When I slide into him this time, there’s no resistance. He won’t walk straight for days after this. Austin has to be sore, but his moan as I move in and out of him is only pleasure.
“Yes,” he says, bringing one of my arms over to cradle against his chest. “Yes.”
It’s never been like this for me. Not with anyone. Austin must coat his skin in something addictive. They’ll do a drug test and suspend me from competition and all I’ll be able to say is thatit wasn’t some unmarked supplement or cold medication. It was Austin Grimm. I can’t get enough of him.
Our orgasms are almost pathetic. No more rockets and lightning. Just a long exhale and a twitch for him, a grunt from me and we’re done.
God, I hope we’re done.
“You good?” he asks, as I slip the condom off and bunch it up in a shitty single-ply hotel tissue. The idea of getting up and walking to the trash can feels like doing an uphill run in a weighted vest. I drop it on the nightstand.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I run a hand over his hip, brushing my fingers over the laser cat.
“I didn’t mean to spring this on you,” he says.
I snort and wrap him up with rubbery arms. “Are you still apologizing? You may have had the realization before I did, but a few more nights like this, and you won’t be able to get rid of me.” I kiss the top of his head, enjoying the absolute sense of rightness that comes with the feeling of Austin smelling like sex and sweat in my arms. He got off the start line before I did, but I’ve been giving chase all night and I’m pretty close to catching up. He won’t have to worry about being jealous of me and someone else ever again. There won’t be anyone else.
Provided I don’t die of exhaustion first. Maybe tonight hasn’t been some epic love confession. Maybe this is Austin’s idea of revenge. Can’t fuck around if I’m too tired to live.
I yawn. My eyelids feel like lead weights. “What time is it?”
Austin pulls his watch off the nightstand, squinting at the face. It’s an old analogue watch that was given to him when his grandfather died back while we were in high school. He says it’s his lucky charm.
“It’s five thirty. Shit.”
“What?” Unless he’s about to tell me the world is ending at sunrise, whatever he’s worried about can wait until I’ve had some sleep.
“The shoot.”
My drowsiness makes it hard to follow what he’s saying.
“What shoot?”
He shakes me. The motion is urgent. I have a sinking feeling sleep is about to escape me for a little longer.
“The Apex shoot.”
My eyes fly open.
“Now?”
“We have to be downstairs at six.” He looks at me, face stricken.
Ugh. Apex is one of the team’s major sponsors. They do high-performance winter apparel, and next year they’re producing the suits we’ll be wearing for competition, including at the Olympics. With this being the last race of this season, they scheduled a photoshoot for the day after, since the whole team would be available. The pictures are going to be used for promotional campaigns across Canada next winter in the run up to the Games. The hassle of doing it already seemed like a pain last night before we went out for karaoke. Now, though? How dare they interrupt my sleep? I’d even go for round nine—or is it fourteen?—with Austin instead of dragging myself from this bed so I can pretend to be excited about wearing a designer ski suit I could never afford on my own.
But Austin’s already up, running around, scrambling for his clothes.
“I completely forgot about it. I can’t believe I forgot.”
I can. Man had other priorities and I respect that. I roll onto my back, groaning. This can’t be how tonight ends.
“What if we didn’t show up?”
Austin’s halfway into his underwear but gets his foot stuck, sending him reeling backward until he flops back down on his bed, the one we haven’t touched all night.
“Forget it,” I say, pulling the blankets up around my ears. “I’m not going.”
“Then Tara would make us both sorry.” He rests his chin on his palm as he looks up at me, arching an eyebrow. I groan again. He’s not wrong. Behind her back, a lot of the racers refer to Tara the Terror. She’s our sponsorship liaison. We all know sponsors are the only reason we’re able to compete at this level. Their money funds our training and, for a lot of us, even things like housing. Without companies like Apex, most of us would need part-time jobs at a minimum, which would take up time we don’t have if we want to keep training and competing. We know this because Tara reminds us of it every time someone gets mopey about chatting up potential sponsors or doing an event with them when we’d rather be skiing. She will not take no for an answer under any circumstances short of catastrophic injury or death.
