Rm w/a Vu

by A. D. Ryan

  Accepting Greyston’s explanation, I slip my boots on before grabbing my ski pants, mittens, and knitted hat, and we head out to the car. The cold air shocks me, rendering me momentarily breathless when I inhale. I can’t get to the car fast enough as the cool air cuts through my jeans and nips at my bare face. Greyston treats it as though it’s no big deal, which makes me feel like a total wuss.

  “You’ll acclimate quickly,” he assures me, opening my door for me. After I’ve settled in my seat, he closes it and gets behind the wheel.

  My teeth are chattering slightly, and even though I’m already in the slightly warmer vehicle, I pull my hat and mittens on. “Are you telling me you’re already used to this?”

  Greyston laughs. “Not exactly, but I’ve experienced colder stays here when I was younger, so I know things could be worse.” He reaches over and places a hand on my knee. “You’ll warm up as soon as we get moving. Trust me.”

  We drive to the resort and park the car. Greyston and I grab our things and head into the main building to meet Gemma and Dom, only to find she’s alone. She smiles widely upon spotting us.

  “Oh, good, you’re here.” She hands me the board she’s been holding. “Juliette, I brought this for you to use today. No sense shelling out money for a rental if you don’t have to, right?”

  “Definitely,” I agree. “Thanks.”

  Greyston looks around. “Where’s Dom? I thought he was joining us. I was looking forward to meeting him.”

  Gemma shrugs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, he had some stuff to do today around town. I’m hoping he’ll be able to join us for dinner. I think you’ll really like him.” Something feels off, but the ring on her left finger tells me I’m being ridiculous.

  After renting my boots and buying a pair of goggles, the three of us head outside. Gemma offers to come with Greyston and me to the beginner hill, but I decline. I don’t need more witnesses to what’s sure to go down on that hill—me, and not in the kinky sex way that I like. No. I imagine something straight out of a cartoon where I fall and roll so fast that I form a giant snowball. While I’m sure the chances of that are near impossible, there’s a part of me that feels confident that if it’s going to happen to anyone, it’ll be me.

  Gemma tells us to have fun, then heads off to the lift while Greyston and I put our ski pants and boarding boots on. Once we’re ready, we head for the beginner hill, but before we hit the lift to take us up, Greyston kneels before me, taking my board and flipping it the right way around before asking me to step onto it. Turns out Gemma is “goofy” too, which makes me feel a little more confidant. Once my right foot is in the binding, he attaches what he calls “the leash,” and explains that it’ll prevent a runaway board in the event of a wipeout.

  I laugh. “In the event of?” I parrot. “You realize that there’s no question about it, right? I’m going to wipe out. Several times, in fact.”

  Chuckling, Greyston stands up and steps onto his board with his left foot, attaching his own leash to his boot, and then he demonstrates how to push off as though we’re on skateboards, and we head toward the lift. I’m a little nervous waiting for the lift to approach, and I jump slightly when I feel it, but Greyston helps me out, and soon we’re on our way to the top of the beginner hill.

  Once we’re clear of the lift, I follow Greyston. We stop at the top of the hill and he instructs me to sit down with my board perpendicular to the hill. Once I’m seated, he helps me put my other boot into its binding, and then he shows me how to make sure they’re tight enough. My feet don’t move within the bindings, and they’re secure in my boots, so Greyston deems me ready to go and helps me up. After securing his other foot into his binding, he shows me how to apply pressure to my planted foot. He decides to practice this a few times in a stationary position at the top of the hill before we attempt to go down. Which is fine by me.

  “Okay,” he says, standing next to me. “You want to bend your knees and keep your back straight so that you feel balanced, okay?”

  “Uh huh,” I reply nervously, slowly doing as he instructs and being sure not to go down the hill just yet. “Like this?”

  “Good,” he says, “but make sure you’re not leaning your body when applying pressure.” He must recognize my confusion, so he elaborates. “Pretend you’re squashing a bug under your foot.”

  “Ew,” I declare quietly, but do as he suggests.

