by Carrie Quest
“Fix me?”
She nods.
“You can’t fix this, Pipes. It is what it is, and I need to live with it.” I crouch down beside her and wipe the tears off her cheeks with my thumb. “I shouldn’t have brought you up here. I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair. I can never be who I was. That’s why it’s easier to stay away.”
“From me?”
“From everybody.” Shit, even Ben. Everybody looks at me and all they see is a headline: Snowboarder Adam Westlake in Hospital after Horror Crash. Snowboarder Adam Westlake in Coma. All I am is my injury. I exist as my limitations, like all the years of hard work and all the success I had was only a prelude to a tragedy, not the main event.
My thumbs are brushing back and forth on her cheeks, and Piper grabs my hands and holds on like I’m her lifeline. Or maybe she’s mine.
“All any of us want you to be is yourself, Adam, exactly as you are right now.”
I bow my head until our foreheads touch and rest there a minute, the clouds of our breath mingling together. “I don’t know who that is without snowboarding,” I admit.
“I can help you figure it out.”
I know she would, or at least she’d try her damnedest. Piper lives to fix things and I’m still broken after nearly two years. But I’m not going to hold her back to play nursemaid to me. I love her too much for that, and I don’t want to be that guy.
“It doesn’t work that way,” I say, shaking my head.
She sighs, and my skin is so cold that I can barely feel the warmth of her breath on my skin.
“I love you,” she says, but there’s no joy in her voice. No warmth or promise. Not like any of the times I’ve heard those words from her before. Piper was never stingy with her affection or her declarations: she’d yell out those three words from the chairlift as she rode over the terrain park where I was waiting to drop into the pipe. She’d whisper them in my ear when I was moving inside her and then drop them casually later when I handed her the menu at dinner.
They lit me up every single time, but now all I feel is dark and cold.
“I love you too,” I tell her. It’s the truest thing I’ve said in years, and also the most heartbreaking. Because she’s right, we’re heading in two different directions, and neither one of us is prepared to change course.
Piper takes the lead on the way back to the condo, pulling me down the trail and clucking about how I should’ve worn a hat. We make good time and neither one of us speaks until we hit the little turn off to the parking lot.
“I could show you,” I offer.
“Show me what?”
“How to ride all the way to the front door. You said you never made it, remember?”
We leave the darkness of the woods and step into the parking lot. Her cheeks are flushed red from the cold and her bright hair tumbles out from under that ridiculous hat in waves down her back. She’s so beautiful I want to grab her and never let go.
“I haven’t been on a board since Japan,” she says.
I stop suddenly, shocked still. Because we’ve never so much as mentioned Japan, even during that long, hot summer in the hospital when we saw each other almost every single day. Never talked about the ultimatum she gave me or the choice I made, and sure as shit never discussed the way I made an ass of myself on Japanese television. Fuck. I still can’t watch Sesame Street without my stomach heaving at the remembered taste of tequila.
We’ve also never talked about what happened when I finally did come back: the harsh reality of what happens when Piper hits a wall and can’t fix something.
But tonight has already been a dumpster fire, and there is no way I can deal with any of that history while standing half frozen in a parking lot. So, I focus on what she said about riding instead.
“Why haven’t you been out on your board?”
“Because snowboarding took a lot of shit from me,” she says. “I just didn’t want anything to do with it anymore. I never loved it the way you guys did.”
“And yet you’re about to make a career out of following snowboarders around the world.”
She shrugs. “Can’t escape your destiny I guess.”
Nope. “I can vouch for that.”
“It’s just an internship, anyway. The opportunity came up and I took it, but my career doesn’t have to be about snowboarding.”
“Mine either,” I try to joke.
Her smile fades. “You were always more to me than a guy who could snowboard back then, and you’re more than a guy who can’t snowboard to me now. You know that, right?”
