Field-Tripped

by Nicole Archer

And I grinned for a week straight.

  FOURTEEN

  Eli Hits The Slopes

  Survival Tip: Stress often brings out the dark side of a person. When planning a group expedition, make sure to carefully select your companions.

  Eli’s Mixtape: Benjamin Booker, “Violent Shiver”

  BRECKENRIDGE SKI AREA

  AT THE BASE of the mountain, Proton’s owners outfit everyone with gear and give the novices a mini lesson. Mini, as in a thirty-minute demonstration on how to put on and use the equipment.

  This does my coworkers no good. Getting on the chairlift proves to be an exercise in humility.

  Orion’s team, on the other hand, looks like they just stepped out of a ski magazine. They heckle us the whole time.

  After a monumental struggle, the female members of our team finally make it on the lift.

  Skip, Jerry, Sam, and I let a few impatient teenagers go then get on two chairs after them.

  This is a terrible idea. With the snow, visibility right now is maybe two feet.

  It’s been ten years since I’ve done this. What if I blow out my knee again?

  My reckless feats as a twenty-one-year-old strike me as completely stupid now that I’m thirty-one. I didn’t even wear a helmet back then.

  I’m wearing one now, by God.

  Heavy, wet snow spills down onto the slopes, suffocating all sound except for my breath blowing against my muffler.

  Living in New York, I’ve gotten used to the noise and pollution. Back in the day, I never would have pictured myself in a huge city. This was it for me. The mountains were my life.

  A boarder scrapes an edge on a run below and cuts through the silence. I restrain myself from glancing back at Charlie on the lift behind me.

  “This is so lit,” Jerry says.

  “Jerry, please refrain from using pre-teen slang in my presence,” Skip tells him.

  Jerry jabs me with an elbow. “Hey, St. James, so you never told us what was up with you and Orion’s owner. Why’s she such a bitch to you?”

  “She’s not a bitch.”

  Three sets of mirrored goggles focus on me, and instantly, I regret defending her.

  “St. James?” Skip coaxes. “Have you been cavorting with the enemy?”

  I stare ahead without answering.

  “Speaking of cavorting with the enemy…” Sam’s lips quirk to the side. “Anybody hear that herd of elk mating last night?”

  “Was that what that was?” Jerry says. “Thought it was Avery’s kid.”

  “I doubt Avery’s kid would yell, ‘Fuck me, Eli.’” Skip’s delivery is as dry as air.

  I hang my head and shake it. “Shit.”

  They all crack up at my expense, hooting and slapping their thighs.

  “Is this your plan to knock out the enemy?” Jerry lets loose a hearty guffaw. “Or should I say, knock up the enemy? Hahaha!”

  The usual “Shut it, Jerry,” doesn’t follow.

  My boss pulls out a flask from the inside of his coat, takes a stiff pull, and passes it to me. “Maybe she’ll give you a job after we lose.”

  And with that, the conversation about Charlie ends. Thank God my coworkers know when the joke is past its prime.

  We pass the flask around until it’s empty and chat about nothing in particular. A light buzz comes trickling in.

  The rest of the way, I come to think of us as soldiers in arms, fighting this silly war together.

  I miss this—friendship with men. I miss the subtle competitive insults, the lack of drama, and the ease of conversation.

  Ever since my buddy, El Love, moved in with his girlfriend Effie, I haven’t really hung out with any dudes.

  Near the top, we all jerk to attention and watch as our female coworkers approach the landing.

  “Dibs on who falls first?” Jerry muses.

  “Shut it, Jerry,” Skip replies.

  There’s a struggle and shouting.

  I wipe the fog off my goggles. “What the—?”

  “Oh, shit,” Sam mumbles.

  Avery beats the hell out of the lift operator with her ski pole. The poor guy lets go of the chair, and the bench springs up and heads back down the mountain with our team still on board.

  “Ffffffffff…” Skip continues until they pass us then finally releases the last syllables. “…uuuuuk.”

  “They didn’t get off,” Jerry says

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Sam replies.

