Snowbound

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Snowbound Page 8

by CJ Martín


  “Sorry.” Her eyes widen in apology.

  “No worries. How’s life in the wonderful world of fifth grade?”

  “It’s great. I’m having my class make an edible topography map tomorrow of the United States. I’m making a sample, see?” She holds a piece of oak tag with various peas, candy, and nuts glued on.

  “The peas are the Great Plains, the candy corn represents the mountain ranges—”

  “I wish I’d had you as a teacher when I was a kid. Maybe I would’ve actually learned some geography.”

  “Stop.” She chuckles. “I better go though. Seven o’clock comes early.”

  “Sucks to be you.” I joke. “I still have another few days left of sleeping in.”

  “Yeah, this working thing sucks.” She makes a face.

  “Okay, go finish your map. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Good night.”

  “Night.”

  I log in to my social media accounts but find nothing interesting, so I close the laptop and lie down on the couch. I click on the television and pull my dark green Snuggie up around my neck. I browse the channels and settle on a trashy reality show. I really am feeling self-indulgent.

  When I wake up the next morning the light and TV have been switched off and another blanket is covering me. My eyes slowly focus and dart around in search of Anders. My heart sinks when I realize he’s already gone and I’m alone. Once again.

  Living with Gigs is torture and it’s only been five days. No way will I make it five months. I crank up the speed on the treadmill. My feet pound the tread as my heart pumps faster. I’m convinced the harder I push myself the faster I’ll get her out of my system. I’m running at a speed of ten miles per hour and so far, no luck.

  My thumb cranks the speed higher still. My leg muscles scream in protest but I invite the pain. Anything to take my mind off her. I briefly wonder what the fuck I’m doing. I’m a snowboarder not a runner. But right now my speed and focus rival that of a professional sprinter. I’ve been avoiding my apartment like the plague. I’m tired, irritable, and downright miserable. Why the fuck didn’t I keep my mouth shut?

  After another speed interval I back off and stop the machine. I hit that machine for an hour and an half and I’m still no closer to relief. Fuck my life.

  Soaked with sweat, I grab a chilled towel from the cabinet to dry off. My t-shirt clings to my body, the grey fabric darkened to black along my upper back and my torso. I toss the useless towel in the nearby hamper and head to the locker rooms to shower. As I lather my body I tell myself that I’m not hiding from Gigs. That I’m not afraid to go home and spend time with her. That I don’t want to hang out with her. That I most definitely don’t want to fuck her. After the water has turned cold and I’m forced to get out and get dressed, I almost have myself convinced.

  Fucked. I am so fucked.

  A glance at the clock tells me that Gigs won’t be asleep yet, so I make my way over to the café. I’m at an all-time low; it says a lot when I’d rather spend my time here and chance running into Veronica than go back to the peace and quiet of my own apartment.

  My eyes scan the mostly empty room. So far, so good. No Veronica sighting. I walk to the farthest corner of the café and settle into a chair that faces away from the door. My back is to the other patrons and I hunch my shoulders as a greater indication that I want to be left alone.

  I reach into the side pocket of my boarding pants and pull out my cell phone. Several unread text messages greet me, and I go through them one by one before responding. My heart rate quickens as I catch a quick glimpse of the word Coach. Lately any communication from him as has been bad, so I save his messages for last.

  I read and respond to JJ’s first since it was sent only twelve minutes ago.

  JJ: How’s it going with El? Hook up with her yet?

  As I read his message, my hands grip the phone tighter. Seriously, I don’t need any reminders to the fact that I haven’t had sex in… God, how the fuck long has it been?

  Anders: Fuck you.

  JJ: Lmao. Never thought I’d see the day you couldn’t close the deal.

  Anders: Again, fuck you.

  JJ: Come on. Day five and nothing? Over-under is eight.

  Deciding that I’m done with this conversation, I don’t respond to his last message. Instead, I click on the next conversation to appear. A message from Brit is displayed. She must want something. She only refers to me as brother when she needs a favor.

