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It is pretty obvious, though I don’t say as much. No use rubbing salt in what is obviously an open wound. “And you’ve been in love with her forever.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Why else would you be trying to make her jealous?”
“I’m not. I know that’s what everyone thinks, but it’s not true. Not really. I’m just tired of waiting around, looking all pathetic and hoping that she’ll notice me. I just want to move on. I want—” He breaks off, downs the rest of his drink in one swallow, making a face the whole time.
It’s obvious what he’s going to say, that he wants what Z and Ophelia have. Then again, who doesn’t? I don’t go there, though, since it might reduce the both of us to tears. Nothing like a couple of morbid drunks to keep the party alive …
“Why do you drink tequila if you don’t like it?” I ask after a minute, because I’m cur
ious and because I can tell how badly he needs the subject to change.
His eyes shoot to mine. “Who says I don’t like it?”
“The expression you get on your face every time you take a swallow.”
“I don’t have any expression.”
“Yeah, you do.” I screw my face up in an imitation of his. “It’s definitely not a good look for you.”
He laughs, shakes his head, even as he shoves the glass away. “I guess not.”
The waitress comes over and he orders me another glass of wine—that I really shouldn’t drink—and then orders a beer for himself. His first of the night.
The waitress flirts with him a little and he smiles back, teases her in that kind way he’s got. I can’t help responding to his smile, to the twinkle in his eye as he winks at me. He’s a good guy, and I like him. I like his shaggy hair and his dark, mischievous eyes, his crooked half-smile and his warm, easy laugh. I especially like how he’s nice to everyone. How he cracks jokes that are funny, but not mean.
I wish I could be attracted to him—it would probably be a lot easier if I had feelings for him instead of Ash. He’s kind and sweet and probably wouldn’t mind divesting me of my virginity. Well, if he wasn’t completely crazy about Cam, that is.
But Luc isn’t the snowboarder that I want and wishing won’t make it so. Which means, I’m pretty much totally screwed. But then, that isn’t exactly a new state of being for me …
“You know,” Luc says, after our latest—and final, I’m determined—round of drinks has been delivered. “That guy who turned you down? That’s the Ash I remember. The Ash I know.”
“The one who humiliates girls?” I crack, because I can’t believe I told him something so mortifying.
“The one who’s a good guy. The one who came on this trip with no incentive other than to help out a dying kid.” He shakes his head and for a minute, he’s a million miles away. “I wish you’d known him before his parents died. He was this totally anal guy who kept all of us on track. He ran the website, kept up with the agents, the managers, the sponsors. Was all about laying down the practice hours and being healthy and making it to the top of the podium … He was the one who kept Z in line, or tried to. The one who kept everything balanced for us.”
It’s weird for me to hear Ash described like that when he’s been anything but balanced since I met him. He’s got a crazy good poker face most of the time, but I can see the monsters lurking in the backs of his eyes. I know just how close he is to cracking under the strain.
“Now,” Luc continues with a sigh. “Now, he’s just broken, you know? Just shattered. He’s got so much guilt over Logan and his parents, so much rage and worry and hate that sometimes I don’t even recognize him anymore. It’s good to hear he’s still in there, though.”
“Because he propositioned me and then wouldn’t follow through?”
“Because he was trying to scare you away before he did something he’d regret. Something that would hurt you. That’s typical Ash.”
I hadn’t thought of what happened that night in quite that way before, and while I’m not sure Luc is right, I admit the idea makes me feel a little better. A little less humiliated. It doesn’t take away all of the sting, because—really—what would? But still, maybe I’m not quite as repulsive as I feared. That has to count for something, right?
“Hey, you want another drink?” Luc asks, gesturing to my somehow empty wineglass, the one that had been filled just a few short minutes ago.
“Oh, no. I don’t think so. Six is more than enough.”
“No, it’s not. You had your first glass almost four hours ago.” He gets the waitress’s attention, starts to gesture for one more round, but I cut him off.
“I’m good,” I tell him, climbing to my feet. I’m pleased when the ground only shifts a little bit, when the room around me shimmies but doesn’t actively spin. Everything feels nice, warm and glowy and happy, despite all the junk we were just talking about. It’s a good feeling. I like it.
“You sure?” he asks, throwing some money down on the table and climbing to his feet. “Here, let me help you to your room.”
I wave him away. “I’ve got it.”