  Avery waves at us then calls out to Orion’s team. “We’re beating you!”

  My other coworkers cackle like mean girls in high school and glide down the mountain with their middle fingers out.

  The Goth chick from Orion’s team screams at them. “You filthy, cheating whores!”

  “Street rulz, bitch!” Preeti shouts back.

  Slight surprise registers on Skip’s face. “I’m giving the intern a raise.”

  “To what?” I say. “A dollar?”

  “Worth every penny.”

  We arrive at the top, and I buckle my chinstrap. “Ready to ride, gentlemen?”

  “As ever, you bunch of pussies,” Jerry answers.

  “Shut it, Jerry,” we all say in unison and slide off the lift.

  We slide down the mountain like old men.

  Except Sam. He flies off the peak in his skis and lands right behind Duffy the Deadhead from the other team. We make fun of him for wearing cross-country skis, and then take off.

  Skip passes me on the left. “St. James, why aren’t you Olympic athlete-ing your ass down the mountain?”

  Jerry screams, “Yee haw!” and passes us with the tips of his skis together, snowplowing like a four-year old, his poles tucked under his armpits.

  I turn on the power and go for it. I can’t see four feet in front of me, and it’s exhilarating.

  We hit a dead end, with an option to take a shorter black diamond trail with moguls or a longer blue trail to the bottom. Moguls are hell for boarders.

  While we stop to discuss, Orion’s team passes us—the skiers jetting down the black and the boarders zooming down the blue.

  Sam takes off down the black and the rest of us speed down the blue.

  I shift into high gear and pass Joy and Wang. Charlie’s a leg ahead.

  Skip bursts out of the trees in front of them. “We’ve got you now, motherfuckers.”

  I laugh and shoot up my fist. “Yes!”

  Now I’m just behind Charlie.

  She pulls a sharp left and cuts through the trees.

  Wang brakes. “Dude, don’t go in there. You’ll get stuck.”

  “Just go,” Charlie yells. “Win!”

  Skip slides to a stop and bends over, panting. “Altitude’s getting to me.

  “It’s the pot, dude.”

  “Whatever, why aren’t you fleeing after them?”

  I stare into the trees.

  “Worried about the enemy?”

  “It’s not safe in there.”

  He nods. “In that other patch, the drifts were up to my nads. Is it a shortcut?”

  “If she makes it out.”

  He claps me on the back. “Better go see if she needs help.”

  Skip’s growing on me.

  I cruise a little further down to where the snow isn’t so deep and cut through the trees. Branches whack my helmet as I steer a path to Charlie ahead. “You’re going to bury yourself alive!” I shout.

  “Chicken!” she shouts back. “Bawk! Bawk!”

  There’s a crack and a grunt, and I no longer see her. I get stuck in a thicket and have to backtrack to make it out.

  Up ahead, she’s face down in the snow, not moving, her legs at an awkward angle.

  I land next to her and yank off my board.

  When I flip her over, there’s a giant, snow-covered grin shining up at me.

  “You little—I thought you were hurt!”

  She blows a raspberry and throws snow in my face. “Still a big fat loser after all these years. You’ll never beat m
e.”

  I try not to smile. “Did you hurt your shoulder?”

  “Nah.” She rolls it in demonstration.

  We’re quiet for a beat. It’s uncomfortable. “You know,” I say, “I let you win all those times.”

  “Pfft. Right. Only losers say things like that.”

  “Think about it for a second. You really think you beat me at snowboarding?”

  She sits up and punches her fists in the air. “I am still the master.”

  “The master-bater.”

  She falls back and giggles. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages. I haven’t been snowboarding in years.” She licks the snow off her lips. “Are you having fun, despite…us?”

  I say nothing.

  She lifts her goggles so I can see her eye roll. “You could at least pretend.”

  I can’t help myself; I reach out and brush the snow off her lips.

  She frowns. “I miss you, Elliott.” Her voice is just an octave above the sound of the snow falling around us. “I’ve missed you forever.”

  My chest traps my breath. I lower my hand and don’t tell her what I’m thinking. I miss you, too.

