“That was your choice. You chose to do the TV shows and the Instagram TikTok influencer stuff. You milked your gold for fame. You could have?—”
“Melted into the background like a nice, compliant little woman?”
“Is that what you think of me?” Mara asked, breathless and hurt. “That I’m compliant?”
Kirby made an exasperated noise. “God, why can’t we just have a normal conversation, Mara? What do you want me to do? Refuse to talk about my gold medal? Say something else nasty inthe hopes it sends you right back into my bed? Because honestly, I’m quite enjoying that.”
“That’s not why?—”
“You sure?” Kirby sat up too. She wrapped a tendril of Mara’s hair round her index finger. “I don’t mind. I don’t mind if you show up every time your daddy makes you mad. Or I hurt your feelings by saying the most innocuous things ever in an interview. Or you have a bad practice. Or you break some sunglasses. I can be your anger management, baby. No biggie.”
Mara moved away. The teasing in Kirby’s voice pricked at her, made her stomach hurt. But also, that offer felt dangerous. It wasn’t safe to want it so badly.
She needed to focus. To get her head on straight.
Kirby fell back on the bed and watched Mara as she got dressed. Kirby was still half-naked, and Mara forced herself not to look.
“That’s it?” Kirby said as Mara put her shoes on.
“What do you mean?”
“You blow in here like Hurricane Mara, rip your clothes off, then act like I’ve done something wrong by making you come so hard you scream.”
“I did not scream.”
Kirby laughed. “Yeah, you mustn’t let yourself vocalize what you like even for a second, huh?”
Jesus. Sometimes Mara really hated Kirby.
“We can’t do this again,” Mara said, loathing in her voice.
“No shit.” Kirby laughed, but it sounded off. Forced.
“Racing is the most important thing. We both need to focus on that.”
“I have been, princess. You’re the one who keeps coming here.”
Sick embarrassment dropped Mara’s stomach because that was so, so true. She mustered up as much blankness as shecould before responding. Compartmentalization. She was a pro at separating herself from her emotions.
It served her very, very well while skiing. Not so well while fighting with her biggest rival after an ill-advised hookup.
“It won’t happen again,” Mara said as coolly as possible. And then she left.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Kirby skippedher session with the sports psychologist. She wouldn’t be able to hide what had just happened. If she got there and started talking about the panic attacks and the anxiety and all the shit she had been hiding, the scarier secret—the Mara May secret—would come pouring out.
It would catch up with her. She assumed she couldn’t say, “Hey, I need to talk about my mental health,” then ghost said mental health professional without someone checking up on her. But that was a problem for later.
For the past few months—no, the past few years—Kirby had told herself that the most important thing was the other stuff. The TV appearances, the fame, the notoriety. Her bread and butter. It kept her bank account in the black. It gave her a nest egg. Skiing was what made her famous enough to find fame in other more lucrative ways.
She still raced at a high level. She won races. She won money. She worked her ass off, worked harder than most people she knew because she managed it all while also doing reality TV like it was a full-time job.
She sat up straight in bed. Energy buzzed through her. She needed to do something. She spied the bag with the sunglasses on Jordan’s bed.
Ridiculous.
