Coming In From the Cold(37)

"Soon," she said, squeezing his hand. "Though, I wouldn't mind seeing you in one of those tight racing suits."

He chuckled. "I'll put one on for you tonight, baby."

The PA system announced that J.P. McCormack was up next.

"Hey-this next guy could win. He's seeded in the middle, but having a great season. If you turn around, we can see his start."

Willow looked toward the video feed on the press box. On the screen, a  helmeted, goggled racer poled fast out of the starting gate, then dug  into a tuck.

"Come on, J.P.!" Dane clapped. His eyes were glued to the screen. Willow  watched Dane's body lean to the right as the skier made his first turn,  then lean to the left as the course corrected. It was adorable-as if he  were skiing the race with him. The skier made a series of heart  stopping turns, hanging his body impossibly low to the surface of the  snow.

Next came a jump of such monstrous proportions that Willow held her  breath. "Fuck," Dane whispered as the racer's arms windmilled in the  air.

The landing was rough, the skier's legs coming down awkwardly, wider  apart to her eyes than looked comfortable. He lurched to the right, and  Willow heard Dane suck in his breath. But then, miraculously, he  corrected his position and tucked again. "Like a boss!" Dane yelled.  "Can't believe that worked." His eyes were glued to the screen. "Only  two-tenths back on the split!" he said. "He could almost do it."

A minute later, the skier shot into view on the last turn, tucking tight  toward the finish. Dane put his fingers to his lips and whistled. The  guy glided to a stop about ten feet from them. He absorbed his time with  a solemn nod.

Dane cupped a hand to his mouth. "J.P.!"

The guy looked in their direction. When he found Dane's face, his  expression went first to surprise. And then he grinned. He kicked his  skis off, stacked them together and started over to the fence. "Danger!  To what do we owe the honor?"

"That was some sweet recovery, dude. Well played."

Now the guy looked shocked. "Well, thanks. We'll see if I can hold it together for the second run."

Dane clapped him on the back. "Look, in Italy, when I said … "

J.P. waved a hand. "I don't think we're responsible for the things we say right after a bone breaks."

"Well, anyway," Dane cleared his throat. "Nice run."

"Why was he so surprised that you complimented him?" Willow asked after J.P. moved on.

Dane grimaced. "Nothing gets by you, does it?"

"You two don't get along?"

Dane took off his shades and looked at her, his blue eyes especially  bright in the wintry glare. "It's not just him. I'm not known for being  warm and cuddly."

Willow put her arms around his waist. "I beg to differ."

He grabbed her butt and held her close. "It's true, though," he closed  his eyes and gave her one very nice kiss. "Also, I'm not known for  showing up with a girlfriend. The men probably think I'm gay."

"Oh, boy," she said, laughing. "Again, I beg to differ." She put her  hands inside his jacket. "The men think you're gay. The women's team  knows you're not?"

Dane's eyes widened with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. "A couple of them might have figured it out."

"You should see your face right now." They were nose to nose. "You're  cute when you're freaking out." She flicked her eyes towards a group of  women standing near the press box, all wearing identical United States  Ski Team jackets. "They've been staring at us, though. That's the only  reason I bring it up."

"Let 'em stare," Dane said. Then he closed his eyes and kissed her  again, and it was the sort of kiss that she felt all the way to her  toes.                       
       
           



       

When the next racer took the course, Willow's phone buzzed in her  pocket. She had to untangle herself from Dane's distracted embrace to  retrieve it. The text message from Callie read: You're making out on  national television.

"Geez!" Willow put a hand on her mouth and looked around. Sure enough,  there were half a dozen TV cameras aimed all over the finish area. She  felt her face get hot.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his eyes on the course.

She put the phone in Dane's hand, but he couldn't make himself look down  at it until after the next racer's time was posted. When he read  Callie's message, he laughed. "Must be a really slow news day in  sports."





* * *



The second round of runs seemed even faster and more nerve wracking than  the first. And as if there weren't enough tension in the air, a skier  blew up at the top of the course. Willow watched the screen with horror  as one young guy seemed to trip, flying toward the fence, skis in the  air. Then his body slammed down onto the snow, skis and poles launching  away from him in different directions. Willow buried her face in Dane's  shoulder.

He clapped an arm around her with a chuckle. "That was a total yard sale. But he's getting up. See?"

She peeked at the screen and saw him, head down, collecting his gear.

"He can try again next year," Dane said.

"Ouch," Willow said.

"That's the sport, Willow. Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes  you're the bug." He held her in one arm, eyes glued to the leader board.  "J.P. is up next," he said. He leaned forward when his teammate  appeared on screen in the start house. The crowd clapped and shouted  encouragements, in spite of the fact that the skier couldn't possibly  hear them.

Willow held her breath as he poled onto the course, tucking himself into  the shape of a human bullet. The first two turns went great, his long  legs reaching out like a frog's to grip the snow as he hurtled downhill.  "Here comes the jump," Dane said, his hands white knuckled on the  fence. "Yeah!" he yelled when J.P. flew gracefully forward and then  landed it.

A minute and a half later, it was over and done, J.P. came sailing  across the finish line, then whipping around to see his time. He was  three-quarters of a second in the lead. "Is that enough?" Willow asked.

"It might be," Dane said, stroking his chin. "He has to sweat it out now."





* * *



In the end, nobody could best him. And Willow watched J.P., his face lit  with happiness, step onto the podium to receive a gold medal. As Willow  and Dane made their way back across the snow, J.P. clomped by in his  ski boots, stopping to clasp Dane on the shoulder. "We're doing après in  the Cliff Lounge," he said. "You know, after the press conference  bullshit. See you up there?"

"Yeah, I think you will," Dane said after a beat. "Thanks, man." When  J.P. walked away, he said, "you don't mind, do you? Some beers with the  team?"

"Why would I mind?" she asked. "Sounds like the thing to do. Except, I'll be drinking club soda."

"Okay. I'm not that close to these people, so if you're not having fun, we'll leave. They can be pretty rowdy."

"I can handle rowdy," she said. "I suppose we need a sign, though. We don't have one yet."

"A what?"

Willow shook her head. "I keep forgetting that you're from outer space.  All couples have a sign-a way of telling the other person that they need  to be rescued, or that it's time to leave."

"Huh," Dane said. "Like what?"

"It could be something physical, like squeezing your wrist." Willow  grasped his wrist tightly. "Or it could be a word. Something you  wouldn't say all the time."

"Like … platypus," Dane suggested.

"That's a little tricky to use in a sentence," Willow said. "We'd better stick with the wrist."

"I need to stretch for a minute," Dane said. "Standing around all day tightened me up." He leaned over, rubbing his knee.

"Ouch," Willow sympathized. The sun was much lower in the sky now,  though the feel of its last rays on her face was sublime. "Aw," she  pointed. "Look at that." On the bunny slope in front of the lodge, a  handful of children were having a lesson. The kids were quite  small-maybe three or four years old. It was hard to tell with all the  gear on them. "They look like cute little bugs. The helmets make their  heads look enormous," she said.                       
       
           



       

Dane put an arm around her waist, watching quietly. The kids were  following the teacher down the hill, making S turns in her tracks, hands  on their knees. "That is damned cute," he said finally. He kissed the  side of her face. "I never thought about how much fun it would be to  teach a little skeeter how to carve turns."