  “Can we be friends again?” She takes my hand and squeezes it.

  Why does that feel like a booby prize? I don’t want to be her friend. I spent eight years being her friend, and it nearly killed me. Then I spent a year as her boyfriend, and it did kill me.

  With her, there is no in-between. When it comes to Charlie, friendship isn’t an option.

  My lack of response enrages her. “You can’t even be friends with me?”

  I raise my hands. “Hold on! I didn’t say that. It’s just…dangerous.”

  She heaves herself out of the drift and flaps her arms. “Dangerous? Dangerous! What? Are you afraid I’m going to leave you in the middle of a crisis? That’s your M.O., buddy, not mine.” She straps on her board and straightens her helmet.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To win this race.” And then she’s gone.

  Again.

  My skin tingles with heat. I just lost the race for Shimura’s team. By caring.

  My muscles burn the rest of the ride down. Toward the end of the run, I catch Skip shooting up the side of the super pipe in the snowboard park. Apparently, he’s not terribly distraught about losing.

  I stop to watch, amazed at how athletic he is. Skip’s always struck me as a sedentary guy.

  “Nice moves, dude,” I tell him when he exits the pipe.

  Skip pulls down his muffler and reveals a broad grin.

  It creeps me out a little. My boss only smiles when he wants something.

  “Man, I haven’t boarded since I took over the agency,” he says. “Hell, I haven’t really been outside since I took over the agency.”

  “You skate?” I ask.

  “Skate, surf, board. This shit’s like my religion.” He inhales the air.

  “Me too, man. I miss it.”

  “Look me up in the city. I’ll skate with you.” He drops the subject and picks up another. “You save hot toddy?”

  “Yeah, then she took off and left me.”

  “Ungrateful wench. Might as well ride then.”

  We take a couple more runs down the pipe and just as we gear up to leave, Deadhead Duffy appears with his skis over his shoulder, his ponytail whipping in the wind. He waves. “Broke my binding.”

  “Sucks, man,” I say. “Want to ride down on the back of my board?”

  Duffy jogs over. “Thanks, man.”

  Skip takes his skis and poles, and Orion’s copywriter climbs on the back of my board and grips my shoulders.

  “Oh, you’re so strong,” he jokes in an effeminate voice.

  I cut him a look. “Want a ride or not?”

  He laughs. “Ride on, stallion.”

  We coast down the mountain to the bottom. It’s a short ride, but a serious pain-in-the-ass. At the end, Duffy jumps off my board and runs like hell to the bar, leaving Skip and me still holding his equipment.

  “That son-of-a-dirty-snatched-pony-tailed bitch,” Skip says with the usual desert-dry tone.

  “Seriously, what a thunder cunt,” I add.

  Skip drops Duffy’s gear in the snow. “Hey, what did the Deadhead say when he ran out of weed?”

  “No idea.”

  “This music sucks.”

  I don’t laugh. “Second time today I’ve helped someone only to be screwed over.”

  My boss pulls off his helmet and goggles. “What do you think, St. James? Think we should just clear out of here and fly home? Is this just a big waste of time?”

  There’s that weird pinch in my gut again. “Nah, man. Can’t give up now.”

  Skip blows out a breath. “I’m just gonna pretend I’m on vacation.”

  “Good plan.”

  “Let’s go get drunk.”

  “Another good plan.”

  Inside the bar, it’s warm and cozy and smells like winter. The snow drips off my beard as I take in the scene. I used to love this place. It’s done up like an old cabin, with six different rooms, some with couches, some with tables, another with a bar.

  Everyone has goggle marks and helmet heads and red noses and wind-burned cheeks.

  The Proton camp is seated in the room with the fireplace. Several pitchers of beer are scattered across the table.

  Avery rocks back in her chair with her son in her lap. “How is it that the fastest snowboarder among us came in dead last?”

  I scoot up a chair next to her and pour myself a beer.

  “St. James was too busy saving Orion’s team,” Skip informs her.

  Wang interrupts. “A real man doesn’t blame others for his defeat.”

