There’s a longer pause this time. I imagine her somewhere in Prague, phone in both hands, chewing her lip.
ZLA: As tempting as that sounds… I can’t, I have races of my own.
ZLA: Though I feel weird comparing that to Kitzbühel.
I can almost hear her voice on that last line, wry and half-apologetic.
FAB: There we are again.
ZLA: No, I mean for real. Pec, North Bohemia.
ZLA: There will probably be no snow in this weather. And they can’t use salt, it’s in the national park. So, we’ll be skiing in wet slush and ruts.
ZLA: From what I know, I’ve already won, I’ll be alone in my category.
I smile. Of course, she’s minimizing it.
ZLA: So I’m practically waiting for you to tell me to cancel it and wait for you at the finish on Hahnenkamm Sunday.
ZLA: I’d have an excuse to ditch the skiing in the slush.
FAB: That's some kind of test?
FAB: You know I’ll tell you to tune your skis, go there and give it all you’ve got.
The reply is quick.
ZLA: It was worth a try.
I shake my head, still smiling, and shift gears.
FAB: Next weekend then. It’s speed weekend, I’m not racing. I’ll come to Reiteralm to train.
FAB: You can stay in my hotel room.
FAB: Go by train to Salzburg, I’ll take my dad’s car and pick you up.
Three dots blink on and off. My heart is racing harder than it did at the start gate.
ZLA: I’ll think about it.
Not a no. Not a yes yet either.
FAB: I can take you to some expensive restaurant in Salzburg, then we can go to a spa.
Two dots this time, like she’s laughing.
ZLA: That some kind of test of your own?
ZLA: You know I’ll tell you to take me to some black slope and drill me long enough to make me nail the left-footed turn.
I grin at the screen.
FAB: It wasn’t a test.
FAB: But you passed with flying colors.
I hesitate, then push.
