“Seriously, Frosty, what’s the face for?” His expression morphs from smug to…concerned?
“My back is sore,” I grumble. “I don’t know why, since I was mostly on my legs all day, but it is.”
“Your back is sore because you pushed yourself to standing a few dozen times over. Take off your coat and turn around.” He makes a twirling motion with his finger.
“What?”
“Just do it.” He shakes his head back and forth with a heavy sigh.
I don’t know why I comply when his body language suggests I’m a burden. All I know is my body doesn’t seem capable of refusing.
Dropping my coat on the bench next to us, I spin so my back is facing Ryder, holding my breath as I wait for whatever comes next. I half expect it to be another shove—testing for what, I don’t know—but I’m not prepared to feel his warm hands engulf my shoulders.
He kneads along my collarbone to the base of my neck, then down around my shoulder blades, searching out and alleviating me of knots I didn’t even realize I had. A soothing pleasure ripples outward over my skin everywhere he makes contact, the way water moves when a stone drops beneath the surface, leaving me somewhat dazed.
Ryder’s touch is gentle, softer than I’d expect given his harsh words just moments ago, yet firm enough to force the tension from my muscles. I feel my eyes flutter as his hands travel over me, and when he brings relief to a particularly stiff spot my knees actually start to buckle.
“You’re really good at this.” My voice sounds almost breathy as I reach a hand toward the locker to steady myself. Fortunately, it’s still keeping me stable when he seems to take that as an invitation to elaborate.
“I used to work in the spa before I got sponsors.”
“The spa?” I try to look at him over my shoulder, but the hands massaging my neck don’t let me.
“It’s right here on the mountain so I could take a few runs in between clients.” His thumbs press along both sides of my spine as he works them down my back. “Plus, it was a good way to meet women.”
That shouldn’t depress me, yet it does. “That sounds more like the explanation I was expecting. I suppose being a pro snowboarder has the same perks?”
“If I want them, yeah.”
Though I’m inwardly glad he responds without his usual snark, I don’t want to know about the women he’s been with.Women, not men, which makes me wonder if whatever tension I’ve felt between us is not the sexual kind. I don’t usually misread those signals—maybe he’s bi but gravitates toward women—although for now a subject change feels safer than unpacking that particular bag.
“So, who was that guy? The one who said it was good to see you on the mountain.”Nice job, Hayden – he already clammed up once over the dude and here you go, bringing him up again.I blame Ryder’s damn magic fingers. They’re making my head all foggy.
“No one.” His reply is short, but he doesn’t stop the massage or storm out, which makes me wonder if he’ll keep responding. Even though he can’t see my face, I close my eyes for courage and forge ahead.
“You seemed almost as pissed at him as you are at me most days.”
“I’m not pissed at you. If anything you’re pissed at me, Frosty.” A cool shiver travels through me as he smooths the shirt over my shoulder before squeezing it.
“And that, right there, is why. You call me Frosty.”
“Cause you are. You don’t want me here.”
“Can you blame me?” Somehow, it’s easier to confront him when I can’t see him. “You show up hungover and don’t take things seriously.”
“Sorry I’m not over the moon about doing community service at the absolute last place I can stand to be in.”
“You have a problem with disabled athletes?” I try to look at him again, but he moves his hands to the spot where my neck and shoulder meet so I can’t.
“Not them, the mountain. I don’t want to be on the mountain.”
There’s a raw sort of honesty that comes through with that statement, and it triggers a memory from one of our earlier conversations, if you could call it that since it was more us needling each other. “Wait, you mean you really didn’t complain to Carter about having to clean up? You didn’t mind doing that instead of riding?”
“Since I didn’t want to ride anyway, no. I didn’t care that you kept me off the slopes, even if cleaning sucks.”
“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you want to be on the mountain?"
His hands fall away from my shoulders. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
