Текст книги "Shredded"
Автор книги: Tracy Wolff
Соавторы: Tracy Wolff
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter 21
Z
Motherfucker.
Bastard.
Goddamned son of a motherfucking bitch. If Remi was in front of me right now, I’d kill the asshole myself. Slowly. Painfully. Deliberately, so that he knew I meant it.
What the hell was he thinking? What the hell was he thinking?
Letting Ophelia get in that car with him? Racing with her when he knew how fucking dangerous it was? Fucking crashing that car with her in it? Totally irrational though it is, it’s killing me that he’s already dead. That I can’t tear the motherfucker limb from fucking limb.
I need to walk, need to move. Need to do something before the top of my head actually blows the fuck off. But there’s Ophelia to think of. Ophelia, who he never thought of, is curled up in my arms, her whole body wrapped around mine.
I don’t think she realizes that she’s shaking, her body trembling so violently that she’s actually moving the bed. I pull her closer, wrap my arms around her more tightly … and that’s when I realize. She’s not the one who’s shaking.
I am.
Goddamn fucking son-of-a-bitch motherfucking shithead. How could he do that to her? How could he tell her he loved her and then do that to her? I’ve seen her scars. I’ve touched and kissed and caressed them. I know how badly she was injured, and to think that some fucker with a death wish did that to her … I just can’t understand.
I may be on the brink of self-destructing, but if it happens, there’s no way I’m taking anybody with me. No way I’ll ever take the chance of hurting someone I care about again. Remi should have known better. He should have fucking known better. If you have a girl like Ophelia, you protect her. You don’t fucking put her in the line of fire. You fucking treasure her.
Bastard.
The need to kick the shit out of something is riding me hard, as is the red haze of fury that’s all I can see. All I can think about. But that isn’t what she needs from me right now. No matter how much I want to rage. No matter how much I want to go back in time and kick that motherfucker’s ass, I need to rein it in. Because Ophelia trusted me with something here. She told me why she’s scared, and now it’s my job to hold her and comfort her and make her unafraid. I may not know much about relationships, but I know that.
The only problem is, I don’t know how to do it. I’ve never comforted anybody in my life. Never even thought about it. But she needs it from me, so I’m going to fucking figure it out. Right here. Right now. I refuse to be just another asshole who let her down.
Not sure what else to do, I run a gentle hand down her back, stroke my fingers through her hair. Press my mouth against her ear and whisper a bunch of nonsense words that don’t seem to make much sense except that they soothe her. She relaxes against me, and I can feel her heartbeat finally start to settle as she cuddles even closer.
I want to hold her like this forever. Want to take away all the pain and bullshit she’s had to go through in the past and just make it all okay. She deserves more than what that bastard did to her, deserves so much more than the hand she’s been dealt.
Hell, she deserves so much more than me—a selfish prick who spends too much time playing around with his own fucking death wish. But that’s just too damn bad because I’m not going to give her up. It’s obvious she has ridiculously fucked-up taste in guys—present company totally included—so it’s not like I can turn her loose on the world and hope she ends up okay. Because she obviously won’t. Which means I’m going to have to do something more. I’m going to have to be something better. Because Ophelia fucking deserves it. She fucking deserves everything.
“That’s why I sent you away today,” she tells me, like I haven’t figured that much out already. “I saw that video and I just freaked out. It was like looking at Remi right before he died. All confidence and wildness and total commitment. You ride the line like he does, in the spot so narrow that life and death start to blend together.”
I clear my throat, start to answer. But what can I say? She’s right. We both know she’s right.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re not him. I know I shouldn’t compare you, but I watched so many videos of you tonight. Saw you doing so amazingly well and then just throwing it all away. Again and again and—”
“I love you.” The words slip out before I even know I’m going to say them. But once they’re out, I don’t want to take them back, because they’re true. Somehow, some way, I’ve managed to fall in love with this beautiful, beautiful girl when I didn’t think it was possible for me to love anyone. Ever.
“What did you say?” she asks after a minute, her voice broken and pupils blown wide with shock.
“I said I love you. And I’m sorry I’m such a fucking asshole.”