  Skip gulps down his beer and burps. “You know, Wang”—he draws out the Wang—“Japan beat the shit out of China in WWII.”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “Yeah, well, we had a cooler flag.”

  “The Japanese flag looks like a butthole,” Wang retorts.

  “Your face was the inspiration.”

  Avery’s kid blurts out, “Butthole,” and dies laughing.

  The left side of my body heats up. I turn to face the culprit.

  Charlie’s glaring at me again. Her messy hair is bunched on the top of her head, pieces of it falling around her hilarious bitch face.

  I rub my beard to cover my smile.

  She attempts another snarl, and I pop out a half-grin.

  That infuriates her, and in a huff, she storms off.

  I finish my beer, take a couple of digs at Duffy, and then casually wander off to find her.

  By the way, my body is doing this on its own accord. It’s not my brain’s idea to chase after her.

  Buddha crosses my mind. I should really let this go. I ignore him. The guy was celibate; therefore his advice is null and void.

  I spot her headed for the bathroom. Right before she closes the door, I wedge my foot in, slipping inside and locking the door behind me.

  Hands on hips and eyes narrowed to a crack, she silently seethes.

  Trust me. It’s hot.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Claiming my reward for saving your ass.”

  She softens. “Thank you. But I didn’t need your help.”

  I grab her by the waist. “What do you need?”

  She grabs my collar. “You. But you said you didn’t want to be friends.”

  “I don’t.”

  She releases her grip and bites her bottom lip. “Then what do you want?” Her voice is soft and delicate.

  “You’re pretty cute when you’re not so pissed off.”

  “And when I am?”

  “Hot as fuck.”

  She grabs my face and gives me a violent kiss.

  I nibble her neck. “I never wanted to be your friend, Chicken.”

  “Then don’t be.” Her voice is a breathless whisper.

  I shove her sweater up and latch onto her nipple. While I suck and nibble that
one, I pluck and pull the other one.

  “Your hands are cold.”

  I smile and look at her. “Your tits are warm.”

  She gives me a half-lidded lusty glare and runs a hand down the front of my pants. “I want to see that smug smirk between my thighs.”

  I chuckle. “You actually think I’m going to service you after that stunt in the trees?”

  She unzips my pants and pulls out my stiff cock. Her teeth graze my chin. “I want to feel those whiskers on my pussy.”

  Whoosh! There goes my control, right down the toilet.

  In one move, I shove down her pants and trace a finger down her wet seam.

  She tugs my collar again. “I’m warning you. If you don’t make me come, you won’t live to see the sunset.”

  My touch is light, my fingertips hovering above her clit, feathering caresses above the hard ridge. “Someone’s awfully wet. How long have you been like this? Since you left my ass in the trees?”

  “I mean it.” Her voice is soft, but her grip on my dick is hard.

  I grunt and shove my cock into her tight fist, then sink a finger inside her slick cunt.

  She bites my nipple through my flannel and squirms over my hand.

  Another finger inserted.

  Another tight jerk on my cock.

  Her juices coat my hand as I work that pussy exactly like I remember, until she’s shivering, swaying, and moaning sounds of pure delight.

  I perfected my moves on her a long time ago, getting the rhythm just right for this response.

  Judging by her parted lips, half-lidded gaze, and frantic bounce, she’s almost there.

  I bring another hand into the game and stroke her clit.

  Her legs tremble, and her body stills. Then she lets out a long panting moan and slumps against me.

  My turn. I thrust hard into her loosening grip. I curl my fingers around hers and pump.

  I’m mere seconds away from creaming all over her when someone bangs on the door.

  “Charlotte? Are you in there?” It’s that douchebag, Alan.

  “Yeah?” she squeaks.

  “You okay? You’ve been in there for a while.”

  My dick wilts.

  “Sorry,” she mouths silently to me. “I’m fine, Al. Just feeling a little lightheaded.”

  He raps again. “Let me in.”

  She pulls up her pants and fixes her shirt. “No! Go away, Alan. I’m fine.”