It sounded like a good idea, at first, when she’d strutted out in the skintight suit, highlighting every inch of her flawless body. However, very quickly, the consequences of that decision beganto rear their ugly head – i.e. me not remembering the difference between pizza and fries positions, having no speed control, and getting partially stuck on the ski lift.
Judging from her wide grin, Kit was loving every second of my failure.
“It’s like riding a bike!” she shouted as I caught up to her side. “You’ll remember in no time.”
“I’m not so sure,” I grumbled, my attention completely on her. The wind tore blonde strands out of her ponytail, mesmerizing me with their little dance across her forehead. “How is this acceptable?” I motioned to the busy slope in front of us. “When we went sledding, you screamed the entire time.”
“Because this is controlled. And I’m not hurling myself down a slope on a piece of cheap plastic. These are reinforced,” she said. “Plus, it’s much easier to call mountain rescue when there are people around and it’s not Christmas Eve in the middle of the wilderness.”
I fell silent for a moment, trying to poke holes in her argument. When I couldn’t find any, I sighed. “You’ve got me there.”
Her blue eyes sparkled. “Don’t worry. We can take this one at your pace, tennis boy. I’m not throwing you down the mountain.”
Fifteen minutes later, that turned out to be a dirty, filthy lie.
“Kit! Slow down!” I shouted ahead, moving forward inch by slow inch. It was easy to spot her ahead, the only full pink outfit in a sea of black and grey, but every time I thought I was catching up with her, she sped ahead, enjoying the chase.
In the distance, I saw her look over her shoulder, beckoning me over with a wave of her hand. With a reluctant growl, I dug the sticks into the ground and pushed away.
Wobbling on both skis, I tried to recall every piece of information Kit had tried to remind me of about skiing and kept my weight forward.
Successful, I started to move.
With every moment, I picked up more and more speed, my balance stuck on tilting forward. I dug the sticks into the snow again, but instead of stopping, they slipped out of my gloved hands, and I was left helpless as I built up yet more speed down the slope.
Kit was nothing but a pink blur as I whizzed past, screaming my head off, arms flailing.
I couldn’t focus on anything as I sped away except my inevitable death. I grasped out for trees, for anything to stop me, even attempting to crash so I could safely stop. Nothing would work. I was sure I’d meet my death any second, whether it be a tree or another skier or even a sharp, unexpected cliff edge.
It wasn’t until Kit appeared, speeding by my side like some goddamn winter Olympic champion, that I stood any chance of survival. She stepped across, grasping my body and shouting instructions at me, all the while using her sticks correctly to begin to slow my speed. Through some trick of timing and terror, Kit managed to hook an arm around my waist before we collided with a snowbank.
We tumbled together, skis tangling, snow flying. When we stopped moving, I was on my back, she was on top of me, and I felt like I’d swallowed half the slope.
“Holy shit,” I gasped, my heartbeat still wild. The cold from the snow pressed against my exposed skin, but I didn’t mind, only grateful that, against all odds, I hadn’t crashed to my death.
Kit burst out laughing, her breath puffing little clouds into the cold air, her weight more than welcome on me. “I thought you’d never stop.”
I blinked up at her, and despite the pain in my tailbone, the cold seeping into my jacket, and the burning in my thighs, I couldn’t help but laugh too.
“Are you alright?”
“I think I’m dying,” I groaned, the muscles in my back beginning to ache. It was nothing serious – besides getting too old for this shit.
“You’re not. But your dignity? That might need resuscitating.” Kit tsked, her face still so close to mine. With her teeth, she bit the end of her glove, pulled it off, and moved up her goggles. “You’ve got a little blood.” Her light touch skimmed my forehead, hand pulling back to show a couple spots of red. “It’s just a scratch.”
Pain grumbled through my aching body. “Can we go home now?”
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” she said. “I’m not going to subject these pro skiers to you any longer.”
She rolled from me, a surprising expert in untangling skis, and found her balance on the snow again. Kit replaced her glove before offering her hand to help me up from the snow.
I huffed a laugh as she pulled me to my skis. “I’m surprised I haven’t been banned from the slope yet.” Looking around, I could see the passing people looking at us strangely, checking me out to make sure I hadn’t broken a limb.
Kit laughed, the sound enough to send heat into my frozen bones. “Let’s get you down to the bottom first.”
Once we madeit to the bottom, Kit insisted on getting me checked out by the onsite first aid. They cleaned up my smallforehead scratch and made sure I wasn’t showing any basic signs of concussion before allowing us to leave.
Even when we reached the car, Kit refused to let me drive. I was unsure at first, but I relented and threw her the keys. She followed the road signs back towards Ciallach, singing loudly – and terribly – along to the radio that was on full blast. I didn’t mind.