“You’re not.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I am. It’s just that since my—” I break off, not sure I’m ready to go there yet. Not sure I’ll ever be ready to go there.
“I know about your sister.”
“You do?” Shit. How? Did Cam tell her when she told her about the bet? Or Ash, maybe? My fucking heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of my chest, and I swear I’m about two seconds from passing out like a total pussy.
“I’m sorry she and your mother died.”
Oh, right. She knows the sanitized version, the PR version that Mitch has made sure circulated ever since I became a pro snowboarder. She doesn’t know the real truth. If she did, she’d probably be running away from me as fast as she fucking could. One destructive son of a bitch in her life is obviously enough.
If I were a better man, I’d tell her. Just so she’d know what she’s getting herself into. But I’m not and I’ve never claimed to be, so I don’t say another fucking word. Instead I put my mouth to better use.
Her lips open under mine like they were meant for me, her tongue stroking along my own as I explore the recesses of her mouth. She tastes so good, like caramel and coffee and sweet, sweet whipped cream. I nibble at her upper lip, suck it between mine. Laugh a little as she gasps and trembles against me. If I could, I’d stay here forever. Right here, at this moment, with my girl in my arms and the nightmares still and silent within me.
Desperate for more of her, for all of her, I deepen the kiss. I run my tongue along the roof of her mouth, play with the almost imperceptible gap where one of her teeth is just a tiny bit crooked. Then, because I can—because she’s mine—I run my tongue under hers and play with her frenulum.
She gasps, trembles, her hands clutching at my shirt to pull me closer. “What are you doing?” she whispers.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.” Her head falls back on a moan as I do it a second and then a third time.
I’ve just started sucking on her lower lip, nipping at it and then soothing the little sting with my tongue, when she pulls away.
“What’s wrong, baby? What do you need?”
She looks me straight in the eye. “I know it’s only been a few days, but I need to tell you. I love you, too, Z.”
Her words hit me with the power of a sledgehammer, even as I tell myself not to believe them. That she’s just trying to be nice. That she doesn’t want to leave me hanging. “You don’t have to say that.”
“Yes, I do.” She grabs my face between her hands and plants a fierce kiss on my mouth. “Because it’s true.”
“How can it be? I’m—” A loser. A bastard. A fuck-up who can’t be trusted with anything. I’m a drunk and a manwhore and all the other things people say about me, not to mention a bunch of things they don’t. I know it. I’ve always known it. Why doesn’t she?
I open my mouth, start to say it to her. I need to say it to her—she has a right to know—but I just can’t. Because if I say it, then she’ll leave, just like everybody else. Everybody but Luc and Cam and Ash. And I can’t let her go. Not now. Not yet.
“You’re a pain in the ass, is what you are,” she tells me in between pressing kisses down my neck. “Too arrogant. Too talented. Too used to getting your own way. Too impulsive. Too handsome. Too protective.” She shakes her head, then kisses me right behind the ear. “Too kind. Who the hell knows what I see in you.”
She starts to pull away, but I cup the back of her head and press her mouth back down to my throat for more kisses. “I think you might have me confused with somebody else.”
“No, I’m pretty sure you’re the only egomaniac around here.”
“Wow, don’t hold back,” I tell her on a surprised laugh. Then I tug at her hair until she lifts her head so I can drop kisses along her jawline. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“How I really feel? I started falling for you about sixty seconds after I dumped that cup of coffee on your pants.”
I grin, because that might actually be my favorite memory of all time. “It was the abs, wasn’t it?”
She rolls her eyes. “God, you’re so arrogant. No, it wasn’t the abs. It was the way you laughed. I’d just dumped a drink on you in front of everyone, and you weren’t even mad. You just laughed and kept flirting with me. It was … nice.”
“Nice, huh?” I roll her beneath me. “You know what else is nice?”
“What?” she asks, and she’s a little breathless now—exactly the way I like her.
I push her sweater back, pull her tank top out of the waistband of her yoga pants, and shove it up, up, up until her breasts are right there in my face. All full and gorgeous and rosy-tipped. “This.”
