Page 94 of The Season
“Um, bubbles?” I say, though it comes out more like a question, ending on a squeak.
She chuckles, a lilting laugh that has the people closest to us turning and smiling, like they want to laugh too, even though they aren’t in on whatever the joke is. Tessa is like that. Magnetic. The kind of person who draws people in without them realizing it.
A lot like Eddie, actually, I muse, my gaze drifting to where a circle of instructors gathers around the grinning Kiwi in the neighboring living room.
“Bubbles it is,” she says, turning to pour me a glass with a flourish. “Cheers, mate.” She tosses an immaculately styled ponytail over one shoulder, then flashes me a dramatized wink before lifting her own glass to clink against mine. “Bloody brilliant.” She takes a long sip, then nods to the living room. “Come on. Let’s go sit down.” She lifts one leg, showcasing a muscled calf and quad—and one of the most uncomfortable-looking stilettoed heels I’ve ever seen. “These shoes are for decorative purposes only. You had the right idea, going barefoot.”
My cheeks heat, my gaze dropping to my bare feet, pink toenails peeping out from beneath the hem of my jeans. I’d left my shoes in the hallway, an automatic habit from home, where wearing shoes into someone’s house would be the equivalent of letting out a loud fart in a crowded elevator. I hadn’t really thought that it would be different here.
But of course, it is, and most people are wearing their shoes inside. Apart from a few Kiwi and Aussie guys, who left their boots at the door and are strolling around in socks, I’m the only one not wearing shoes, and definitely the only one going fully barefoot.
I tuck my feet against the couch as I sit next to Tessa, and hope no one notices.
“Right. Important question,” Tessa announces, kicking off her shoes and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, uncaring that with her short skirt, she’s flashing her underpants to half the room. “What are you doing for your offseason?”
I blink at her, cheeks heating as I lift my champagne flute to my lips. “The offseason?”
I never heard of an offseason before. Just like I never knew my instructor’s certification was only good for this mountain. Just like I never knew how to drive in the snow.
My bare toes curl against soft carpet and I rub my thumb over the stem of my glass. Beneath the sparkling chandelier, I feel too brightly colored. Out of place. Like an imposter in this snow-sparkled world.
Tessa nods. “Yah. I get you probably haven’t thought about it much, since this is your first season. But it’s not too early to start looking. Especially if you’re wanting to get a full instructor’s cert and give yourself a higher ranking for the next Northern Hemisphere season. Australia is pretty sweet. The Blue Mountains are epic, and I could put in a word with my old manager…”
“The Blue Mountains are shit,” Eddie announces unceremoniously, the couch dipping as he sits beside me. He doesn’t look at me though, just kicks his legs out in front of him, his gaze locked on Tessa in mocking challenge. “Barely hills. Everyone knows the Southern Alps are better.”
Tessa glares at Eddie in mock outrage. “Is that right?”
“I heard the snow in the Southern Hemisphere isn’t as good as up here,” Tom says, voice full of authority. He plops onto the ottoman so that he’s facing all of us, taking a long sip of his beer, head tipping back as he drains the last mouthful. His gaze roves over Tessa’s bare legs, then settles on me with a smirk. “But I’ve heard the Aussie chicks are hotter than the Kiwis.”
I sigh, and silently wish I’d managed to invite the rest of the guys to the party without Tom finding out and tagging along.
Tessa gives Tom an unimpressed look. “Nice try, Tom. But if you’re trying to flatter me into getting you a drink, you’re out of luck.”
“Huh?” Tom’s face contorts in confusion and Eddie chuckles.
“Aussie chicks would eat you alive, mate,” Eddie tells him conspiratorially. “And not in a good way.” He taps his chin with his finger, considering. “Actually, I’m pretty sure the Kiwi ones would too.”
Tom waves one hand dismissively. “Nah, they’d love me. ’Cause I’d have an accent there.”
Tessa rolls her eyes, and I bite back a smile.
“Let’s dance,” Tessa suggests, straightening in her seat. She gives Tom and Eddie an imperious look. “Not you guys. You can go make us a drink if you need something to do.”
“You’re dreamin’,” Eddie says, sinking into the sectional, his head tipping back, eyes closing as he rests his drink on his flat stomach.
“I’ll get you guys drinks,” Tom says, rising to stand. “I’m out anyway.” He dangles his empty beer bottle between his fingers for emphasis. “I brought a bunch of stuff for cocktails, let me mix you up something.”
He gives what he probably thinks is a genuine smile, though it looks incredibly awkward, almost forced. Guilt curls in my stomach. He probably knows I didn’t want to invite him and is trying to make up for it.
“Yah. Okay.” Tessa regards him with mild curiosity, gripping my shoulder for balance as she slips her heels back on. “Thanks, mate.”
Tom’s smile widens, shoulders relaxing, and he gives me an expectant look. I offer him up a tight smile, but can’t help thinking of how angry he’d been when I’d told his girlfriend he was cheating. The way he’d looked at me, with raw hatred and disgust. Of how only a few days ago, his dirty socks ended up on my pillow. Of all the little looks and comments that, by themselves, hardly mean anything.
He ducks his head, looking almost contrite, and something in me softens. If he’s trying to make amends, I should be forgiving. I should, at the very least, let him make me a drink.
“That’s nice, Tom,” I say, even though the words feel as forced as my smile. “Thank you.”
He smirks, eyes glinting in triumph before heading to the kitchen.
