Renner takes off, and I’m feeling much better as I get settled back into my spot on the side of the mountain with the other coaches.
“Vox seems like a handful,” Montoya says around Fuller, keeping his eyes on the slope in front of us. “Grey’s going to have to give him to you one-on-one. I don’t think the spoiled brat likes to share.”
Maybe not, but the bigger concern is that I could easily see myself not wanting to share him with anyone else, either. His talent and arrogance demand that he be coached by an equal, and I may not have been on a board in five years, but I’m the only one holding a record he hasn’t beaten.
When Vox flies by on his next pass, he throws me a mocking salute, and something about the gesture makes the blood in my veins begin to buzz with desire. Whether it’s to race him, knock him off his high horse, or something much more dangerous, I’m not sure because I refuse to examine it too closely.
Chapter 5
Vox
It’s been three weeks since training kicked off, and I’m disappointed because I still haven’t seen Connor on a board. I’ve gotten myself off like nine times thinking about watching him fly down this mountain in person, but every day, he shows up on that damned snowmobile. I’ve asked Grey about it, but he just said Connor’s recovering from some injury.
I wonder if his injury has to do with whatever it is he can’t tell me.
Nonetheless, progress is being made, I guess. Connor pointed out that I don’t rely on my edges fast enough in the turns, and I’ve been working on making some changes…not that I let him know that, of course.
“Your edges only help you slow down when you’re perpendicular to the fall line,” he’d reminded me. “Yes, they help you carve tight turns, but at some point, in that turn, that’s exactly the position you’re going to end up in, so you need to make sure you stay parallel to the line of gravity even as you’re carvingyour turn. Think of it as changing your trajectory, not completing a full turn.”
I’m reluctant to admit it helped, and I shaved two seconds off my slalom time, but I’m still four seconds away from his record…and in our sport, that’s a fucking eternity.
Today, the weather is too bad to train on the slopes, and the team is given the day off.
Well, everyone except Renner and me.
Around ten a.m., I get a text from Connor.
Connor
I reserved the VR simulator for today at 2:00. Don’t be late.
I send a thumbs up emoji,doing my best to ignore the butterflies that start flapping around over seeing Connor Lang’s name on my phone. Figuring I might as well do something productive with my time, I grab a quick shower and head to the resort gym. The mix of being sexually frustrated and nervous around Connor gives me a restless, vibrating energy I don’t like.
Pulling open the door to the gym, I scan the room for an open machine, or any piece of equipment, really—it’s fucking crowded in here—and I’m shocked to find Angel already in full-swing. She’s got her headphones on, and she’s clearly already been through her warm-up because the girl’s repping out one hundred and seventy-five-pound back squats.
Being in here with her gives me a sense of camaraderie that I’m not used to. I don’t even hate that she’s branded with a Patterson Performance hoodie just like I am.
Not wanting to interrupt, I simply nod hello when our eyes meet in the mirror.
She finishes her rep and pushes her headphones back from her ears. Looking around, she says, “It’s a shitshow in here this morning. You’re welcome to share my rack.”
I shock the hell out of myself when the next thing out of my mouthisn’ta joke about her tits. To be fair, I’m pretty sure it would fall flat. I might be into both girlsandguys, but I get the distinct impression that I’ve got the wrong equipment for Angel’s tastes. “That would be awesome, thank you,” I tell her. “No rush, though.”
She laughs. “I wasn’t going to change a damn thing. I just wanted you to know you can use my weight for a warm-up if you want, and by the time you’re ready to add weight, I’ll be done.”
“Oh, yeah. That sounds good.”
Two things.
First, apparently, I’m a bigger prick than I thought, and I should definitely try to socialize more so I don’t look like a total jackass in these situations.
And second, who does she think I am that mywarm-upweight would be one-seventy-five? I mean, sure, I can back squat that weight with no problem…but not as awarm-up, for crying out loud. Hell, I onlyweighone-eighty-five.
When she gestures toward the rack for me to take my turn, I strip the two fifteen-pound plates on either side before getting underneath the bar.
Angel arches a brow, wearing a smug grin, but says nothing as I do my set. Sure, I’m cocky, but I have the skills on the slope to back it up. In the weight room, I know I’ll look far more stupid if I choose a weight that I can’t stand up in an effort to prove some arbitrary point. Not to mention, I risk hurting myself, and that’s not an option.
Once I’m done, she and I each reload a plate back onto the sides, and I let my mind wander while she knocks out her next set.
