“Hi.” I’m still catching my breath from my run, and I lean on my skis that I’ve stuck into the snow.
“Your run was great.” She blinks at me. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, the tip of her nose a darker shade of pink. She’s wearing a toque that looks handmade.
I receive praise about my performance almost ad nauseam, but coming from Poppy it’s different. It’s genuine, not like she’s laying it on thick for my attention, and something warm flickers to life in my abdomen.
“Hot chocolate?” She offers, interrupting my thoughts, and I nod.
“Make it two. I think that old curmudgeon over there could use a pick-me-up.” I tilt my head towards Dan,marching in my direction. I hand him the steaming, styrofoam cup as he approaches.
His eyes dart between Poppy and I for a moment.
“Careful Dan, you keep your face like that any longer in this cold, and it’ll freeze that way.”
“Fuck you, you little prick,” he barks, but I can hear a hint of affection behind his aggression. “Get over here.”
He sips the hot chocolate as he pushes past me, and I take the hint that I’m supposed to follow. He turns to face me once we’re sufficiently out of earshot of the crowd.
“I thought I’d come down here to check in on you, and this is what I find,” he gestures around him. “Does this look likekeeping a low profileto you?”
“I mean, yeah, I used an alias for the competition just for you.”
“You think people won’t know that ‘Maverick Desperado’ is a fake name?” He does that thing where he rubs his fingers between his brows again, as if I completely exhaust him. He looks back up at me and points towards the end of the street. “You see those people over there? They’re reporters, Jett.”
Shit.
“And this is forcharity, Dan.” I emphasize the last syllable. “I’ve done it every year since I could put my own skis on. I should think Jason and Brooke would be all over this. Chill, okay?”
Dan scrubs a hand down his face.
“Who was the girl you were flirting with?”
I glance around me to see who Dan’s talking about, and I spot Poppy, handing a hot chocolate to a young girl.
“Poppy?” I chuckle. “She’s an old family friend. Practically a sister. We were definitelynotflirting.”
“Not what it seemed like to me judging by the way she was looking at you.” He looks away from me, thinking. “You know I was hoping you’d say she was your girlfriend or something. It might do you some good to have a stable relationship with a nice girl like that.”
“Not happening, Dan.” My knee-jerk refusal has little do with Poppy, and everything to do with my avoidance of relationships in general.
Though Dan’s suggestion piques my interest.
“Fine. If that’s not going to happen, then she’s too cute for you to be talking to her in public. Especially like that.”
“Again, not flirting,” I remind him.
“Don’t give the media any more fodder, Jett. Stay away from—” Dan pauses, considering his words for a moment— “vagina-owning people for a while.”
What the fuck does that mean, vagina-owning people?
“Okay, Dan. Do you have any tips on how to do that? Cause from the sounds of it you’re an expert in not getting laid.”
“You are a cheeky little shit,” he says with a smile and a laugh before he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving me standing in the street.
CHAPTER 8
POPPY
A woman screams.