I do, and I wish I could see myself through her eyes, but when I try to see myself, it’s like I’m a vampire looking in the mirror. Blank. And I’m the only one who can fix that. If only I had a fucking clue where to start.
“Come on.” She leads me through the garage, ignoring the sounds of the party still happening upstairs. It’s quieter now, we’ve been gone awhile, but there are still people up there drinking and laughing. Piper opens the door to her room and draws me in, closing it gently after me and turning the lock so we won’t be disturbed. I stumble after her, my icy skin starting to prickle and sting in the warmth. She turns off the overhead light and shucks off her hat and mittens, leaving them on the floor. Her coat’s next, and then she kicks her boots into the corner and moves on to me.
“Piper,” I protest, because I don’t know where she’s going with this, but it screams of a bad idea. I’ve slammed the door on all that reckless hope from earlier because I had no right to let it out, especially not around her. We can’t be together and pretending anything different will only hurt us both more in the long run.
She brings her fingers up and presses them against my lips. “We’re not going to do anything. I just want to be next to you, okay? I know you don’t want me to fix you but let me take care of you. Just for a little while.”
Maybe I should tell her no, but the thought of being close to her is too intoxicating. So I stay perfectly still and let her cradle my hands between her smaller ones, rubbing the feeling back into them before she unzips my jacket and peels it off me, one arm at a time. It joins hers in a heap on the floor, and then she reaches for the hem of my shirt.
Shit. My brain knows nothing is going to happen between us—nothing can happen—but my dick can’t help but be interested in her warm hands grazing my stomach. Yes, we’ve just shared the most depressing declarations of love known to man and figured out we’re doomed to be apart, which should be a complete and total boner-killer, but somebody missed that memo because my blood is rushing south like it’s on a mission from god.
Piper lifts my shirt over my head, but she’s too short to finish the job, so she rises up on her tiptoes, trying to reach. Then she loses her balance and falls into me with a soft “oof,” crushing her soft breasts against my chest. My face is covered in fabric, my arms tangled in my sleeves and pinned above my head, so I can’t reach out to catch her, but I can feel her heart beating wildly, like it’s trying to knock its way out of her chest into mine. And I can smell her, sweet peaches mixed with the crisp winter air that clings to snow and ice.
“Sorry.”
She pulls back, and I reach behind my head to yank the shirt off. We stare at each other, both flushed and breathing hard, and then she reaches for the button on my jeans.
Too much.
I shake my head, because if she touches me there, she’s going to feel a whole lot more than my pants.
“I got it,” I say, backing up a few steps.
She bites her lip and nods. “I’ll be right back,” she says, her voice low and husky. Then she grabs some clothes off a chair and hauls ass out the door.
I scrub my hand over my face, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. A smart man would gather his clothes and go, but if she’s leaving for her parents’ place tomorrow, then this might be the last time I see her for who knows how long. It will certainly be the last time I see her like this, with any sort of openness and honesty between us.
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Plus, my feet are still fucking freezing and Piper has an electric blanket, so I strip off my jeans and wet boots and socks and crawl under the covers in my boxer briefs. I bury my face in the pillow that smells like her, and I even give Chuckles a few careful pats when he crawls up on the bed, his face set in a scowl, and settles in next to me to wash his furry ass.
When Piper gets back, I’m feeling more relaxed than I have for months, maybe even since the accident. Maybe even since the last time I was in this bed waiting for her to come to me. She walks in carefully, wearing a tank top and a pair of pink flannel sleep shorts with purple unicorns on them, carrying two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. She’s fucking adorable.
“Nice jammies.”
Her cheeks turn pink and I stifle a groan, remembering the way I used to tease her, so I could chase that blush down her body with my lips.
“Hold this,” she tells me, holding out one of the mugs. I pull myself up to sitting and take it, relishing the warmth on my hands. Piper puts the other mug on her bedside table and grabs the computer off her desk.
“Are we actually going to Netflix and chill?” I ask, grinning.
