The jump I’m staring at must be about a hundred feet long and nearly as high. My heart pounds thinking about Jett going flying off the end of it.
“Watching Jett ski is like watching history being made before your eyes,” he says. “You’ve got one of the best seats in the house, too. All these women will be jealous of you.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. Dating Jett is kind of like willingly putting a target on my own back. The scandal has had quite the polarizing effect on Jett’s fans.
Some have accused him of being a cheat, of not taking accountability, of being given special treatment. Others have doubled down on their obsession, like he’s become forbidden somehow, and therefore more exciting.
I glance over my shoulder and look back at the crowd again. Some people are paying attention to the event, and others are too busy partying, doing keg stands, and causing a raucous.
I turn my attention to the hill where Jett is getting ready at the top, and shake off the distracting thoughts making my nerves buzz beneath myskin.
Focus on what you have to do,I remind myself.It’s just a kiss. Jett has done this a thousand times before, if not more.
Suddenly, the buzzer sounds and he’s off like a shot.
Even from a distance I can tell that he’s laser focused on the jump ahead. He’s speed, and fury, and determination. He’s in his element.
Jett points his skis straight down the hill, tucking himself inward to make his body more aerodynamic.
But as he nears the jump, I squint and can just make out his expression. There’s a wide grin on his face. He’s focused, but he’s also having the time of his life.
Jett talked the entire drive from Heartwood about this competition. He told me all about the points system, how each event earns him points that will determine his standing and whether he makes it to the World Cup Final.
There are two more competitions after today, and Jett needs to score high at each of them to qualify.
He sails off the jump, and my heart stills, my breath catching as I wait for him to make contact with the ground.
The announcer calls out a series of names for moves that I can’t make sense of, but whatever he does in the air is spectacular. He’s upside down, and twisted, skis crossed, and somehow, he manages to fully untangle himself as he drops back down to earth.
The crowd roars as he sticks the landing. Even the announcer is amazed, talking about the grace with which Jett completes his turns. The smooth control he has over his skis, over his body.
Jett’s body moves in a way that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about, on and off the hill.
I shake off the thoughts as Jett finishes the lasthalf of the run and comes to meet us all at the bottom. His expression is cool, collected, if not a little cocky. It’s apparent by the lopsided grin he’s wearing that he knows he scored high.
The announcer calls out his score like he did for the last skier, but I don’t hear it.
My senses have homed in on Jett as he takes off his skis and draws nearer, his gaze locked in on me. My breathing is shallow and rapid, as if I was the one who finished competing, not Jett.
The audience is still going wild, but as Jett steps into my space, the world around me goes quiet.
Quiet except for the roaring thunder in my chest.
He dips his face close to mine, and he wraps a strong arm around the curve at the base of my spine.
“You look good,” he murmurs into my ear.
Goosebumps scatter across my skin beneath my snowsuit. Electricity zips down my spine at his touch, at the sound of his voice.
Jett pulls back now, and I ready myself for what comes next. His hair is damp and sticking out from underneath his helmet, his cheeks a rosy shade from exertion, but it’s his lips that I can’t tear my eyes away from. The bow in the centre, the way the bottom one is slightly fuller than the top.
His tongue slides across them, and my pulse is a crescendo beat in my ears. I flutter my eyelids closed.
“I can’t kiss you, Poppy,” he whispers into the space between us so only I can hear.
“What?” I ask in a hushed tone.
My gaze snaps back up to his eyes, searching his face for an explanation, but he doesn’t offer one and my stomachdrops.