I bend my head, lick my tongue over and around one sweet nipple. Then I blow on it, letting the combination of warm tongue and cool air send heat spiraling through her. It must work, because she thrusts her hands into my hair and arches beneath me, pressing her breast against my mouth. Exactly where I like it.
“More,” she murmurs, and the sound—so husky and aroused—shoots straight to my dick.
I give her more, sucking her nipple into my mouth and running my tongue over it hard, the way I’ve learned she likes. Ophelia moans and pulls me closer and I’m again faced with the knowledge that being with her turns me into a green kid with no chance of controlling his own body. If she moves her hips, if she so much as rubs her pussy against my dick, I’m done for.
With that thought in mind, I ease her off my lap, settle her on the bed. She moans a little, clutches at me, so I trail soft kisses over her breasts and down her stomach in an effort to soothe her. And to calm myself down.
It doesn’t work. She’s so gorgeous lying there, her soft, fragrant skin silky to my touch, that it only ratchets up my need until it’s a pounding in my blood. In my head. In my heart.
I love her.
I love this girl.
The words and the knowledge of what they mean—what they really mean—work their way through me. They make the desperate need I have to be inside her, to feel her pussy clench around me, only more feral. And, strangely enough, more tender, too.
Yes, I want to fuck her. To plunge inside her and take everything she has to give me. But at the same time I want nothing more than to protect her, to care for her, in whatever ways she’ll let me.
“Z, please,” she murmurs, her hands tugging at my hair, my shoulders. “I need—” Her voice breaks.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I whisper against her stomach as I slide onto the floor at the end of the bed. “I’ve got you.”
The import of those words hits me for the first time, makes my hands shake as I reach for her pajama bottoms and slip them gently down her legs. She’s mine. Ophelia’s mine.
For a second—just a second—tears burn behind my eyes. I blink them away before she can see what a total fucking pussy I’m turning into, but the overwhelming feelings that caused the tears remain. I can barely breathe, barely think, through the need, the joy, the absolute terror that comes with loving her like this.
She must sense the crazy maelstrom inside me, or maybe I’m just doing a bad fucking job of hiding how fucking overwhelmed I am right now. Either way, Ophelia knows—she always knows—and she slips through my arms and onto the ground in front of me.
We’re kneeling now, our faces inches apart, her eyes looking into mine, her chest to my chest, and it’s the most intense moment of my crazy, fucked-up life. For a second I think about looking away, but she won’t let me. Those gorgeous green eyes of hers are holding mine, and I can’t look away.
“I’ve got you, too, Z,” she says, cupping my face in her hands. “I promise. I’ve got you, too.”
And then she’s kissing me, her lips moving over mine with an intensity that erases from between us everything and everyone that came before.
The kiss goes on forever, and by the time it ends, we’re both frantic. Both frenzied. She’s shoving at the robe, knocking it off my shoulders while I tear at her pajama top, ripping the buttons clean off in my desperate rush to be skin to skin.
Then she’s shoving me down onto the floor and climbing over me. “I need you,” she pants as she settles herself directly over my cock. “I need—”
We both moan as she slides over me, takes me inside her. I’ve never been with a girl like this before, never been inside anyone without a condom, and it feels amazing. For one long second I close my eyes and shudder as she lifts and lowers herself on top of me. I want to stay here, right here, like this forever. Want to drown in Ophelia and the wet heat of her that feels better than anything ever has or ever will.
But she’s my girl and I have to protect her. Have to take care of her. Though it nearly fucking kills me, I grab her hips in my hands, still her frantic motions.
“No!” she wails as she moves desperately against me. “Please—”
“Condom,” I gasp, cursing my goddamned jacket for being all the way across the fucking room. And still as I separate us, as I prepare to lunge for it, I can’t stop myself from cupping her breasts and running my thumbs over her gorgeously hard nipples.
“I’m on the pill,” she says desperately, her body moving against mine. “I have been for three years.”
The pill. Oh thank God.
I’ve never trusted a girl before when she’s said that. But none of those girls were Ophelia. None of them were mine. I lift her by the hips, position her over me once more. But I have to ask, just to be certain she’s really okay with this. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes. Z!” She’s practically sobbing now, her hands grabbing my biceps so hard that her fingernails dig into my muscles.