“Yup,” she says. “Scott Pilgrim?”
“Perfect.” We’ve seen it a hundred times before and the part about the vegan superpowers always makes her giggle, which makes me happy because it’s the best sound in the world.
She cues up the movie and climbs into bed. She’s next to me, but Chuckles is between us—the world’s most cranky-ass chaperone—and after a few minutes I’m no longer afraid that she’s going to glance over and notice the little blanket fort I’m making in my shorts. We sip hot chocolate and laugh at all the jokes we know are coming and the past and the future disappear. There are no regrets and or worries, only me and Piper, and for right now it’s enough.
9
Piper
I wake up slowly, one sense at a time. The buzz of Chuckles purring comes first, louder and more solid on his exhale, soft and reedy as he pulls air in. I’m on my side, and I can feel him cuddled against my stomach, vibrating with kitty happiness and pleasure.
I’d reach down to pet him, but I’m so lusciously comfortable and warm that I can’t quite consider moving yet. That would be a waste. Because my entire body, from my feet to my face, is tucked up against a hot wall of muscle.
Adam.
Adam is in my bed, spooning me, one arm thrown over my stomach, so he can hold me close, and this should probably be freaking me out right now, but instead of rolling away, I press a little closer.
I’m using his arm as a pillow and I breathe in deep, inhaling the clean scent of soap that clings to his skin. Before I know it my tongue darts out of my mouth, just the tiniest little swipe over the smooth skin on the inside of his arm. One stolen taste of the forbidden fruit I used to feast on. He’s still asleep, his chest moving slowly and steadily up and down against my back. He’ll never know.
He’s delicious, and a wine-tasting class Syd dragged me to last year comes to mind. How would I describe Adam’s unique flavor? I take a longer taste, licking a narrow stripe along the width of his bicep, and sigh. A heady, full-bodied flavor with crisp notes of citrus and pepper and a smooth finish with a hint of salt. Perfection. Suitable to drink with every meal.
“Did you just lick me?” His voice is deep and sleepy, the words catching in his throat. He tightens his grip around my stomach, pulling me closer. His hand is under my tank top, spread against the bare skin of my stomach, and he begins to move his thumb in little circles that make me squirm.
“Piper.” He breathes out my name, sounding a hell of a lot more awake now, and his hand stops moving. We both lie there, tense and still, taking stock. Bare legs tangled together, the hot skin of his naked chest burning through my shirt, my hair moving every time he exhales.
His very hard dick pressed against my ass.
I close my eyes, because as long as I can’t see anything this could still be a dream. Normal rules don’t apply in dreams. You don’t have to be all responsible and think about your future or protect your heart. You can just do what feels good, so I wiggle my ass closer and smile when he gives a low grunt of satisfaction.
But then he pulls away, rolling onto his back with a mumbled curse.
“Sorry about that,” he says.
I open my eyes and turn to face him, still tucked into his shoulder.
“Sorry about what?”
He uses his free hand to gesture down to the tent in the covers. “I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay, Adam. It’s morning. I remember how the penis works.” Vaguely.
He snorts. “That makes one of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s been a while, that’s all.”
Oh. I know I shouldn’t ask. No good can come of asking, but the words fly out before I can stop myself.
“How long?”
He reaches up with his free hand and scrubs his face, his hand rasping along the morning scruff on his jaw.
“A while,” he repeats. His tone is flat and final, but I keep going. We’re warm and cozy and this is it, right? We’ll never be this close again. When we leave the cocoon of this bed, we’ll be different creatures altogether, and if this is my last chance to have an honest conversation with Adam, then I’m going to take it.
“How long?” I give him a little pinch under his arm. Not to hurt, just to tickle. He squirms.
“Jesus, Piper. You really want to talk about this?”
I stay silent.
“Since before the crash,” he mumbles. He’s staring up at the ceiling, and I watch the blush stain his strong cheekbones red, flooding the places between the barely visible freckles that dot his bronze skin.
