“I’ll grab coffee while you get in the shower.”
But when he disappears down the hall, I don’t get up, just pull the thick covers over my head again. Brandt comes back minutes later carrying two steaming mugs.
“If your ass ain’t dressed and in the Jeep in twenty minutes, I’m leaving without you.”
My ‘fuck off’ sounds muffled beneath the heavy blanket.
Fucking Brandt. He straddles me, peeling the comforter from my face. He looks at me with concern, brow furrowed, like I’m a complicated puzzle he’s trying to solve.
“Talk to me, Goose.”
That tired line earns him my knee in his ass. He laughs and tries again, tugging the cover lower.
“What’s wrong, Wes? I thought you were excited about the trip.”
Not exactly. I was excited about his excitement, seeing him worked up over something again. It’s been awhile since he’s had something good to look forward to.
“Wes,” he urges. “What is it?”
“I have one fucking leg, Reaper! What if I…”
He sighs, finally sounding as exhausted as I feel. “Fall? Wipeout? Faceplant and eat snow?”
Here comes the second knee to his ass, but only because of his stupid hit-eating grin.
“You’re a great skier,” Brandt says, twisting to dodge my knee.
“No, Iusedto be a great skier. Now, I’m…”
His blue eyes roll skyward. “That’s what you said about walking, then running, working out, and swimming. Now you can do all those things. Why is this any different?”
I give him a miserable shrug. “You ever watch those cartoons as a kid where the guy rolls down the slope and gathers snow as he goes, and by the time he reaches the bottom, he’s a giant ass snowball and all you can see is the tips of his skies sticking out?”
Brandt laughs deep, from his belly, throwing his head back. “You’re ridiculous.”
“What if I fall?”
His expression softens. I hate that look.
“I guarantee you’ll fall. And,” he continues, “I guarantee I’ll be right there to help you back up. And by the time we break for lunch, you’ll already have the hang of it and bet me twenty bucks you can beat me down the mountain.”
“I’ve only got ten on me,” I joke with a hint of a smile.
“Do I need to call Riggs again, to motivate you?”
Just the threat of hearing his bullshit motivational speech again makes my head hurt.
“Wes,” Brandt starts.
“Is this the part where you blow sunshine up my ass and tell me I can do anything I put my mind to?” My tone is more sarcastic than questioning.
“No, this is the part where I promise you that if you make it down the mountain on your feet, I’ll blow you in the lodge’s bathroom.”
Fuck my grin. FuckBrandt. “You know how hard it is to get all those layers off?” I bitch, totally lying through my teeth. Because if Brandt wants to blow me, I’ll have that snowsuit off in a hot fucking second. And from the way he’s smiling at me, he knows it.
“Fine. Deal. But if I break my one good leg, I’m going to beat you with my prosthetic. The steel blade one.”
He’s laughing too hard to respond. Brandt reaches for my mug and blows over the rim before handing it to me.
