Conrad adjusted his goggles and his hold on his poles, waiting for Matt to give him the go-ahead.
“Sorry about this.” Matt gave a helpless shrug. “I know you can ski well, but the insurance company demands that we test everyone.”
“Hey, I don’t mind. I’m getting paid to ski.”
Matt chuckled then pressed a finger to his earpiece. “They’re set, so whenever you’re ready…”
Other patrollers and staff were spread out on the mountain, some to evaluate him and some because they just wanted to watch him ski.
That was fine by him.
“See you at the bottom.” Conrad pushed off with his poles, shot out over the edge, and was off.
Sunshine. Wind and powder in his face. Fresh air.
This didnotsuck.
He tore down Silver Bullet, a double-black diamond, traversed to Snow in Summer, and flew through the glades, taking face shots all the way. He emerged from the trees, connected with Silver Bullet again, catching air on the moguls.
Sweet.
Hell, yeah, he could do this job—at least for a while.
All too soon it was over.
He edged to a stop, the sound of cheers and applause drifting down from above.
Moretti, who had already finished his test, walked over to him. “Show-off.”
“Are they always like this—cheering and shit?”
“Nah, man. I think they all have a crush on you, even the guys. You ought to tell them all you’re taken, or you’re going to spend the season fending off women.”
Conrad snorted. “Give me a break.”
Then again, he had been asked to sign a lot of autographs this week.
Jesse turned his tips toward the lodge. “Let’s grab some lunch while we can.”
Over sandwiches and coffee, Moretti talked about the different runs and shared Ski Patrol traditions. “At the end of the day, we all stay in our gear until everyone is off the mountain. When the last patroller is in, we all crack a brew and celebrate.”
“I like it.”
The other patrollers joined them one by one as they finished their tests. Conrad was still learning their names.
“Great run, Conrad. You’ve really skied Everest?” This was Amanda.
Conrad nodded.
“Sick, dude.” That was Travis.
“Where did you learn to ski?” Christa sat beside him, leaning a little too close.
“Alaska. I grew up on a homestead in the Brooks Range.”
“That’s hardcore.” That guy was Doug.
No, Doug was digging through the fridge. That was Steve.