The little pinch of pain is the last straw. It sends me right over the edge of sanity and, clenches around me.
Ophelia gasps and I freeze, terrified for a moment that I’ve hurt her. That I’ve been too rough. Goddamnit. I know better—
But then she’s moving, her hips lifting and lowering on me in a rhythm that has my eyes crossing and my breath coming in harsh, jagged pants. She’s close already. I can hear it in the way her breath catches in her throat, feel it in the way she’s trembling all around me. Thank God, because I don’t think I can last long. Not now, when she feels like this around me.
I lift a hand to her breast, squeeze her nipple between my thumb and index finger. She moans, a strangled little sound deep in her throat that sets on end every nerve ending I’ve got. The need to come is a wild blizzard inside me, the only thing holding me back the need I have to make sure she gets off, too.
I bring my other hand to her sweet pussy, rub circles around her clit with my thumb as she shudders and shakes. She leans forward, angling her body so that I hit a different spot inside her. The shift in position has her whimpering and me cursing as all the heat and need and pleasure—fuck, the overwhelming pleasure—whip through us.
And then she’s coming, her slick heat clenching around me in a rhythm that strips away the last tiny bit of control I’ve got. I grab her hips, thrust into her once, twice. Then I’m coming, too, orgasm rolling over me like an avalanche, burying me in pleasure so intense it’s pain. Burying me in satisfaction. Burying me in love, until Ophelia is all I can see or feel or taste. Until she’s inside me as surely as I’m still inside her.
She collapses on top of me, and for long seconds, minutes, we do nothing but lie tangled together as we try desperately to catch our breaths.
“I lied,” she murmurs when our heartbeats are finally back to normal. She’s curled against me on her narrow bed, the comforter tucked tightly around us.
My stomach jolts like I’ve just missed the best trick of my run. “About what?” I try not to sound as desperate as I feel.
Her face is pressed against my chest, and I can feel her lips curve up into a smile. “It was a little bit about the abs.”
The tension leaves me on a laugh, and I pull her closer, until her heart is pressed to mine. “I knew it.”
“Well, in my defense,” she says as her hands slide over the area in question, “they’re really good abs.”
Chapter 22
Ophelia
My phone vibrates as I’m serving two lattes, and I shoot a quick glance over my shoulder at Melanie, the girl I’m working with. I signal that I’m taking my break, and she nods at me. I’ve been waiting for this call from Z for what feels like forever.
“Hi,” I answer as I step outside, trying to ignore the fact that it’s even colder now than when I came to work this morning.
“Hey, baby. You sound like you’re freezing.”
“I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I now live in the arctic.”
“I think you’re confused. The arctic’s a few hundred miles north of Park City.”
“Yeah, well, you couldn’t prove it by me.”
He makes a sympathetic noise. “It’ll be better next year, once your blood thickens up a little bit.”
“God, I hope so. Because it couldn’t get worse.”
“Really? It couldn’t get worse?”
He’s teasing, but I can hear a little bit of worry behind the joking, so I clarify, “The weather, not Park City.”
He laughs, so I change the subject. “How’s Aspen?”
“Colder than Park City,” he tells me. “Did you pack enough layers?”
“I think so. My aunt helped me pack, so I should be good to go.”
“I can’t wait to see you. I miss you like crazy.”
I can’t help rolling my eyes even though he’s not there to see it. “You’ve only been gone two days, Z. I think you can handle it.”
“I thought I could, too, but it turns out I’ve gotten used to you in my bed.”
It’s funny, because I’ve gotten used to him, too. We’ve only been together—really together—for ten days, but it feels longer. Like it’s finally right. Which seems crazy considering this is Z I’m talking about, but it’s true. He’s been amazing. Like the perfect boyfriend, all concerned and interested and supportive. He even drove into Salt Lake City and came back with some pamphlets from the colleges there. He’s lobbying hard for me to stay in Park City at the end of the season, and while two weeks ago that never even would have been an option, now I can’t imagine being somewhere else. Somewhere that he isn’t.