  “That’s it. Just like that. Now lean back a little…but not too much, or you’ll wind up on your ass.” He watches me, smiling wide. I feel unsteady, but I’m able to right myself before I fall. “Good. Good,” he praises. “Alternating from heel to toe is called carving. It’s a little more advanced, so we should just stick to riding your heel until you’re confident on your board.”

  Beaming, I look up at Greyston, and he smiles back. “Okay, so we’re going to try the hill.” I nod, my heart hammering nervously. “Remember, I want you to ride your heel edge first, okay? It’ll act kind of like a snowplow and give you a feel for the board going slow so you can get used to it. Think you can do that?”

  I visualize it in my head, and try leaning back on my board a little to see what it might feel like. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

  Greyston leads us forward a little, and then turns to me. “Steady and slow, all right?” I nod. “And, for whatever reason, if you feel like you’re about to bite it, lean back—not forward. It feels a hell of a lot better to fall on your ass than it does your face.”

  Visions of the giant snowball replay in my mind, and I agree. “Got it.”

  Greyston urges me to push off, and I do, going as slow as possible while he follows. He stays close, watching as I struggle to keep my board from pointing straight down the hill. Sure, it’s a small hill, but I still don’t want to fly down it. That’s sure to end with me smacking into a tree, the wall of a building, or another human being.

  I’d like to say that my first run is wipeout-free, but it isn’t. I fall flat on my ass about thirty seconds in when I zig instead of zag. Greyston’s right there to help me back up, and while I’m embarrassed, his constant assurance that I’m doing well helps to boost my confidence a little each time. I realize that wiping out is normal, but it bruises my pride as much as it does my tailbone.

  Every run down the hill gets a little easier, and I find I wipe out less and less…until Greyston suggests I try carving. I start off slow, leaning back on my heel like before, and then I lean forward the way Greyston showed me before we went down the hill the first time. I make a mistake by leaning too far forward, and when I feel myself starting to fall forward, I over-correct, leaning too far back and toppling over so hard one of my boots comes loose from its binding.

  Snow flies up next to me as Greyston stops abruptly, showing off a little. He helps me reattach my board and then offers me a hand up so we can keep going. He’s smiling from ear-to-ear, and, even though I’ve wiped out far more than I’d hoped, I have to admit that I’m having a blast. Even the cold isn’t bothering me much anymore.

  We stay on the beginner hill for another hour—way more than Greyston probably ever bargained for—before I tell him I want to try a bigger hill. I’m sure if I’d asked him a half hour ago, he’d have been hesitant, but considering I’ve had less than a handful of wipeouts in that time, he’s pretty open to the idea. He’s sure to only take me to a trail I can handle, which isn’t much longer than this one, but it’s got a few more obstacles and rough patches that throw me off. I fall, but I’m not discouraged at all, and I even wave off Greyston’s offer to help me up, wanting to get back on my own feet.

  I feel kind of guilty for keeping Greyston away from the more advanced trails, but I can tell he’s trying to make the most of it by doing a few fancy moves and turns every so often. I make myself a promise that by the end of our trip, I’ll be good enough to take on one of the bigger hills with him.

  Even though I’ve fallen more on the intermediate hill than I did on the beginner one, I want to keep going, even when
Greyston suggests a little break. It isn’t until I realize it’s almost two in the afternoon that I agree to it—but only if he promises to bring me back out after we grab a bite to eat.

  “So, what do you think?” Greyston asks as we store our boards and head for the chalet. I don’t realize just how cold it is outside until a warm blast of air hits me in the face upon walking through the door.

  “It’s fun!” I exclaim. “I’m having a blast.”

  Greyston smiles, taking my jacket from me when we reach the restaurant. “Good. You’re doing amazing.”

  Greyston and I both order a mug of hot chocolate and a chicken club with fries. We enjoy a private lunch, but the entire time, I’m thinking about getting back out there. While I had an inkling that I’d enjoy the sport, I never imagined being this taken by it. Normally, I’m not the biggest fan of cold weather, but I realize I’ve never really given it a fair chance. Honestly, I love the way the cool air feels on my face as I go down the hill, how crisp it smells, and how soft the snow is beneath me.

