Page 34 of Love on the Tracks
“Can I go back to my fortress now, please?”
Kate rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue, merely snatches her phone back and mutters under her breath as she turns on her heel and walks away. “Of course, because you only have two hours left to obsessively listen to your boyfriend’s band.”
Chapter Thirteen
Rowan
My second run was even better than my first, but I’m still not hitting that last turn hard enough. More than one person has taken a spill around that curve, though, so maybe playing it on the safe side isn’t a terrible idea. Definitely better to stay on my sled than to eat ice. I can feel those Germans nipping at my heels, though, and the Russians not far behind.
I wish I were immune to that kind of pressure, but if I weren’t competitive I wouldn’t be here. On the other hand, being on top this early is new for me. I’m more of a come-from-behind girl, so being first—first—after the first two runs is stomach-churning. The only place to go is down.
More than ever, I want to curl into my mid-race cocoon. Put on my headphones, not talk to anyone, and not even open my eyes until it’s time for runs three and four. Which is crazy talk because the next set of races isn’t for a couple of days. But then maybe my gut wouldn’t be curdled like cottage cheese. Ugh, food. That is another thing I don’t want to think about right now, but I should eat something. Gerrilyn and my dad will be after me if I don’t.
Stepping out of the shower, I wrap my towel around myself and head to my bed where my clothes are laid out. Zane’s taking me to some burger joint and I’m supposed to meet him in twenty minutes.
I ought to be looking forward to it. And I am . . . sort of. But I wasn’t kidding about wanting to hermit until my event is over, and there’s nothing hermit-y about Zane. At least not right now, when we’re supposed to be subjecting ourselves to media scrutiny. I can picture someday curling up with him on a couch and marathoning some action movies. That would be nice. Sitting there with him and eating popcorn until we maybe stopped paying attention to the movie . . .
Not an option right now, and maybe not ever. Not only do I have to go out and get pointed and stared at, I have to sit across the table from Zane, wondering what he thinks about me. Which is stupid. I’m facing down the biggest runs of my life—that’swhat’s important, not a boy who may or may not like me. This is not what I would call focus, and focus is what I need to stay on track.
I finish getting dressed and fixing my hair and slicking on some lip gloss and mascara—what passes for makeup with me because unless I’m on TV, I don’t have time for that. No one gives a shit if you’ve got eyeliner on when you’re sliding at over eighty miles per hour.
Zane’s car is waiting for me a little ways from the exit to the village, and he climbs out when I get close. He doesn’t wait for me to approach him either, oh no. He strides right up to me and enfolds me in the world’s most giant bear hug.
He’s nice and warm from being in the car, and he smells good like he just got out of the shower too. Plus, even though we’ve got several layers between us, I swear I can feel him breathing. He squeezes me so tight I might pass out and before I’m about to croak at him to stop, he puts me down and holds a mittened hand in the air.
Along with a parka that must’ve cost as much as my sled, he’s wearing his mittens. The ones I gave him. I mean, of course he is, it’s freaking freezing out here and he’d be a moron not to have put something on his hands, but still. I like that he hasn’t gotten himself another pair. But what the hell is he—
“Are you going to leave me hanging? Slap me some mitten, Miss First-in-the-standings!”
He’s such a dork. And no, I won’t leave him hanging, so I high five him, grinning as I do.
“You were fucking awesome out there today.”
He puts his arm around me and shows me to the car. Meanwhile I’ve become aware of the usual swarm of press that follows him around like puppy dogs. I’ve also become aware he didn’t kiss me.
Zane’s still chattering away when we get buckled up and mostly I laugh at him. I knew he liked the SIGs and luge in particular, but he must’ve been doing some research on the side because he’s got a better handle on what happened with a lot of my competitors than the announcers did.
“—and did you see that Austrian wipe out on the last turn? That was ugly. I hope you’re being careful.”
That’s cute. He’s worried about me. Is it because he likes me or because I won’t be worth as much if I don’t finish the event? Even if it’s because he likes me, is it like a friends-with-benefits kind of like or is it more than that? Why did this have to happen now? Why could I not have hooked up with some Jamaican bobsledder or something? Someone who I would know exactly what was going on with.
Never will I talk about a crush in the press again. For all the good that would do me—not that I don’t have actors who I think are nice to look at, but none of them have ever stuck the way Zane had. Has. I like him more now that he’s a real person instead of an eight-by-ten glossy with a Sharpied signature under my bed.
Finally, he stops his talking and lays a hand on my thigh. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah, totally fine. Why?”
“You don’t seem excited, that’s all.”
“Nerves.”
He smiles, dimples deepening and he leans forward until I think he might kiss me, but no. He wraps his hand around my biceps as well as he can and leans closer still. “Let’s see if we can’t suffocate some of those nerves under a bison burger, okay?”
I can’t even help my eye-roll. I mean, come on. What kind of pop star takes a date to a place where you can get a bison burger? Shouldn’t there be lobster and caviar and champagne and smelly cheese? No, he’s brought me to a burger joint and fuck it all, it makes me like him better. As if that was a thing that needed to happen. Maybe instead of blushing, my face will now literally burst into flames every time I think about him.
He hops out as we roll up, offering me a hand while saying, “I heard they have, uh, grown-up milkshakes here. I might let you have a celebratory sip of mine, little lady.”
Zane
