Page 33 of The Season
I feel my smile drop, my forehead creasing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Look at you.” Matty waves one meaty hand in my direction, his frown deepening. “You’ve got that look that all the girls like, and you wear those shirts…”
I drop my gaze to the black Henley stretched across my chest, then look back up at him in confusion.
“It’s just a shirt…”
“… you speak French,” he continues, arms folding defensively over his chest again. “You make girls dinner, give them massages. Soon you’ll be taking her on dates, buying her flowers, and how the heck am I going to compete with that…”
He ends on a faint whimper, like a puppy that’s been kicked, and my eyes widen with a mixture of alarm and amusement.
There are so many things I want to say to him. That it’s not a competition, and even if it was, there’s no way I’d be in the running. That even if Lily and I became more than friends—which, let’s face it, is highly unlikely, since no one wants the type of relationship that I want—he’d still have a chance with her.
In my perfect world, a wonderful girl like Lily would date me, love me—even though I’d never be attracted to her, never want to sleep with her. She’d date other people too, and they’d love me too, and we’d all hang out together like one big family.
In my deepest fantasies—the ones known only to myself and my browser history—I’d get to watch them. Watch them flirt and kiss. Watch them touch each other in all the ways I don’t want to be touched, watch them hunger for each other and taste each other. Watch them make love.
The way Lily’s eyes fluttered shut while Antoine stroked her hair, and the way he’d crossed his legs to hide the evidence of his own arousal when she’d let out those little breathy moans on the couch—that had been one of the hottest things I’d ever seen.
I swallow, shifting awkwardly on my feet, hoping the darkness and my gray sweats hide the ill-timed semi I’m sprouting.
“I think you have a chance,” I tell him, the words catching in my throat. “I don’t know if she’s into you or not…”
I pause, thinking of what Lily told me and Antoine on the couch. About her not feeling attraction to most of the people she’s been with. For a brief moment I thought maybe she was ace like me. But it sounds like she’s probably demi- or gray-sexual instead.
“She definitely likes you as a person though,” I add, offering him a reassuring smile. “Which is a great place to start.”
Matty’s shoulders relax, his arms dropping to his sides as he regards me with a curious, wary expression. “You… you think so?”
I nod emphatically. “Oh yah. She was worried that you felt left out when we were speaking French. And you’ve seen the way she smiles at you, eh?”
Matty gives a wavering smile, then swipes at his reddened eyes with the back of one hand.
“You just need to hang out with her more,” I tell him, powering on now that I see my words are having the desired effect of cheering him up. “We should all go to the Canyons on Monday,” I suggest brightly, since I know it’s the day they have off training, and it’s the day the instructors can usually take off, since it’s quiet on the mountain then. “Have a ski day together, with all of us. Then you can spend some time with her outside of training, without the pressure of a date.”
The bathroom door swings open behind me, the scent of mint and soap filtering into the hallway.
“What’s this about a date?” Antoine asks.
Matty’s cheeks flush, the red visible against his pale skin even in the dim light of the hallway, and I turn to give Antoine what I hope is aplease stop talkingsmile.
“I was saying we should all have a ski day at the Canyons on Monday,” I say hurriedly. “If that date works for you? You know, roommate bonding and all that.”
Antoine rolls his eyes, his lips curving into a little half-smile. “You’re all about the bonding sessions, aren’t you?”
He’s not wrong. I bite the inside of my cheek, the echoes of my earlier fantasy causing heat to bloom anew.If only he knew the type of bonding sessions I’ve thought about.
“First you wanted a group chat, now you want group ski activities. What next—meal plans and chore charts? Should we start wearing matching T-shirts and have a team name too?”
I would be hurt, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes that tells me he’s teasing, so I know he doesn’t mean anything by it. Also, some of his ideas don’t sound half bad. Not the T-shirts, but family dinners would be nice…
“I think a ski day is a good idea,” Matty says defensively, stepping toward Antoine in a way that isn’t quite aggressive, but also manages to remind everyone of how massive he is. He gives me that wobbly smile, and I feel something in my chest crack at the sight of it. “I think a group chat is a good idea too,” he adds. “Then we can coordinate rides and groceries and stuff like that.”
“Mon dieu,” Antoine mutters, swiping a hand over his face. “You Americans and your group activities.”
“Hey, I’m Canadian,” I retort, my words full of mock ire that I don’t really feel. If anything, it’s a relief to finally see Antoine coming out of his shell, even if that means being subjected to his teasing.
Antoine arches one brow, green eyes glinting with a spark of mischief. “Even worse,” he deadpans. “Your kind are so…” He wrinkles his nose in mock disgust “… friendly.”
