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There are only two men up there, both playing guitars and one singing. They cover popular songs, one right after another. Some are rock, and some are country, but most are somewhere in the middle. I finish my beer and have another after that. Benji, Wyatt, Chelsea, and I do a second round of shots. Some people are gathered in front of the stage, dancing.
When they start to sing about friends in low places, the entire place erupts. I consume a third shot of whiskey with Wyatt—certain I won’t be driving home tonight, but no longer caring—right before Chelsea tugs me up to the front. I have my beer in the air, singing the words that Garth Brooks made famous at the top of my lungs with the rest of the place, an inebriated smile on my face.
About twenty minutes ago, I started to ignore Zane altogether. I’m in full self-preservation mode at this point. And I’m feeling no pain. I’m surprised when I look over to see Jessica and Anita up front with us, singing and laughing and drinking along with everyone else. I think that’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen on Jessica’s pretty face since we met.
An arm slides across my shoulders. Wyatt is suddenly beside me, swaying with me. He sings off-key, and I throw my head back and laugh. He smiles and tells me to finish my beer, that he’ll drop my empty glass at the bar on his way to the bathroom. So, I do.
When the song is finished, the duo onstage slows it down with a Chris Stapleton song. Before I can spin on my heel and walk back to the table, I feel hands on my hips. Familiar hands. Hands that have been intimate with my body. I smell pine and spicy-scented cologne, and I feel his warm breath on my neck. And my traitorous heart swings mercurially.
Jessica’s vibrant smile—the one that was just lighting up her face—disappears entirely.
Zane’s fingers only pause on my hips, a brief interlude, before they slide along my stomach and stop, molding us together. And I go from a desperately confused single woman standing in front of the stage alone to a woman slow dancing with the hottest manin the room. I’m in Zane’s arms. He’s holding me tightly against his chest … in front of everyone in the place.
We’re barely moving, no more than a slight sway, and I’m only partially breathing. One of my hands covers his, and he laces our fingers together. I lean back until all my weight is against his hard chest, and he kisses my neck. I want to be mad, but my anger dissolves at the first touch of his lips. I don’t understand what’s happening right now, but it feels too good to stop it.
I stand there in a daze with Zane until the song is over. The duo onstage announces a break, but I can’t concentrate on anything but the man standing behind me. I don’t know Zane well enough to be sure, but this move seems significant. It’s a claiming of sorts that, if I’m right, is out of character for the stoic snowboarder. I’m betting the women always come to him, not the other way around.
“Go outside with me?” he murmurs in my ear.
I nod.
Zane releases his hold on my body, but not the one on my hand. And we step through the crowd and onto the deck. I don’t venture a glance back at the table right before we cross the threshold, not yet ready to see the reaction of all my new friends and acquaintances.
There are others on the deck, but Zane leads me to a dark corner overlooking an empty field. I’ve walked a path through that field during past visits in the daylight. It leads down to a river, less than half a block through the brush. Once, my mom and I watched a trio of moose in the water. It was two bulls fighting over a female. Go figure.
“You were ignoring me,” Zane says, leaning forward with both his elbows resting on the wooden railing.
My palms land on the same railing, right beside his arm, as I gaze out into the darkness blanketing the land. “You weren’t paying attention to me, so I didn’t think you’d notice.”
“You’re the only one I do notice.”
I scoff, and his head turns until he’s staring at the side of my face.
“It’s the truth. And it kind of pisses me off.”
It sounds like a line from a ladies’ man. His words are way too smooth to be genuine. But the intensity of his gaze says my assumption might be wrong. I want to be wrong.
“Why does it piss you off?” I question.
“Because you make me second-guess everything. I can’t read you.”
“Join the club.” I finally turn to face him. “You told me yourself that you and Wyatt have competed for most of your life.”
“And I told you before, that’s not what this is for me.” He looks away and rests his head in his hands with a heavy exhale. “Yes, we’ve competed. On the slopes, over other women. But this isn’t me trying to win against Wyatt. And I’m not the jealous type. With any woman. I don’t fucking like the way it feels.”
“Yeah, well … neither do I.”
We’re both silent as we listen to the sounds of the forest and murmurs of conversations from the people on the deck and inside the restaurant.
“What do you want from me?” I finally ask.
He shifts until he’s leaning against the corner of the railing. “What do you want from me?”
I pause before deciding to be honest. “I want you to be the same from one day to the next. I don’t want your hand down my pantsand your mouth on my lips when we’re alone on a hike one afternoon and then you flirting with Jessica and Chelsea when we’re out with your friends, acting like I’m no one special to you, the next night.”
He smirks. “I wasn’t flirting with Jessica or Chelsea.”
I tilt my head, lift an eyebrow, and cross my arms over my chest.