  After lunch, Greyston suggests a walk around the grounds for a bit before we hit the slopes again. We put our jackets on, and Greyston takes my hand, leading me from the building and toward one of the walking trails. It’s warmed up a bit since this morning, and the cold wind has died down a little. There aren’t many people on the trails, making it even more romantic with the frosted branches overhead and the shimmery flakes of snow blowing in the gentle breeze. It’s almost magical, and I snuggle into Greyston’s side as I take it all in, not even caring that my face is cold and my nose is threatening to run. Sure, not my sexiest moment, but I can’t find it in myself to really care about that right now.

  Well, not much.

  I’m so lost in the perfection of the moment that I’m caught off guard when Greyston wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to the ground. My playful cry of surprise turns to laughter, and Greyston props himself up on one arm to look down at me. My first thought is to seek revenge, but seeing the flecks of snow in his dark hair and the creases in the outer corners of his eyes has me overcome with desire.

  Despite the fact that snow has found its way up the back of my jacket and is melting against the skin between my ski pants and upraised sweater, I lift my head, bringing one mitten-clad hand up to cup Greyston’s face as I draw him closer to me. Despite the winter chill, Greyston’s lips are soft and warm against my own. Our big puffy jackets and ski pants keep us from getting too close, and they seem to trap in the heat that radiates from every pore of my body.

  Because I know there’s only so far we can go here, I open my eyes to see his are still closed and reach out with my free hand to grab a handful of snow. Greyston is none-the-wiser as I slowly raise my arm and press my snow-filled palm to the back of his neck. His eyes snap open in shock, and my lips curl up into a smile against his before I burst out laughing.

  “I can’t believe you just did that,” he admonishes, his eyes glinting with a plan for revenge that I don’t recognize until it’s too late, and my moment of triumph is short-lived when he grabs his own handful of snow and shoves it down the top of my jacket. I’m lucky to have chosen a turtle neck, because, had I worn any other sweater, there would be a lot more melting snow between my boobs instead of the tiny droplets that are currently seeping through the fabric.

  I jump to my feet before he can realize this and rectify it, but it’s too late; a full-out snowball war has begun. It really isn’t fair, because I’ve never been particularly good with throwing things and hitting my target. Give me a gun, and I can shoot circles around anything—as well as hit the target, time and time again—but give me a ball of any size and material, and I’m a lost cause.

  As luck may have it, however, I manage to get a few shots in, and after about twenty minutes of this, Greyston and I are both covered in snow. I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts, and Greyston leads us back toward the hill.

  “You want to hit the slopes again?” Greyston asks, wrapping an arm around me and holding me close while he leans down to kiss the top of my head. I quickly agree, and we head over to where we left our boards, strapping them on and make our way to the lifts.

  “Hey, you two!” Gemma greets us, having just come off her latest run. “How are you guys doing?”

  I smile. “Good, actually. I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

  “She’s a natural,” Greyston brags, and I roll my eyes.

  “Oh yeah, I’m a real pro.”

  Gemma laughs. “Well, I’m going to pack it in within the hour,” she says. “Do you guys want to go somewhere for dinner afterward?”

  I look to Greyston, who’s waiting for me to answer, so I nod. “Yeah, sure. That would be great.”

  The three of us continue on toward the lifts, talking about meeting in the chalet in an hour, and then go our separate ways. Like earlier, I’m far from perfect, and I wipe out a few times, but the more I practice, the better I get. Carving is still a bit of a challenge, but I am able to manage it for a couple of minutes before falling on my ass. Not that it’s surprising, but Greyston’s amazing, and I hate that he’s probably bored out of his mind on this stupid intermediate trail while I make a total fool out of myself. He swears that he doesn’t want to be anywhere else and that he’s having fun teaching me, but I can’t help but feel like I’m holding him back.

