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“What do you mean?” My heart’s beating wildly again. “Today went well, but we both know that doesn’t qualify me to head out and tear it up on my own.”
I’d end up plowing about ten feet of snow with my face.
“I’ve got an idea,” he says, bending down to grab his own board. He tucks it under one arm while taking a gentlemanly hold on my elbow with his free hand and steering me toward…the chairlift?
“No!” I protest, digging in my heels, but the snow proves slippery, even with the tread of these weird, clunky boots. My feet slide out from under me, and my arms pinwheel before Kyle leans in, wrapping an arm around my waist and steadying me.
“What’s the matter?” he asks calmly, as if I didn’t just break out in a spontaneous tap dancing routine.
“I can’t get on that!” I point at the chair, but I don’t forget to inwardly swoon at his arm wrapped securely around me.
“Sure, you can,” he says with a calm reassurance, his voice warm and smooth like velvet. “I’ve got you,” he adds, repeating his sweet, encouraging words from earlier.
“I’ve never been on it before,” I mutter feebly as I find my footing again and allow him to lure me with his confusing nerdy, confident, athletic persona over to the lift.
“It’s easy,” he explains. “It comes up behind you slowly, and when you feel the chair tap the back of your legs, you sit down.”
And then I slide off it, and it clangs into the back of my head, knocking me unconscious. Then I fall face down, but because it’s me, my jacket gets stuck to the chair somehow, and it pulls me along up the hill, my lifeless body flapping in the breeze.
Kyle secures his board to one boot and propels with the other like he’s riding a skateboard before he grabs my gloved hand and pulls me into the throng of people in line for the lift. My heart holds itself, shaking in my chest, as we work our way through the line, but I take comfort in the realization that he’s still holding my hand. I bask in the dreamy feeling until it is rudely interrupted by the voice of a moron.
“Gwen?” Scott hollers from about ten people back.
Fuck me upside down and backward.
I look back reflexively, and sure enough, the tool is standing there, his mouth agape. His eyes are shielded by his goggles, but it doesn’t hide the combination of surprise and confusion written on his face.
I give him an eye roll so powerful my whole brain flips, then turn to face forward again.
“That the prodigal fuckboy ex?” Kyle questions.
I give a disgusted grunt of affirmation. As we amble forward another few feet, however, I’m pleasantly surprised at how I don’t feel a twinge of any kind of yearning toward the dipshit. What little time I’ve spent with Kyle makes the months I wasted on Scott as appealing as getting a pap smear with a ski pole.
Kyle glances over my shoulder at the douche wad, and a smug smile warms my face when his arm tightens around me a little more—just as the chair comes up behind us and whisks us away with no stumbling or slipping from yours truly.
* * *
Kyle
Any reservations I had about pushing a hobby on a new love interest have been quelled by the smile on Gwen’s face as she looks out over the snow-covered trees, taking in the wonder of winter. My arm stays draped on the back of the chair behind her while I strike up a conversation. She’s a little accident prone and being chased after by a giant bag of dicks, but I want to know more. About who she is. What she likes.
Come to find out, she’s a nerd in her own right, having a serious jones for all things eighties, even though neither of us were around yet. She has a movie collection as well as several playlists devoted to the decade. She even subconsciously hums a little Madonna during a comfortable lull in conversation.
Despite how long it’s been since I’ve dated, this feels easy. Natural. I don’t have a confidence issue, but my relationships are few and far between. Not a lot of girls are into the same shit I am. In all fairness, Gwen doesn’t seem to be either, but she hasn’t used it as a reason to avoid me.
She wore her dark hair in two braids under her plum beanie today, making me want to stick my dick in a snowbank ever since. I can’t help but fantasize about what those chestnut locks would look like up in Princess Leia space buns. I don’t dare ask that of her today—or any day, for that matter—on the off chance that Adam is right, and I’ll freak her out with my weird affinities.
I find myself enjoying talking with her so much, I almost don’t want the ride to end.
* * *
Gwen
On the chilly ride up the hill, my confidence was jacked. I’d gotten on the chairlift with no snafus. I did not, however, dismount the chair as flawlessly. Despite not being on a board or skis, I still managed to slip while hopping off, landing flat on my face and sliding forward on my belly down the small hill that guides riders out of the way of the next chair.
Ah, there I am.
“Oops,” Kyle murmurs when he reaches my side as I push up and get to my knees. “You okay?” he asks, his brow furrowed adorably. He pulls me to my feet without hesitation, like he’s known me for years and this is nothing new.
