March 2011
Ava watches a skier come shooting down the course. And Reed watches Ava, loving the way her eyes widen as the athlete angles his body into the turn.
“Holy crap,” she breathes. “Do you go that fast?”
“Faster.” He chuckles, pulling her close and pressing his lips to her temple. They have been together for almost three months now. Ava’s warmth is a source of heat and light for a boy who’d been living under a dark cloud since his mother’s death.
He doesn’t talk about his grief with Ava. He doesn’t have to. When she’s around, she’s all he can think about.
“Isn’t it time for you to go?” she asks, leaning closer.
“In a minute.” He didn’t draw a great start time for this race, and the course will be chewed up by the time it’s his turn. But he doesn’t care that much. He’s thinking about last night, when he and Ava were supposed to be studying together but ended up sixty-nining on his bed.
Ava gasps suddenly, and Reed looks uphill to see that the next skier has had a mishap. He’s missed the turn, falling and ejecting both skis before flying into the protective netting.
She turns to him with anger in her face, and she grabs his chin with one mittened hand. “Reed Madigan, you are not allowed to fall like that. I can’t watch you hurt yourself.”
“I won’t.” She gets another kiss. “And he’s fine. Look.” Reed points at the skier who is getting to his feet. The guy looks pissed off but unhurt.
“Still,” she grumbles. “I’m just not sure about this sport.”
Ava has been learning to ski downhill. She took a clinic, and when they went up the lift together afterward, he expected her to fall all over the place.
But nope. Ava is a natural. She cut cautious, graceful turns all the way down the bunny slope.
Like that first day in the pottery studio, she never stops surprising him. He loves everything about her.
But it’s almost time for him to go. So he lays a kiss on her mouth that’s hot enough to thaw even the coldest parts of his broken heart.
Ava isn’t quite as free with public affection as Reed is, but it’s such a good kiss that she forgets herself and clings to his broad shoulders until one of his teammates whistles at them just to be a dick.
“Bold move, Madigan!” the guy taunts. “Takes balls to get horny in a spandex racing suit.”
Reed laughs, and Ava blushes. “He’s right, and I’ve got to go,” he says.
“No crashing,” Ava reminds him before giving him a shove in the direction of the lift.
He walks off grinning, and Ava catches herself watching him go. Even after three months, she still walks around in a state of disbelief that Reed Madigan picked her.
He’s her first serious boyfriend. But she knows instinctively that their sudden, intense connection is a rare and beautiful thing. To Ava—an only child from a volatile household—Reed’s unabashed affection is like a drug. She’s a little obsessed, and it’s hard to hide it. Although she’s careful not to be the one who always texts first.
He’s generous with his time and affection, though. Last weekend he came home from a meet in New York State when she was already falling asleep on her neurobiology homework. Can I come over? his text said.
There’s no privacy here, she’d warned him. Winnie is home.
I don’t care. I’ll behave myself if I can sleep in your bed. I miss you.
He’d arrived in flannel pants to cuddle her all night long. And she lay there wondering how on Earth she got so lucky.
Ava flexes her fingers around her handwarmers and waits for his name to be called. Reed Madigan of Penny Ridge, Colorado. At first, he’s just a dark speck against the snow at the top of the mountain. She holds her breath while he makes the first turn, but then the trail disappears behind the trees for an agonizing sixty seconds.
She hadn’t known how scary it is to love someone.
It’s even worse when that person insists on skiing at seventy miles an hour down a sheet of ice.
Ava fixes her eyes on the part of the course where Reed should be reappearing. The seconds drag on, and she’s in agony. Did something happen? Shouldn’t he be here by now?
She’s short on oxygen when he suddenly bursts from behind the trees, taking that tricky last turn in a crouch so fast and tight that it seems impossible. No wonder he wins so many races.
Two heartbeats later he’s tucking through the final gates and over the finish line to loud applause. The clock stops on a time that puts him in first place.
Reed sprays snow on the crowd as he comes to a curving stop. He rips off his helmet and does a fist pump at the clock. Then he turns around and skis toward Ava.
“Pizza later?” He waggles his eyebrows to imply that the word has more than one meaning.
She laughs until he can take off his skis and kiss her again.