  Brit: Hey brother. Watcha doing this weekend?

  Anders: Not much. U?

  Brit: Want company?

  Anders: No

  Brit: No? Why not? I have a three-day weekend.

  Anders: Weren’t u supposed to go to some festival with John?

  Brit: John’s an asshole.

  The gears click into place. They broke up. Not that I’m surprised. They are on again off again more times than I can count. Brit puts up with his shit for so long, then they break up, but she always goes back. I’ve given up trying to offer advice. I mean, at least her relationships last longer than a night, so she’s already doing one better than me.

  Anders: This weekend’s not good.

  Or any weekend for that matter. How the hell am I supposed to hide Gigs?

  Brit: Too late. Bought my ticket.

  Fuck.

  Anders: Seriously, Brit. Not a good time.

  Brit: You don’t have to entertain me. I just need a place to crash.

  Fuck my life.

  Anders: Whatever.

  Brit: See ya in a few days, brother.

  Coach’s messages are last. There are two. My stomach tightens and I can hear the blood pounding in my ears in a loud whoosh. My eyes work too quickly for my brain as they take in the text. The message is succinct but I have to read it three times before I can process what it says.

  Coach: LuckySnö and Burbex still in. You can thank Beth.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Burbex and LuckySnö are my two biggest sponsors. It’s not that I need the money, but they always support the top ranked snowboarders. If they pull their support the media would question my eligibility. And more importantly, demand to know why they pulled their support. I don’t want to open that can of worms. I’ve worked too damn hard to have it swept away due to a bogus drug charge.

  Feeling more confident, I click on the second message. Upon reading the words, the nausea returns tenfold.

  Coach: Review hearing with SSC scheduled for Tuesday, April 14. Attorney James Partik will be contacting you shortly to work out a game plan. You’d better cooperate. Understand?

  He sent these messages over three hours ago, and if I know him as well as I think I do, he’s probably pissed that I haven’t responded. How was I to know he’d be sending me a message? He never has before. His preferred method of contact has always been the phone. I guess it’s a way for him to ensure maximum effect: anger, obedience, and more rarely as of late, praise. A text message from him seems so impersonal. I wonder if he’s given up all hope on me.

  With shaking fingers I type back my single word response.

  Anders: Yes.

  I’m spent, physically and emotionally. My legs are stiff as I stand up and I stretch my arms overhead to ease some of the tightness. Taking a slow walk back to the apartment, I inhale the frigid air, noticing the way it bites my lungs. In a world where I feel like I’m drowning, the burn makes me feel alive.

  By the time I arrive home, the apartment is dark save for the TV. Before clicking it off I spare a quick glance at Gigs asleep on the couch. I know I shouldn’t but it’s like I can’t help myself. I shake my head in disgust and walk toward the stairs.

  My movements are delicate and light as I try to maneuver through the dark as quietly as possible. I strip down out of my clothes and into a pair of sweat pants and an old t-shirt. Falling face first into bed, my body succumbs to sleep.

  The sound of mumbling wakes me from a light sleep. Rolling over, I reach for
the remote. I must’ve fallen asleep with the TV on again. I fumble with the buttons for a few moments before I realize the TV is already off. The apartment is still dark and only the soft glow from the moon filters in from the windows. A quick look at my cell phone confirms time—four thirteen.

  I scrunch my nose. No way I’m getting up now. Hiking the covers back up I’m about to roll over when I hear it again. A soft mumble, coming from upstairs. I perk up and strain to listen. What was that? Dismissing it and chalking the noise up to my imagination, I turn over and adjust my pillow. Then I hear it again. It’s most definitely Anders. And it doesn’t sound good.

  Without thinking too much about what I’m doing, I throw off the blanket and begin walking. Halfway up the stairs logic catches up with my body as the very real possibility of him not being alone washes over me. What if he has someone over? What if they’re having sex? Too late now. My feet trudge upward.

