucking perfection.
“You know I’m going to freeze to death the minute I walk out of that door,” she sasses, and I laugh.
“That’s why I found these for you. Just slide your sweet ass into these pants and put on this jacket.”
“Excuse me?” She gasps. Shit did I say that aloud? By the look on her face, I did.
“Sorry. I mean, here ya go, put on these pants and we’ll be on our way to your surprise. Where’s your camera?” I walk away, leaving her standing in place staring at me, her arm outstretched with the pants in her hand and her mouth wide open. It’s probably best to run now before I get a tongue lashing. To my surprise, instead of a lashing as I walk from the room, she breaks out into a fit of sweet giggles.
“Sweet mother, it’s cold out here. What level of crazy do you have to be to choose to live here?” Aggi has been going on about the freezing temps for the last fifteen minutes as the shuttle takes us to the mountain. Laughing as I pull her close to me, I sling my arm around her shoulder, rubbing my hand up and down her arm in an attempt to give her some warmth as the shuttle slows to a stop and the other riders begin stepping off the bus. When it’s our turn, I grab her hand and tug her behind me.
The ride is not that long, but the warmth is welcome, downright exciting for Aggi. So much so that the moment we step from the bus, she gasps and mumbles about the cold again. Laughing, I step out of the crowd of people walking and pull her behind me. When we’re far enough from the crowd, I turn to her and pull the beanie from my head and tug it onto hers. Eyes wide, she looks up at me confused and I grip her chin between my thumb and forefinger. The need to kiss her nags at me but I push it aside. Later. Right now, my girl needs to have some fun and get out of her head. My girl. Odd that’s how I think of her now, but the idea of it makes me smile and not want to run for the hills.