Page 4 of Falling for the Quarterback

Poppy hoots in excitement. “That’s exactly what you need! Time to let your hair down a bit and relax. You deserve it. And maybe you could even meet a handsome cowboy or hot ski instructor on the slopes.”

“Poppy,” I admonish, but fight the smile that cracks across my lips. “Why must everything always boil down to meeting men?”

Poppy really is a great friend. Even though we’re an ocean apart, she’s always there for me. But we also have differing viewpoints on relationships. She sees them all as a waste of time and I still have an old-fashioned belief that there’s someone out there for me and someday—hopefully soon—I’ll meet him.

“Why?” she drawls out loudly. “Because, my darling dearest, a vibrator alone just doesn’t cut it.”

We talk for another five minutes and then end the call with me promising to let her know as soon as I hear anything from Dean Becker. Then I text both my parents to let them know how my interviews went and set the phone toDo Not Disturbas I finish packing my bags. I’ll save their questions for later.

Checking around the room one last time to ensure I haven’t left anything behind, I drag my suitcase to the rental car and throw it in the boot. Then I type in the address to my cousin Ana’s mountain retreat and set a course for the trip.

In less than forty-five minutes, I’m pulling up to a giant ski chalet home in the mountain forest with a gorgeous wood and river rock exterior that screams, ‘Rich people own me.’

I suppose I shouldn’t judge, considering my childhood. It’s given me the opportunity to attend the best universities in the UK and the US and now allows me to enjoy some much-needed downtime after the hellishly exhausting year I’ve just endured. Shaking my head clear of those thoughts, I pull up to the large three-car garage drive and park my rental before stepping out into the chilly air.

The crisp, fresh scent of snow and pine trees alights my senses, the air so clean and the sky so clear that I already feel rejuvenated.

The air here in the mountains is so vastly different from the cities I’ve called home on the East Coast these past few years. And far from the English countryside where I grew up.

Grabbing my bags, I head to the front door of Ana’s home. When she heard from my mom that I would be here for my interview, she immediately called to offer me the retreat. Ana is British but married a brilliant American businessman twenty-some years ago and they now live their best life, as evidenced by the ginormous home I walk into after entering the code she’d given me to disarm the alarm.

I’d originally objected to the idea of staying the weekend because I didn’t have any ski apparel or equipment with me in Boston. But that problem was quickly remedied when Ana said, “I have more than plenty for you to use.”

Boy, she wasn’t kidding. When I open the door to the oversized wardrobe, I’m confronted with dozens of various ski pants and jackets to choose from. Yet as I stare into the cavernous closet, a tinge of loneliness spreads through my heart. It feels as vast as this space in front of me. But instead of full, mine is just plain empty.

Maybe Poppy was right. I don’t need a man or a relationship, but I do need someone to talk with and have fun with. A dog might work, but maybe finding a hot stranger to hook up with will help rebuild my self-confidence and help me move on from my past.

That’s what this is about, right? I need sex. Not a relationship, just hot, excitingsex.

I grab one of Ana’s evening outfits for later and peruse the insanely opulent bathroom, then decide to take aneverythingshower.

Everything is going to be waxed, shaved, buffed, and beautified before I head to the bar at the nearby ski resort down the road. From there, I’ll strike up a conversation with a stranger and set a course for the rest of the evening.

First things first, though. Using Ana’s super expensive body and hair products, I take a luxuriating shower and as I towel dry off, I decide I’d like to check out the slopes today and go for one run down the mountain before I head to the restaurant and bar. I’ve always loved skiing into the dusky hours and haven’t done it in forever.

Choosing a fashionable ski outfit with bright yellow and orange patterns, I grab a pair of boots and skis and toss them into my car. The ski resort is a mile back down the road and I passed it on my way here, so the drive is only five minutes, depending on the slippery conditions.

The resort lobby is lavish and bougie, with gorgeous western red cedar and pine varieties of timber that make up the walls and trim. As I make my way to the ski desk, I pass a stone fireplace with a massive hearth and masonry reaching the ceiling, a roaring fire blazing inside.

I purchase my tickets for the weekend and hop on the ski lift just outside and to the left of the parking lot. The view is spectacular as I arrive at the top of the black diamond path. Staring down the steep ski slope, regret and dread immediately take hold. Maybe my decision to take the most daring run isn’t such a great idea after all.

I take deep breaths, getting a tight grip on my poles in my gloved hands, and find my courage. I haven’t skied in years. What was I thinking? I glance over at the ski lift and then back down at the trail.

Fuck it. I can do this.

I adjust my goggles over my nose and push off with the toe of my right ski to start a zigzag motion down the mountain. The late afternoon sun’s rays shine bright into my eyes through the ski goggles and the cold wind whips against the material of my jacket as I whiz toward the bottom of the run. Feeling warm and more daring now, I pick up speed and fly through the powdery snow toward the bottom of the slope. My limbs are loose and my confidence soars as muscle memory takes over.

I’ve never felt better or more alive. It’s exactly the boost I needed today.

After living with a man like my father constantly controlled my life, the freedom of doing exactly what I want, when I want, is an amazing feeling.

Soon I’m nearly halfway down the slope when I encounter an icy snowbank. The tips of my skis tangle together and my torso tips forward from the momentum as I begin to lose my balance.

“Oh, shit!” I cry out in a panicky screech, my eyes catching on the immovable tree coming up fast in front of me.

And then out of nowhere comes a response.

“I got you.”

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