  When I reach the top of the stairs I can see Anders spread out atop the bed, head turned to the side. Thankfully he’s alone. The covers are bunched up at the foot of the bed and spill onto the floor. He must be dreaming, and from the way his face is scrunched tight, it’s not a pleasant dream.

  With slow movements I inch closer, but I’m unfamiliar with the layout of his bedroom and I stub my big toe on a hard wooden case. “Ow.” I reach for my foot.

  Anders murmurs but doesn’t wake up. I hesitate, unsure of how to proceed. Suddenly I feel foolish creeping into his bedroom at night like some lunatic. I pause, stare at him a moment longer, and grab the rumpled covers off the floor. I drape the blankets over him slowly. I turn to leave but his hand catches my wrist. A startled scream escapes my mouth.

  His eyes focus and narrow on my own frightened ones. “Gigs, what the fuck are you doing?”

  His voice is low and groggy with sleep, but so sexy that my skin breaks out in goose bumps. Too startled to speak, I stare at him feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. His thumb strokes my inner wrist, probably trying to warrant a response, but it turns me on even more. Tingles begin in my belly and radiate outward. My pulse spikes and I’m sure he can feel it where his fingers graze my wrist.

  “Gigs.” His gravelly voice pierces the quiet.

  I clear my throat. “Sorry,” I whisper. I tug my arm away from him and he releases his grasp.

  “What are you doing up here?” His eyes search mine, but I have no idea what he’s looking for.

  My mind races with possibilities of what he might think. I want a booty call. I’m scared. I’m a creeper who watches him while he sleeps. All too suddenly I need to ensure he knows exactly why I’m up in his bedroom at four in the morning. I don’t want him to draw his own conclusions.

  “I heard something. You were talking or moaning. I don’t know. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  He continues to look at me, but doesn’t say anything. It’s hard to see his face in the dim light, but maybe that’s a good thing. I certainly don’t want him to see my own face, burning with embarrassment.

  “Sorry. I realize how dumb that sounds.” My mouth keeps moving and more nonsensical words flow out. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought maybe something was wrong. But you’re okay…” God. Stop talking. “Okay, well, you’re fine so I’ll let you go back to bed. Sorry to have woken you up.”

  Finally he speaks. “You were worried about me?”

  “Uh, yeah. Like I said, you were murmuring or moaning, I don’t know. I thought maybe you were hurt.”

  “Gigs, that is…”

  I fill in the blank in my own head. Creepy. Weird. Fucked up.

  “Thank you for checking on me. I talk in my sleep sometimes. Or so I’ve been told.”

  By how many women exactly? I press my lips together, ensuring that my mouth is in fact closed, and my words don’t get spoken aloud.

  Reading my uneasy expression, he hastily adds, “By my mother.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m living with this guy for the next five months and I have just made an awkward situation that much worse. He barely speaks to me during the daytime, and now I’ve been caught watching him in his bedroom. Way to go Elena.

  He must see the deflated look in my eyes because he asks, “Wanna talk?” He sits up, making room for me to sit across from him at the foot of the bed.

  Sure, because it’s completely normal for us to hang out in your bed at four in the morning.

  “What?” My mouth hangs open in surprise.

  One heavy shoulder lifts in a half-shrug. “We’re both up now.” I can’t surmise if he’s indifferent or annoyed. I back away, ready to decline when he says, “How are you liking Seven Pines?” His voice is clearer now, more like his usual tone.

  I lift an eyebrow. “You must be a morning person.”

  He shrugs again. “Once I’m up, I’m up.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed. “It’s okay.” My sigh is long and deep.

  “What? You don’t like it so far?”

  “It’s not that. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, so please don’t misinterpret. I’m extremely grateful for this opportunity.”

  “I’m sensing a but.” He crosses his hands behind his head, causing his chest to puff out. His shirt strains across the muscles, and my fingers itch to run along the hard lines.

  “No but. It’s just that I don’t really know anyone here besides you. And you’re always busy. All my friends are back in North Carolina. I guess I’ve been kinda lonely. I miss home.” My voice gets quiet at the end, and tears sting the back of my eyes.