“Those are big words coming from a guy who used to sneak out the second his date fell asleep.”
“Hey! I thought we agreed you weren’t going to listen to any more rumors about me.”
“I’m not listening to rumors, baby. What I hear around here is pure truth.” I can’t keep the grin from my voice. He gets so flustered when I bring up his past, which I think is hilarious. It’s not like I didn’t know what I was getting into when I started dating him, after all. I even know about Stacy, the redheaded octopus, staying the night in his bed. And while that one stings a little bit, it’s not like I can blame him for it. We weren’t dating at the time, and I had pretty much emasculated him as I sent him out the door. And he didn’t even sleep with her, which is both shocking and a little charming, knowing what I do about him.
“So, when are you leaving?”
It’s such a blatant subject change that I can’t help laughing. But I go with it because as fun as it is to mess with Z, it’s more fun to hear his voice go all low and sweet and gravelly when he talks to me. “I get off work in an hour. We’re heading out right after.”
“You’re coming up with Ash’s parents, right?”
“And his brother, yes.” I might be more confident driving around here, but there’s no way I’m driving seven hours through the snowy mountains that are between here and Aspen. “Thanks for setting that up. His family seems great.”
“They are great. His parents are the only reason I even made it through high school.”
“What do you mean?”
But I already know he’s not going to answer. The noise in the background has suddenly gotten a lot worse, which means he’s just gotten off the ski lift. Amazing how ten days of being with Z has turned me into an expert at all the different sounds on the mountain. Not to mention the different snowboarding tricks.
“I got to go, baby. I’ve got one guy in front of me and then it’s my turn to throw down another practice run.”
Nerves flutter in my tummy, but I ignore them. Z’s a snowboarder, has been all his life, and being with him means dealing with it. Which is fine, I remind myself, as long as he doesn’t do anything colossally stupid. I’m prepared for crazy—this is Z, after all—but not for blatantly suicidal. So far he’s been keeping up his end of the bargain, which means I have to keep up mine not to worry over every little thing.
“Have fun!” I tell him. “Spin around a bunch of times.”
He groans. “You know, you’re really going to have to learn the terms. Because ‘spin around a bunch of times’ just isn’t cutting it.”
Which is one of the reasons I keep saying it, even now that I do know many of the terms. Messing with him is entirely too much fun. “So what should I say?”
“You should say ‘barge your run,’ or ‘have a sick ride.’ ”
“Okay. Have a sick ride.”
“You too. I’ll see you in about eight hours.”
I laugh. “We might have to stop to eat, you know. Or pee or something.”
He sighs. “Fine. Nine hours. But not one minute later.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good,” he says with a slightly wicked laugh. “And once you get here, we’ll see what I can do.”
It’s my turn to groan. “Good-bye, Z.”
“Bye, Ophelia. I love you.”
My heart stops for a second before starting to beat double time. He says it all the time, every time we talk, and it still gets to me. Still turns me inside out. I’m beginning to think it always will. “I love you, too.”
The last hour of work drags, partly because it’s lunchtime and everyone’s at the restaurant and partly because I’m watching the clock, waiting to get on the road. Ash’s parents, Gemma and Todd, show up with his fourteen-year-old brother, Logan, about half an hour before I’m supposed to get off, so I set them up with some coffees and start counting down the seconds.
I can’t believe how excited I am. Not just about seeing Z, which will be fun, but it really has only been two days since I saw him last. But about seeing a real live snowboarding competition that he and Ash and Luc are all competing in. And Cam—Cam’ll be competing in the women’s segments, which I’m just as excited to watch.
I’ve caught snowboarding competitions on TV sometimes, usually around the X Games or the Olympics, but I’ve never actually had a vested interest in one before. Never known anyone who was involved or watched them practice their tricks beforehand.
Z’s done nothing but practice this last week and a half. Well, practice and hang out with me. But I’ve been out with him a couple of times, and though the things he does freak me out on a regular basis, I know he could be doing things that are a lot worse. Like throwing himself off a mountain or not being smart about the tricks he practices.
