17. Ryan

Chapter 17

Ryan

Eight Winters Ago / Age Twenty

Kayla’s parents are hosting my family for our first night back in the mountains and they’ve fixed an incredible spread of local delicacies.

My parents told me she’s been lodging with a local family this winter while she does her instructor training. Turning her love of skiing into a job has always been a dream of Kayla’s, and I can’t wait to hear about it when I finally get her to myself.

After dinner, she and I clear the table and when we find ourselves alone in the kitchen, I loop my arms around her waist, pull her close and bury my face in her neck.

“Woah, woah, woah,” she says, twisting out of my hold and pressing her palms against my chest. “I have a boyfriend.”

The laugh that rumbles out of me is involuntary, because this is so far from funny. I don’t know how else to react. Kayla squares off with me, hands on her hips, head cocked to one side.

“It’s not funny.”

“Damn right it’s not funny. Is it serious?”

It’s the first in a series of questions that spring to mind, along with what the fuck? Since when? Who the fuck is he? Are you winding me up? And, once again, what the actual fuck?

There are a few women I’ve dated at college this year, and that’s been a fun time, but I was careful not to let anything get serious or carry on too close to the holidays. I’m shocked Kayla wasn’t considerate enough to do the same.

She lowers her voice and pokes her head around the kitchen door to make sure nobody is listening. “Serious enough, I'm not going to cheat on him, if sex is what you’re after.”

Er, yeah, that’s what I’m after.

That’s our whole fucking deal. I only spend three hundred and fifty-one days of the year looking forward to the fourteen when I’ll get to touch her again. My wishlist has about fifty things on it, none of which included her and some other guy.

“Does he live here?”

“Yes, he’s on the same course as me.”

“Are you going to marry him?”

She scoffs, and starts stacking the dishwasher, her back to me. “I'm twenty, Ryan, give me a break.”

“But what if you do?”

What if I never get to touch you again?

We still hang out a bit, still race each other all over the mountain, still catch chocolate coins from Père No?l at the parade, but everything is different now. So when a pretty Italian girl tries to kiss me at Rico’s, I don’t say no. And when she invites me back to her hotel, I don’t say no to that either.