“Does that make you my boyfriend?” I ask, trying the phrase out on my tongue, and am not as shocked as I thought I’d be to discover I like it…at least, I like it when it applies to Connor.
“Do you want me to be?” he asks, leaving the ball in my court.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then I am. Glad we got that settled,” Connor says, taking a step toward me. Instinctively, I match his step, putting us so close our noses brush as I dip my head to tease him with my tongue.
The exchange gets more heated until a group of teenagers blasts by us on snowboards, music blaring from a speaker in a backpack, and yells, “Get a room!”
Reluctantly, I take a step back and swallow hard, licking my lips.
“Maybe we should skip the lesson and the drink and just go back to my place,” I suggest.
“We can’t. Not yet. This can’t get in the way of your training, Vox. I want to see if you can anticipate my path down the mountain this time. Your objective is to make theexactsame turns I do. Try keeping your board in my exact track,” Connor instructs.
So much for us not getting in the way of my training. All I see when I carve down the mountain is his ass, which works to slow me down because I could follow this view all day, but I pay absolutely no attention to where his board is.
Thewhat the fucklook on his face as he looks back up the mountain at both sets of tracks almost makes me laugh until he says, “The longer it takes you to get the hang of this, the longer it’ll be before I’m demanding entry into your ass again.”
I snap to attention, ready to ace this fucking test on the next run.
This time, when we drop in, Connor cranks the speed up a little, which is nice, but it also makes it harder to follow him exactly. I still don’t understand what it is I’m supposed to be achieving with this, but it’s kind of fun…like that time I went to the beach with my grandma, and as we walked in the sand, I tried to keep my footprints inside of hers.
I’m still reminiscing when I realize, almost too late, that Connor has stopped in front of me, and I spray snow on him with my abrupt halt.
“Sorry about that.”
I expect some kind of lecture about having my head in the clouds, but Connor stays in coach-mode, pointing up the slope at our tracks.
“You see how each of your lines is either shorter or longer than mine? On the short ones, you anticipated, but guessed incorrectly and started the turn before I did. On the longer ones, I got the jump on you and made the turn before you saw it coming.”
I huff, “What does it matter? It’s not like anyone’s actually going to be able to get in front of me, anyway.”
“That confidence will get you killed,” Connor says.
“That confidence is why I win,” I fire back.
“Eventually, your ego is going to write a check your ass can’t cash.”
“My ass can cashanycheck,” I say, leaning in. “You should know that after last night.”
“We’re riding again,” he says, not taking the bait. “This time, I want you to watch my hips. Study my movements. Anticipate my pattern. Predict what comes next based on the direction I’m leaning and where my weight is on the board. I’ll go slower, but pay attention to my lines.”
All Idois study Connor’s lines. On his hips, on his abs, the lines in his deltoids, his back.
As he takes off, I follow closely behind him. His quiet confidence is alluring. Whereas I dominate my way down the mountain, taking from it, forcing it to give me what I want, Connor does it in a way that makes it feel like the mountain gives itselfto him, like they’re working together, coaxing more from each other.
Maybe he’s on to something after all.
I glide behind him, not watching his board at all. About halfway down the mountain, I’m starting to pick up on the slight shifts and subtle changes in his stance he was talking about, and I begin to mirror them in time with him. It’s exhilarating learning his exact style. It’s as if he’s teaching me to write or play the piano, and his hands are controlling mine, making the letters and hitting the notes.
This time, as we look back up the mountain, there is only one track in the space where both our boards traveled.
“Good job, hotshot. That’s how aware of your surroundings I want you to be when you board with others,” Connor praises, slapping me on the back.
Once we’re back at the top of the slope, I’m really starting to get into this when Connor says, “On this run, I’m going to catch up and intentionally try to block you. You have to either beat me or get around me…safely.”
Now we’re talking. This is going to be so much fun.
