Page 68 of The Girlfriend Goal
"Oh, I want," Jared said, then seemed to realize what he'd said. "To learn! To learn skiing. That's what I want."
The sexual tension between them was reaching critical mass, and from Rachel's expression, she was thinking the same thing. We exchanged a look—the kind of wordless communication that probably violated her ‘just friends’ rules but felt as natural as breathing.
On the slopes an hour later, the situation devolved exactly as predicted. Rachel and I ended up on the intermediate runs while Matt attempted to teach Jared the basics on the bunny slope. I could see them from the lift—Jared's neon form impossible to miss as he clung to Matt like an octopus while Matt tried to demonstrate proper form.
The morning passed in a blur of runs and friendly competition. Rachel was good—better than she'd let on—and kept up with me easily. Watching her fly down the mountain, completely in her element, made something expand in my chest. This was Rachel without walls, without careful control, just pure joy and athleticism.
"Race you to the bottom," she called, already pushing off.
I followed immediately, the competition spurring us both to probably unsafe speeds. We hit the base at nearly the same time, her laughing protest that she'd won by a hair drowned out by my counter-argument about technique points.
"Technique points aren't a thing in racing," she argued, cheeks flushed from cold and exertion.
"They are in my version," I said, reaching out to fix her helmet strap that had come loose. The movement brought us close, too close for public friend behavior, and her breath caught.
"Lance," she warned softly.
"Just fixing your gear," I said, but my hands lingered longer than necessary. "Safety first."
She was looking at my mouth, and I was calculating how much of a scene it would cause if I kissed her right here on the slopes.
A spectacular crash from the bunny slope broke the moment. We turned to see Jared somehow upside down in a snowbank while Matt frantically tried to extract him.
"I should help," Rachel said, already skiing toward the disaster.
"Yep," I agreed, following while trying to get my heart rate under control.
The rescue operation required all four of us and resulted in Jared declaring he needed hot chocolate with ‘medicinal alcohol’ to recover from his ‘near-death experience.’
"You fell three feet," Matt pointed out.
"Traumatically!" Jared insisted. "I could’ve broken something. Like a nail. Or my spirit."
We ended up in the ski lodge, Jared holding court about his brush with mortality while Matt hovered with barely concealed concern. Rachel and I sat across from them, maintaining careful distance that felt more obvious than sitting close would have.
"Truth or dare," Jared announced suddenly, apropos of nothing.
"Absolutely not," Rachel said immediately.
"Come on," Jared wheedled. "We're on vacation in a ski lodge with spiked hot chocolate. This is literally the perfect setting for terrible decisions."
"That's exactly why we shouldn't," Rachel argued, but Matt was already agreeing because apparently Jared's pout was his kryptonite.
"Fine," I said, because I was weak and any excuse to learn more about Rachel seemed worth it. "But nothing illegal or requiring nudity."
"Boring," Jared sighed, but agreed.
The game started innocuously enough. Matt admitted his middle name was Bartholomew, and Jared's delight was explosive. I took a dare to chug a disgusting mixture of hot chocolate and ketchup. Rachel revealed she'd once stolen her high school's mascot costume for a prank.
Then Jared, because he had no sense of self-preservation, looked directly at Rachel with evil intent. "Truth or dare?"
Rachel hesitated, clearly seeing the trap. "Truth."
"Are you currently hooking up with anyone?"
I kept my face carefully neutral while Rachel turned an interesting shade of pink.
"That's private," she stuttered.
