“Fine.” I push him off me. “I’m taking a shower. Can’t show up stinking like you. Everyone will know what we’ve been up to.”
Not that the shower will help much. I’m covered in hickeys. Austin’s a mouthy bastard. I groan for entirely new reasons as I examine myself in the mirror while the water heats up. He managed not to mark up my neck or face too badly, but my shoulders, arms and chest are a minefield of bruises. We’re going to have to have a talk about that.
But first, photoshoot. Hickey lectures can wait.
CHAPTER
SIX
I’m twenty minutes late.Austin is dressed by the time I’m out of the shower. I tell him not to wait. Once I’m clean, I get dressed, then somehow find myself slumped forward on the edge of the bed where I’ve fallen asleep while trying to put my socks on. I say a little prayer that Tara’s feeling merciful this morning as I quickly down two cups of coffee from the hotel room’s tiny coffee maker.
When the elevator doors slide open, it’s like every person in the lobby turns to stare at me. Everyone’s there. Matthieu. Kage. The women’s team is milling around too. I think about going back upstairs until I spot Austin, sitting in a tall folding chair, and I square my shoulders. He has to feel as much like shit as I do. I can’t leave him hanging.
Unfortunately, before I can go check in with him, Tara the Terror spots me and rushes across the lobby to intercept.
“You’re late. I specifically said six o’clock, not six thirty,” she says, tugging on my sleeve.
“It’s not six thirty. It’s only—” I glance at my phone and, yeah. Six twenty-four. I could argue if I want to, but the flash in her eyes says I’m playing with fire if I do.
She guides me to a tall chair like Austin’s and calls for makeup.
“Makeup? What for?” I ask. No one said anything about makeup. Who’s going to see my face once I’m in full ski gear?
Tara snorts, eyeing me closely. “Trust me. You look like you didn’t sleep a wink last night. Didn’t I tell you not to go out and get wasted? And what the hell happened to your face?”
After so many hours of Austin slowly melting my brain and changing me from the inside out, I’d forgotten about the bruise where Daniel punched me until I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Even without the hickeys, my face should be enough to disqualify me from today’s events, but Tara’s not accepting anything less than full team participation.
Also, despite the early hour, she looks perfect. Reddish-blond hair swept up in a messy bun, but I know the strands that tumble free around her face were specifically chosen for the role. Her makeup is flawless. Lips a glossy pink. Eyeliner fiercely black and delicately arched. Beside her, I probably do look like roadkill.
Grumbling, I slump into the seat. At least I get to sit next to Austin. A stylist is doing something with his hair, making it look windblown, which I guess is better than the last time I saw it, when it was sticking out at odd ends and basically screaming “freshly and excessively fucked.” I give him a quick smile and go to ask if he feels as shitty as I do, then hesitate. We didn’t talk about this. Alone in the hotel room, being together felt real. Like something that was meant to be and will last for a long time. But out here, with so many of the people we see every day, I don’t know how we’re supposed to behave. Not that I’m afraid of judgment. It’s ski cross, not conservative politics. No one cares that we’re queer, and there are probably even a few people who are about to cash in on some friendly wagers on whether or notAustin and I are a couple. But we didn’t exactly have time to agree on how and when we go public.
The problem is solved when a pushy makeup artist arrives, grabbing my chin andtsking as though my face has craters like the moon and not just some dark circles and a puffy cheek. At one point, the artist pulls aside the collar of my shirt and the look he gives me says he thinks the marks on my skin might be contagious. I tell him not to worry, that I’ll keep my jacket zipped up and he sniffs softly before he continues working on my face. By the time I’m done, Austin’s hair has achieved maximum windage and he’s waiting with the others by the hotel’s front door.
“Rough night?” Kage asks as I approach. “We didn’t see you two leave the bar.”
I glance at Austin, who quirks his mouth up in a careless grin.
“We wanted to make sure we were well rested for the shoot today,” he says.
Fair enough. We can save the big announcements for later.
We’re all loaded into vans and driven around to the far side of the mountain. The sun is barely over the horizon and will hit this side of the hill first. The Apex team and their photographers are waiting for us, armed with a fleet of snowmobiles to take us up the trail and tubs of outerwear for us to wear during the shoot. It’s so early, the chairlifts aren’t even running yet, but one of the brand reps tells us they’ve booked a whole trail for our use, so even once the day’s skiers arrive, we won’t be bothered.
I feel like absolute shit. The coffee sits in the bottom of my stomach like battery acid. The Apex people haven’t exactly provided a full catering spread, since a hot breakfast doesn’t travel well up the side of a snow-covered mountain, but there’s a table set up with muffins and protein bars. I try a muffin, but the inside of my mouth is so dry it basically sticks in my throat like glue. Also, my whole body hurts. Spending a weekend competingat an international ski cross event, followed by nonstop sex with your best friend is a physically demanding undertaking. My knees and hips ache, my thighs shake when I do a few test turns, there’s even a weird kink in the middle of my back that pulls every time I turn my head to the right.
“You okay?” Austin asks as we wait for our turn at the shoot.
“Are you?” I ask.
He smiles softly to himself. “My ass hurts.”
Is that all? I didn’t do my job right if it is.
“How long is this thing supposed to go for?” I ask.
“Tara said we’d be done by noon.”
I groan. Turns out photoshoots aren’t fast moving things, especially not when there’s a whole team to shoot and the clothing company has brought multiple sets of gear for everyone to wear. We don’t even get to do a proper run. Just five or six turns until we’re past the camera, then the snowmobiles tow us back up to the starting point so we can do it again while the photographer shouts at us to look at the camera or not look at the camera, to smile or not smile. Sometimes we go alone and other times in pairs. On and on.
