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I havethe overwhelming urge to tell him I love him every time he looks at me, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
I’m scared it’s going to come out by accident and that somehow, I’ll burst this bubble we’re happily floating around in.
I’m sure every new relationship starts with you thinking your partner is perfect, but mine is? He’s attentive and affectionate, he makes me feel valued, and he strives to make me happy. Not in a materialistic or a frivolous way, but in a way where he actively works beside me, hand in hand, to try to make my life better. I don’t imagine there are many men, college men at that, that look at the ugliest parts of you and want you anyway.
The irony is, if I were to say this to him, he’d tell me I didn’t have ugly bits.
But I do, and I feel like they’ve been on display for weeks, constantly thrown in my face as a way to bring me down. Being here with Nathan, miles away from everyone, I feel like I can finally breathe, knowing I’m not going to get blindsided. Part of me wishes we didn’t have to go back to LA at all, but somehow, I think the bubble will probably pop as soon as Nate’s dad—my new archnemesis—gets home.
I can’t imagine growing up somewhere like this; staring at the sprawling estate through the kitchen window with Nate took my breath away. It’s all covered in snow, but even so, you can tell how big it is.
As stunning as it is, everything feels so vacant,andI’d give anything for a baby Nathan picture.Anything.
The ski resort has been in his paternal family for generations, passed from father to son. Nate prefers Nate or Nathan, but his full name is Nathaniel, named after the great-times-something-grandfather who founded the resort.
Nate has no interest in taking over; he hates that it would go to him because he’s a man, arguing why would he want a ski resort when his sister is a skiing prodigy. He grumbled something about fucking the patriarchy and went back to whatever he was doing at the time.
The resort is only fifteen minutes from here, and I can see the tips of the buildings from Nate’s bedroom. Nathan said I’m not allowed to ski while I’m here, since I’ve never done it before. He doesn’t want me to risk hurting myself when Ihopefullyhave a competition next month. He said we can come back in the future, and he’ll take me on the bunny slopes with the little kids.
It felt good hearing him make plans for the future, and I could pretend I don’t know why, but denial is useless at this point. Everything he says makes me melt, and half the time I don’t know how to react, so I kiss him, then things escalate, and before I know it, I’m screaming his name and seeing stars.
Nathan’s dick deserves an honorable mention in the list of his positive attributes. His mouth, too, and his fingers. Have I mentioned his body yet? And his face.
God, I should probably tell him all this and then sayI love youand find one of the million rooms in this ginormous house to hide in.
I could hide for at least two days before he finds me.
“How willing are you to get dressed?”
I don’t answer him straight away, pretending I’m thinking about it, and that I don’t know the answer isnot willing at all.
“It’s not the getting dressed bit. It’s knowing I have to get undressed later.”
“If I promise to undress you later, will you put your clothes on and come somewhere with me?”
I link my pinky with his. “Only because you promised.”
Getting dressed is a lot easier than getting undressed, and within ten minutes Nate is dragging me toward his backyard, skates in hand.
“I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve done this.”
When Nathan said we could skate on the frozen lake in his backyard I assumed he was exaggerating a little, and I’d be skating on a little pond, but I should probably never underestimate him because this isnota little pond.
I can’t work out where it ends, since it branches off into what looks like smaller streams through the trees. Nate taps on his phone until “Clair de Lune” begins to play, and he gives me a smile that makes me dissolve a little. “Dance with me?”
We practice my routine until my body is sore and I can’t see anything but my breath in front of me. There is something different and refreshing about being outdoors while doing it, but something is missing. I rack my brain, trying to put my finger on what it is, then I realize.
Brady. Nobody is shouting at us.
“Wait here,” he says, skating off toward the house again. Reappearing a minute later, he’s holding two hockey sticks and a tiny net. “Let’s put all that rage you have to good use, Allen.”
Finding out I’m terrible at hockey was not what I wanted this holiday season, especially given my company.
I’m not used to being bad at anything—especially on ice.
“Stop pouting,” he teases, burying his head into my neck, his warm mouth a contrast to the bitter wind.
I don’t stop pouting, not even when he let me score against him twice.
