Okay,so it’s true.
It’s not only dating that I’m inexperienced with. It’s… all of it.
I’ve never kissed anyone. Not even a peck.
But now, I have to kiss Jett in front of a crowd of onlookers. Reporters. Fans. Women who are out here, standing at the bottom of the ski hill in negative ten-degree weather, wearing bikini tops and holding signs with his name on them.
I guess some people aren’t too bothered by the scandal. One of them has his name written across her boobs, and all I can think about is how long it will take her to get it off. It looks like she wrote it in permanent marker.
The resort is packed, people gathering around to watch some of the best skiers in the world compete for a shot at the cup. Loud electronic music booms around us, the snow-covered valley thrumming with fervour and excitement.
My pulse is thrumming, too.
I shouldn’t be this nervous at the thought of kissingJett. There are worse people to share your first kiss with than arguably one of the hottest professional skiers in the game.
It’s just so public, and we have to make it look convincing.
Like we’ve kissed a thousand times before.
What if I don’t know how? What if I open my mouth too wide, or use too much tongue, or not enough tongue? What if it’s wildly obvious to everyone here that I’ve never done this before? Our cover could be blown in an instant if I screw it up.
It’s not like I’m embarrassed by my lack of experience, though it’s not exactly a point of pride. I know there’s nothing wrong with me, I just never had the opportunity. I was never the kind of girl that people looked at twice through my formative years.
Sure, sometimes it stung, to always be left behind. But that’s the hand I was dealt.
Even if I had been interested in dating, I was off school so much for medical appointments or was too unwell to go. I wasn’t afforded the opportunity to be boy obsessed like some of my friends. Eventually I learned to accept it, if not embrace it.
Still, I certainly wasn’t planning on admitting any of this to Jett.
Now that the initial shock of himproposingto me has worn off, I’m left with a warring mix of nerves and relief. I have a real shot at saving Thistle + Thorne, just when I was starting to believe that all hope was lost.
Who’d have thought Jett would appear as the café’s knight in shining armour?
And who’d have thought I’d be here, trying to wrangle my nerves and work up the courage to kiss him?
My stomach is churning by the time I reach the front of the crowd. When I get up to the metal fence surrounding the finish area, I spot the man Jett was talking to after the skijoring event, Dan. He walks over to where I’m standing and unhooks a section of the fence to let me through.
“Poppy, right?” He asks. He’s middle-aged, with salt and pepper hair mostly hidden beneath a Nuclear toque. He has a kind, if not weathered, face.
I wonder how many of the lines are from dealing with Jett’s antics for so many years.
I nod, and squeeze through the fence. There are about a thousand pairs of eyes on me as I walk over to where the rest of Jett’s team is waiting for him at the bottom of the run. Dan quickly introduces me around.
I learn that he is Jett’s manager and coach, and the shorter man with the neatly groomed beard is his athletic therapist, Mark.
They’re both clad head to toe in brand-new Nuclear gear. I glance around at their matching navy blue team parkas, and feel a little silly in the one-piece powder-blue snow suit Brooke picked out for me to wear. It’s barely warm enough, the wind has picked up since this morning and the sky has clouded over, but she thought it looked cute.
It has faux fur cuffs around the wrists, and it makes me looks like a snow bunny, Jett’s usual type. She thought it might help me to not stand out, but she was clearly mistaken. I’m the only woman who has ever been allowed to stand with Jett’s team, so I may as well be wearing a neon sign.
The last skier that finishes moves off the course,and the announcer calls out the score over a loudspeaker. Then he calls the next skier.
It’s Jett’s turn.
“Ever seen him compete?” Mark asks me, his arms crossed as he glances up to the top of the hill.
Jett is a small speck up there, but in a matter of seconds, he’ll be down here next to me and then it will be my turn to put on a show.
“Mhmm,” I answer, absentmindedly. “Not in person, though.”
