“I’m not worried,” I said, voice clipped.
He chuckled. “Yeah, sure.”
I whipped around. “Stop dragging your feet, Zolt. You just crashed and were unresponsive.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “I was just a bit done. I was annoyed, so I thought I’d lie there for a bit.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I just didn’t want to move.”
I stepped closer, tilting my head to stare at him — to look for a sign that he had to be kidding me. “You’re telling me you were conscious and just wanted to lie there meters off the track because you were annoyed? In the same place you lost your mind at me for standing in for twenty seconds?”
“I’m signed off on being on the track,” he countered as if that was a logical comeback. “You could have been hurt.”
“I am more hurt by you deciding to lie there! You could have given me a heart attack!”
“Aw,” he said, lips pouted, and took my hands. “So you were worried.”
I snatched them back. “Lying there on the track hurt me more than potentially getting hit by some gravel!”
“You could have been hit by a bike.”
It didn’t change how I felt. I wanted to shout it at him, but I managed to hold the words back after a few attempts at a different retort.
“Medical bay,” I said through my teeth, before turning on my heel and storming over to it.
But I looked over my shoulder to quickly assess him, and he gave me a beaming smile.
He had no idea, did he?
He was the most frustrating man on the planet.
Who seemed to be walking just fine.
In the medical bay, Dr. Yvette Sannier had just finished stitching a forearm from one of the earlier crashes and gave Zolt a dull look before rolling her stool over to us at the desk. She waved at one of the doors. “Sit, Zoltán.”
We walked to the little room with a single bed as she gathered some papers.
“You should sit,” I told him as he paced the length of the bed.
“I hate this part,” he grumbled.
“What? Crashing?”
He shook his head. “No. When they treat me like I’m vulnerable.”
He huffed and sat beside me, winced, and clutched his ribs.
“Still fine?”
He gave me a dull look.“My snow boots are full, that’s all.”
I blinked. “Your… what? Your what is what?”
“My snowboots.”
My eyes narrowed, and he sighed again.“I’m fed up.”
