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“You do a good job, y’know?” he said finally. I blinked at him. “With that mask you wear,” he continued.
“What are you talking about?”
“The I-don’t-care-what-people-think-of-me mask.”
I scoffed. “It’s not a mask.”
He dipped his head, eyeing me through his sunglasses. “Maybe it didn’t used to be, but I think your ex really did a number on you.”
I crossed my arms across my chest. “I’m not talking about this with you.”
“Fine, then don’t. I’m just telling you that I see through it.” He paused. “I see you. I understand you.”
I lifted my chin, turning toward him. “And what do youthinkyou see?”
“Look at me, Macie, and tell me what you see.”
I looked at him for a long moment. Intently studying the planes of his face. The sunlight glinting off his smooth brown skin. The way his hands flexed around the steering wheel, giving away his reaction to my gaze. The words at the tip of my tongue were, ‘beautiful’, ‘masculine’, ‘intoxicating’. I swallowed them and instead said, “An arrogant pretty boy who's overdressed for a ski trip.” His sweater was designer and he knew that I knew it.
He blew a humorous breath out of his nose. “There is that mouth I love.”
I felt those words between my legs.
“What I’m trying to say is that I get it. I get what it feels like not to be fully seen. Not being able to relate to the people around you, to feel like you have to put on a mask. To feel like you don’t fit in anywhere.” He sighed. “I’m half-Black. I understand feeling like you’re too much of one thing or not enough of another.”
I had no idea how to respond to that, so I reached over and pulled one of his hands off the steering wheel, intertwining it with mine, hoping it would say what I couldn’t.
I see you too.
“Your reasons for feeling like you’re wearing a mask are a lot more valid than mine are,” I whispered, finally.
“It’s not about that, Mace.” He shook his head. “I try not to let that shit get to me anymore. Just like you’ve got to get that guy, and anyone else who’s ever made you feel the way he did, out of your head.” He squeezed my hand. “We’re not comparing our shit. But I wanted to explain to you that I understand you. I get you. I see you. So take the mask off and stop trying to hide from me.”
I rubbed my hand across the top of his hand. I suddenly wondered if he’d told me that not because he wanted me to know he understood. Maybe he’d told me that because he didn’t have many people he could tell that to. Even though I could never relate to it, maybe he thought I could understand him too. And I could. I would try.
“I get you, too,” I whispered.
I was absolutely right. Skiing—for me, at least—was exactly like riding a bike. Dom insisted on beginner slopes. I talked him into the intermediate slopes, but after an hour, I honestly started to grow bored.
“Alright, I think it’s time to take it up a notch,” I said as we reached the bottom of the hill and got in line for the lift.
“You’ve already proved your point, Mace. No need to make things dangerous.”
I grinned. “You’re scared of the black diamond slopes, aren’t you?”
“No, but if you haven’t skied in six years, you should be.”
I poked him with my pole. “I assure you, I am perfectly capable.” I hooked my pole into the pocket of his jacket and moved out of line. “Let’s go,” I said as I dragged him toward one of the lifts that would take us to the expert-level runs.
He spent the next ten minutes trying to talk me out of it, but my stubbornness won out when I refused to get out of line. As we fell back against the seats of the chairlift, Dom said, “I’ll make a bet that you eat shit on this next run.”
“I’ll do you one better.” I raised my brow. “Let’s race. Whoever gets to the bottom first has to buy the other dinner tonight.”
He tsked, “Mace, if you want to go on a date with me, you just have to ask.”
“We both know if I had any interest in asking you on a date, I would. I’m making a bet with you because I know I’ll win and if I can get a free meal out of it, I might as well.”
His laugh sent shivers up my spine. “So, what you’re saying is that if youdodecide to ask me on a date, you’ll do so straight up? No bush beating?”
