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“Want to go outside?” he asks, never breaking eye contact.
“Sure.” My voice is unsteady as he slips his hand in mine. The tingling sensation starts in my chest and spreads to my stomach while he laces our fingers together. He says something to his brother, who nods and does a little bow.
I wave goodbye to his friends and brother, and once outside, I breathe in deep. I love the mountain air, snow mixed with pine and dirt. A rich smell, causing the memories of early morning rides and walking through the back country behind my family’s Aspen house to come rushing back. The creek nearby, the morning dew covering the moss, and all dirt roads and pine trees I once loved to discover.
“Fuck,” I say out loud, swaying a little. I’ve always been a lightweight and three beers equals ten in my book. I’m gazing at the stars, and I bump into his back when Jesse stops.
“Come on. What the hell are you looking at?” he asks, squinting up as he follows my gaze.
“There.” I point to the sky. It’s a beautiful, clear night. The stars illuminate the lines of the constellations, and I forgot how much I missed these dark nights.
“That’s nothing,” he says, dragging me along.
“Compared to what?”
“Have you ever been on a mountain at night?”
I shake my head. “No. Have you? No, wait, of course you have. After all, you are snowboard guy.” I snicker.
“If you call me ‘snowboard guy’ one more time,” he jokes, pushing me, and I almost fall, but he holds me up, and I grab his hand.
He laughs. “Walk the line, babe.”
“Walk the line,” I mumble, trying to keep my balance. I giggle and start to sing. “Folsom prison, or was it walking the line? I can’t remember.” I sing some more.
He covers his ears with his hands. “Please, for the love of all that is good in this life, no one should sing Johnny Cash like that.”
“You’re jealous,” I slur, sticking out my tongue.
“Yeah, of the glass breaking,” he counters.
I try to give him a push with my fist, but he steps out of the way, catching me in his arms, and I stumble into his chest.
“I’m taking you back to your room. It’s a ten-minute walk, but with you this drunk, probably an hour.” He laughs.
I nod, staring deep into his eyes. “Your eyes are so blue, or are they silver like the moon?”
“Think you’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
I shoot him a cool look. “This was exciting, you are exciting!” I drawl, trying to mimic his accent. He drops my hand, and I close my jacket. I didn’t know I was cold until his fingers touched my cheekbone. “This snow is so crisp,” I mumble, running my fingers through the cold substance.
“Sure, babe, whatever you say,” he says, rolling his eyes.
I put a finger to his lips, focusing on his eyes. They’re gorgeous. Can eyes be gorgeous?
“I feel like I’m living again,” I say.
“Babe, no self-help quotes,” he says against my finger still pressed against his mouth. I grin, shaking my head, trying to follow the road to my hotel.
“You get me,” I state, still looking up at the stars.
“Come on, Miss I Can Handle My Beers,” he says, putting his arm over my shoulder, guiding me in the right direction.
“Hold up.” I put my hands on my knees, leaning my head forward, trying to breathe in deep to fight against the nauseous feeling.
“What are you doing?” he asks. The humor never leaves his husky voice. “You’re not that drunk, right? I thought you were kidding… you barely had three beers?”
“No, I’m not drunk,” I say angrily. I try not to topple over in the snow. I sway a little, and a hiccup escapes from my lips.
