“Have a seat, Little Bean.”Remi taps the round leather-covered stool next to him.
I don’t want to, but I plop down, the ice in my drink rattles against the edges. “Don’t call me a Little Bean. I’m not six anymore.” Plus, it’s the name Knox calls me from time to time, and he’s an asshole.
Remi leans back like I burned him, his hand in the air defensively. “Okay, then.”
I sigh, blowing a large breath between my teeth sostrong it moves the straw in my beverage. It’s not his fault his best friend is an asshole. “I’m sorry. You know how it is.”
He nods his head like he totally understands, but that’s impossible because even I have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m happy for Remi, even if I’m not showing it well at this particular moment. There’s nothing like medaling at the Golds — at least I assume. I’ve neveractually won a medal or any kind of trophy. But this is bigger than that. Not only does he have another medal to take home and put in his trophy room — yes, he has one of those — but he now holds the world record for the most medals in the snowboarding halfpipe event. Sure it could have been the most gold medals, but fuck it’s still a record.
It’s a pretty awesome accomplishment. Even if myclaim to fame is only being the sister of the guy who has the most medals.
Regardless of the fun, excitement, and glory he’s had over the years, I’m ready to be done. Marley kisses Remi and I take a long pull of liquid from my drink. These two are so gross I need liquor. Leaving the snowboarding circuit will be wonderful and horrible at the same time. On the one hand I won’t have to be aroundKnox so often, but on the other hand I’ll no longer be around Knox so often.
I’m a complicated woman.
No more being tempted by his manly woodsy scent or the way his body flexes as he zooms down a mountain. Thankfully I have enough of those images burned into my memory. My spank bank will be full for a while. It’s the other memories, the ones that aren’t so great, that I won’t miss. Ones liketonight. Where he’s surrounded by women and living up to the “athletes are all players” stereotype so many snow boarders in the industry have.
It takes me another ten minutes to suck my way through the liquid. Just because I decided to drink the entire thing does not mean my body was ready to accept the entire thing. By the time I’m using the straw to search for the last few remnants of alcoholat the bottom of the glass, Knox has peeled himself away from his newly formed fan club and started up a conversation with Remi and Marley. There were a few quick attempts to engage me as well. When I replied with only head shakes and grunts, he eventually gave up, but not before shooting Marley a look like I’d turned into a super crazy bitchy person. Maybe I have. Either way it’s better for thefour of us because if I open my mouth now I’m liable to spill everything out.
It’s not good when even I don’t know what I’ll say.
“What do you think, Reagan? You can watch me practice tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure.” I steadfastly avoid eye contact with Knox and search the bottom of the glass in case I left any gin. At this point I’d drink the water off the melting ice cubes if they touched liquor.
Knox takes a step toward me, his body now in between my stool and Remi. “I really need you there, Little Bean.” He lays his hand on my shoulder.
“I said I’d be there. I’ll be there, okay?” I flick his hand off my shoulder and stand. ”Going to my room.”
“But you’ll be there tomorrow?” Knox won’t give up.
“Yes!” The word trails off as I turn my back to the small group and head to the door of thebar, but I said it loudly enough I know he heard even over the noise of various conversations taking place at the tables around us.
I am so ready to be done with snowboarders.
I need to get through these last trials and head home to Texas. My relationship with Jake is going so well who knows, maybe once Remi officially retires I’ll pack up my stuff and move in with him. Eighteen months of datingis long enough before you move in with someone, right? The fact we’ve been doing it long distance makes it even harder. It would be nice to not need a plane to see my boyfriend.
The lobby outside the bar has a few small groups of people coming and going. Down one of the hallways where room doors are located, there’s a small sitting area underneath a window at the end. The chairs have dark bluefabric and pretty little flowers. It reminds me of those seats you’d find in someone’s house who served you afternoon tea.
The cushion barely moves when I sit down. It’s probably brand new and brought in to make the hotel look nicer before everyone showed up. The corner is a little dark and none of the couples manage to find their way to this section of the hallway. I have no idea what time itis here, which means I have absolutely no idea what time it is back home, but I pull my phone from one of the cute little pockets hidden within the folds of my dress.
Every dress should have pockets. Maybe when I’m done with this whole snowboarding lifestyle, I’ll go into fashion design. I’d require my entire line to be available in plus sizes that still look good, and every dress would be requiredto have pockets. Create a little force of pocket police. They’d go around to stores, and if they find a dress that doesn’t have at least one pocket hidden somewhere, they’d spill paint on it like the fur people in the nineties. Unless you get arrested for that sort of thing.
Whoa, Reagan, settle down.The Long Island may have contained more alcohol than it tasted like.
I find Jake’s name inmy list of most recent contacts, his digits further down the list than they probably should be. When I get back to the states, I’m going to be a much better girlfriend. I’m going to learn to cook. And then when we move in together I’ll make awesome three-course meals. I have to learn what spices are first, but I’m sure there’s an online course about them somewhere.
“Hello,” an overly femininevoice greets me. One definitely not belonging to my boyfriend.
I’m startled for half a second, no words able to come out of my mouth. “Is… Jake there?”
She giggles. One of those stupid little feminine giggles. It’s so obnoxious I curl my toes in annoyance. The kind that makes me want to rip out a piece of her most likely blonde hair. “Jake! The phone is for you, honey,” she yells in the background,but he’s obviously not far because there’s barely enough time for me to catch my breath before he says my name in total surprise.
“Reagan? Is it like one a.m. there for you?”
That’s what he has to say? “What the fuck, Jake? Who answered your phone?”
It’s not like he has a sister he can blame it on. “Oh that? It’s not like that.”