  His expression softens. “Sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” I ask taken aback.

  He scrubs his hands down over his face. “Because I haven’t been around much. I didn’t realize how hard this transition would be for you.”

  “It’s not your fault. You’ve been nothing but kind to me. Letting me stay with you, use your stuff.” I glance around his room, noting the haphazard way things are tossed about.

  “It’s no problem.”

  “Well, anyway, I appreciate it.” And then, as though I can’t help myself, I blurt out, “Though you are a bit of a slob.” Shit. Did I really just say that aloud?

  “What?” His mouth hangs open.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” My hands shield my face.

  He tugs my hands away. “It’s fine. Just wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

  Yeah, me neither. “Sorry, it’s just that you have stuff everywhere.”

  He chuckles. “Don’t get much company.”

  “I can clean up if you want. I don’t mind.”

  “So you’re a neat freak?” The corners of his mouth tilt upwards.

  “What? No!” Neat freak and Elena don’t belong in the same sentence. My mom would die of laughter right now. But I do want to help out. So far he’s refused everything I’ve offered.

  He’s still laughing as he says, “Don’t worry about it.”

  I don’t match his easy laugh. My mouth opens as I voice my inner thoughts. “I want to do something. You won’t let me contribute anything toward rent, groceries, or utilities. We’re living together for the foreseeable future.”

  He shakes his head.

  “I have to do something. I can cook too, if you want.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “You cook?”

  Warmth rises into my cheeks. “Well, I try. I mean, I’m no gourmet or anything.”

  “Now, you have my attention. My diet consists of cereal and takeout, so anything over that would be an improvement.”

  “So, deal?” My smile is meant to dazzle and allure but I’m not sure it has the same effect in the dark.

  “Okay, if you want. But you really don’t have to.”

  “It’s fine.” I nudge his foot with mine. “Thought you’d see it my way.”

  “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  My heart soars at the question. Does he want to hang out? I’d been planning on spending the day alone. As usua
l. “Ummm. I’ll have to check my busy calendar.” I smile.

  “Wanna hang out? Grab some lunch?”

  “Sure.” I fail at masking the enthusiasm in my voice. Why the sudden change? The question is on the tip of my tongue but I hold it back. Instead I say, “I’d better go back downstairs. I need a few more hours of sleep before I’ll be able to function properly.”

  “Okay, Gigs. Good night.” He offers a small, sexy smile.

  “Night.”

  I snuggle back on the couch and pull the blankets close. I fall back asleep with a huge smile on my face.

  The past week with Anders has been wonderful. Ever since the night I surprised him bed (that sounded way worse than I expected), he’s been a different person. He’s more relaxed and genuine, more like the guy who took me out snowmobiling. I’m thrilled he’s back. We’ve definitely grown closer, partly due to the fact that we live together in a small loft apartment, but also because we click.

  Things with him are easy. We’re working out our routine, adjusting to the daily rhythms of one another’s schedules and idiosyncrasies. He showers in the morning. I shower at night. He is pleasant before his morning coffee. I don’t speak. He likes watching National Geographic. I prefer to read.

  In the past few days we’ve found a balance that works for us. Breakfast and dinner together. Me on the couch reading at night, him on the recliner, or nights if I’m especially lucky, next to me on the couch watching TV. It’s nice. More than nice.

  Be careful. My heart warns. He’s not your boyfriend.

  But he’s showed up for me in more ways than one. Apart from the obvious housing arrangement, he’s put in extra effort to make me feel included. He even invited me out to lunch with him and JJ this past Tuesday.

  And when I confided that I was nervous to start my internship, he took me to the office and introduced me to the staff with the same pomp and authority he displayed that day in the Sky Lounge. Privilege. Power. Confidence.

  If I were to have any problems, he assured me, either he or JJ would take care of it. I couldn’t imagine myself having any trouble, so I smiled and told him that would be unnecessary.

 

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