"I still think Adelboden has the most deranged fans," I say, sipping."They sounded like they were about to burn the Cauldron down."
He laughs."They probably would've if I'd lost half a second on the last split and their Grummel won at home."
He sets his glass down and says, "You know that steep in Adelboden?The last pitch?I swear, we tested a setup on Hintertux back in October that helped me hold the edge better through it.Better than any year before."
I raise an eyebrow."That glacier camp actually did something useful?"
He shrugs, smiling."Miracles happen."
I lean back, swirling my glass."I remember watching your team during the camp.Looked like half the field was sunbathing up there.You sure you got any training done?"
He grins."Only when the snow wasn't melting under us."
"Any…distractions?"I ask lightly.Just teasing.Not expecting it to land.
He leans back, eyes flicking toward me with that cocky glint."Just one.Crazy fan.Nearly killed herself for a chance at a date."
I laugh, halfhearted, a second too slow.Then the words actually land.
The glass freezes halfway to my lips.
His sentence sinks like salt in a cut I didn't know was open.
My chest locks.I know it's technically accurate, and I also know I have been asking for it with my remark.
But hearing it framed like that—like I was some wide-eyed groupie throwing herself at a ski god—it lands like a punch, maybe because it hits the truth that I hate so much to admit.
I swallow and set my glass down.
"I'm sure your fans would line up to ski off a cliff for a wink from you," I say, cool."But don't worry—I've retired from volunteer stunts."
He stiffens.His smile slips.Not sure what changed the mood so abruptly.
"Katharina—"
"It's fine.You've got a car waiting.Don't be late."
He tries to say something else.I don't let him.
"No fan expects a call after she gets into your pants, right?Don't worry.I know how this works.Call the next girl if you're bored."
I pick up my glass, toss back the rest of the wine he brought, and stand.My heart's pounding.My voice, blessedly, isn't shaking.
He watches me walk away.Doesn't follow.The team's already calling him.
Back in my room, I sit on the edge of the bed with the half-empty bottle between my knees.The hurt comes slow, then all at once.It burns hotter than the wine.I sip again, trying not to cry.
What the hell was that?After everything that happened last year.This is what I am to him?A fangirl?
Deep down, I know he did not mean it.That I am overreacting.But the hurt is so real because his words found some raw spot that cuts too deep.
My phone buzzes.
Tom: “You are unlike any other girl…”
I stare at the words, fingers itching to throw the phone across the room.
That's not comfort.That's a category.