“Bullshit.”
He turns to look at me and I tip my head back, my gaze darting down to his lush lips before I meet his eyes.
“Bullshit? You think I can’t remember the last time I had sex? My brain isn’t that fucked up, sweetheart.”
“Total bullshit,” I insist, remembering all the times I checked Instagram and Twitter and felt the kick in the stomach of seeing his face pressed up against some girl while she did a selfie grin. “You’ve been surrounded by women for months. The internet is flooded with pictures of you and girls—your social media is a veritable deluge of eager vaginas and there is no way you haven’t been having sex.”
He grins down at me and I fight the urge to trace the little smile lines that appear at the corner of his eyes with my naughty tongue. I am in so much trouble right now.
“Piper Easton. Have you been stalking my social media?”
“Natalie told me about it,” I lie.
He digs his fingers into my ribs and I shriek out a laugh. “Okay, okay. Maybe I looked a few times. Nat did tell me about you getting mentioned in some article about travel Instagram accounts, so I checked you out.”
Every single day. Twice on the ones that end in Y.
He bites his bottom lip, teeth pressing into his flesh, and I’m pretty sure I swoon. I mean, I’m already lying down, so it’s hard to tell, but my head goes light and my body tingles.
“You checked me out, huh? Well, there are no pictures of girls on my Instagram. Maybe one of Autumn when I ran into her in Sydney, but that was us on the bridge with her brother. Not exactly sexy. All the rest of my stuff is scenery.”
“Your stuff, maybe, but you’re tagged in plenty of eager beavers’ selfies.”
He rolls onto his side. “Beaver selfies, huh? I’m going to have to examine your browser history, Ms. Easton. Take a look at these eager beavers for myself.”
Now it’s my turn to blush, because I’ve outed myself as the creepiest stalker in the land, and if anyone looks at my browser history, they’re going to get an eyeful of Jon Snow lookalikes sucking nipples hits that are most certainly not safe for work.
Or for watching with ex-boyfriends.
“Shit,” he rasps. “Don’t blush.” His eyes are hooded now and he’
s not grinning anymore. He looks hungry.
I clear my throat. “So not since the accident, huh?”
He shakes his head.
“Is there a problem with the equipment?”
“Are you asking me if I need my cock examined?”
“Are you saying you have a problem that needs to be fixed?” I counter. Because, hey, I love fixing problems. And at this point we’re lying in bed mostly naked discussing the impressive erection that was getting up close and personal with my ass a couple minutes ago. We’ve crossed the starting line and maybe it’s time to admit we’re not simply taking a casual stroll toward the end of the course. We’re in the race. Why shouldn’t it be the race to orgasm?
And yes, he will leave and my heart will break, but at least I’ll get to come until I black out first.
His rough fingers rush along the hot skin of my cheek, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear.
“What are you thinking about?” he whispers. His breath puffs against my skin and I shiver.
“The orgasm races,” I answer.
His eyes are bright with amusement and affection. “I love that I never know what you’re going to say next. Please describe these orgasm races to me. Is it like a porny version of The Hunger Games?”
“How about I show you?”
“Sold.” He brings both hands up to cradle my head and leans down until his perfect lips are so close I can almost taste him.
But the bastard doesn’t kiss me. Not yet.
“What are we, Piper?” he repeats my question from last night.
I tip my hips forward, and we both moan as our bodies meet, his hardness pressed against my heat.
“We’re non-friends who love each other,” I say, circling my hips. “I thought we established that.”
His expression turns serious and he pulls back. “And what are we doing?”
“Getting this out of our systems?” I nod immediately, answering my own question. Because this is a great idea. I am fucking brilliant, in fact. This pull we’re feeling must be due to our unfinished business, that’s all. We need to give in to the lust, one more time, and then we’ll both be on our way. Sated and satisfied.