  “Look, there’s about twenty minutes left before we have to meet Gemma,” I tell him when we reach the foot of the hill. “Why don’t you go to one of the more experienced trails? I feel bad for keeping you on the baby hills all day.”

  Greyston laughs. “Sweetheart, it’s fine. I really don’t mind.”

  “Maybe not,” I counter, removing my board from my feet. “But I do. Go. Have fun.”

  “What about you?”

  I shrug. “My legs are actually a little sore. I’ll go inside and wait for you guys. Maybe grab a cup of hot chocolate or something.”

  “You’re sure?” he asks, and I nod. “All right. I won’t be long.” And, with that, he kisses me on the cheek and heads back toward the lift while I head inside the chalet and order another mug of hot chocolate. I remove my ski pants and jacket, draping them over one of the plush chairs near the fire, and I sit down and let my drink and the fire warm me up a little.

  By the time I’m done my hot chocolate, Greyston shows up with Gemma in tow. They’ve got their gear packed up and are laughing about something that happened on their last run. It makes me a little jealous that I wasn’t there to experience it, but I get over it when I remember what a good sport Greyston has been all day while teaching me.

  The muscles in my thighs are tight when I stand up, and I know that tomorrow isn’t going to be good. Even though it didn’t feel like it at all as the day went on, I know I’ve overworked them, and I’m going to be walking funny because of it. It sucks, because I really wanted to come back out here tomorrow—and every day of our stay here if possible—but now it might not even happen, unless I can find a way to get the muscles to relax.

  Greyston picks up on it as I make my way toward them, and he eyes me curiously.

  “My thighs are a little sore,” I explain. “No big.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod. “Yeah. So, where are we going for dinner?”

  “Actually,” Gemma says excitedly, “there’s this great little restaurant in the heart of downtown. The food is to die for.”

  “Cool,” I reply, trying to keep from letting my suspicious nature win. “We’ll see you there, then. Is Dom meeting us there?” I inquire warmly.

  Gemma offers a tight-lipped smile. “Mmm, probably not. He’s still held up.”

  Gemma grabs all her gear, including the board she loaned me, and heads to her vehicle, while Greyston and I go to ours. We follow Gemma out of the resort parking lot and into town center where she pulls up to the quaint little restaurant, and then we meet her inside.

  Our hostess seats us and tells us that our server will be with us in a minute.
While we wait, we peruse the menus and talk about our day. Greyston goes on and on about how well I’ve done, and while I’m pretty proud of all that I’d learned, I think he might be over-exaggerating just a smidge.

  Before I can tell him this, our server shows up to take our drink order. I’m just about to order an iced tea, when Greyston pipes up. “Can we get a bottle of cab sav and three glasses please?”

  The server looks at Greyston, then Gemma, and finally me. Arching a brow, he says, “ID, please?”

  My face heats up, and I look away, feeling embarrassed that Greyston tried to be sneaky and order me alcohol and we were caught anyway. “Oh, I actually don’t think I have it on me,” I lie. “Don’t worry about i—”

  Greyston places a hand on my thigh. “Sweetheart, the legal drinking age here is nineteen, remember?”

  Relieved and somewhat excited, I reach into my pocket and grab my ID, handing it to the server. He looks it over, smiles at me, and hands it back. “All right. I’ll be right back with that wine and give you all another minute or two with your menus.”

  The conversation between the three of us dies as we decide what to order, so by the time our server returns, we’ve all made up our minds. Gemma orders a steak dinner with a baked potato and seasonal vegetables, Greyston decides on a burger and fries, and I choose the rotisserie chicken with garlic-mashed potatoes and a side salad.

  The ambiance of the restaurant is nice. It’s a smaller place, probably family-owned, with dim overhead lighting and candles at every table. It’s an intimate-looking place, and I feel like it should be weird that there are three of us at one table, but one look around tells me it’s not that uncommon. There’s a couple of families here, enjoying a night out with their kids, and several tables with what appears to be a couple groups of friends unwinding after a long day over a pitcher of beer.

  “So, Juliette,” Gemma speaks up, “how did you and Greyston meet?”