Ash says they’ve got this, that there’s a chance they’ll all place in the top ten, which would be totally wicked. Admittedly, I’m pulling hardest for Z. Between all the press and added sponsorships that came pouring in after that backcountry run and how much he’s been practicing lately, I really want him to do well. Really want him to see that it’s okay for things to go well for him.
The clock that refuses to move finally strikes one, and I all but run to the employee break room, where I’ve been storing my overnight bag. And then we’re on the road, Gemma, Todd, Logan, and me, laughing and chattering about the boys like we’re old friends. Logan’s actually really cool for a fourteen-year-old and we spend much of the trip talking about music and movies and—of course—snowboarding.
Turns out he’s determined to follow in his big brother’s footsteps. Which is no surprise. I’ve only been hanging out with Z’s friends for a couple of weeks and already I can tell what a great guy Ash is. Not as great as Z, obviously, but still pretty awesome.
“I’m so glad you and Z are dating,” Gemma tells me a few hours into the trip, when we stop for snacks and gas. “I’ve known that boy since he was five, and I have never seen him happier than he is with you right now.”
“Never?” I ask her, wondering what he was like before his mom and sister died.
“Never,” she tells me firmly as we walk back to the car. “If you ask me, things were always a little off in that poor boy’s house, even before everything happened. The way his father reacted only proves my point.”
“His father?” I ask. Z almost never mentions his dad, and the few times I’ve gotten up the nerve to ask about the man, he always deflects. Which is just weird. My mom and I aren’t super close, but still we talk every couple of days and I’ve told Z all about her.
Gemma makes a rude noise. “A bigger son of a bitch has never walked the planet,” she tells me. “That man is a selfish monster, one who has put himself and his own grief above that of a young boy for too many years. I can’t even imagine where poor Z would have ended up if he didn’t have snowboarding and Luc, Cam, and Ash.”
“Actually, he told me just this morning that he thinks you and your husband are responsible for him turning out as well as he has.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and though she blinks them away quickly enough, I can see how much my words—Z’s words—have affected her. “I love that boy as much as if he was my own son. And I hate what he’s been through.”
I know it’s low, but Z never talks about his family, and certainly never talks about how his mom and sister died. I really want to know—not out of idle curiosity, but because the last thing I want is to do or say something that might hurt him out of ignorance.
But Todd and Logan finish pumping gas and climb back into the car before I can ask, and then, as the three of them chatter about what snacks she bought, the moment slips away. I refuse to let it go completely, though. Sometime soon somebody is going to need to tell me about Z’s past. I want it to be him, but at this point I’m okay with hearing it from somebody else. As long as I know how to avoid hurting him, the source doesn’t matter.
* * *
It’s complete pandemonium when we pull up to the resort where the competition is taking place. There are reporters and snowboarders and fans everywhere, along with some pretty famous faces—both in the sport and outside it—who are there for the event. I text Z as we pull up to the valet parking, and by the time we get our luggage and walk into the hotel, he’s there.
“Ophelia!” He swoops me up into his arms and gives me a kiss that would probably be more appropriate if we’d been separated for two months instead of two days. All around us, flashes go off, and when he finally pulls away and I can think again, I realize that there are a lot of press people standing around with their cameras all focused on Z and me.
“Who’s your girl, Z?” one of the reporters calls.
“Can we get another picture?” someone else yells.
“Just one more? One more!”
Z ignores them all as he wraps his left arm around my shoulder and pulls me against his side. He quickly shakes Todd’s hand, drops a kiss on Gemma’s cheek, and murmurs a quick thank-you to them as he bumps fists with Logan.
Gemma’s eyes are wide as she surveys the crowd. “Wow. This is intense.”
Z shrugs, looks uncomfortable. “It’s just Olympic stuff.”
She looks at him knowingly. “More like it’s just you.”
“And Ash. He can’t move without being mobbed. It’s been nuts since we got here.” He gives her a quick hug. “Thanks again for bringing Ophelia. I appreciate it.”
“No problem at all,” Todd says. “Now, any idea where we can find our son?”
“I think he’s in his room, 927.” He whispers the number, and I can see why. The last thing they need is for the mass of people around us to get ahold of their room numbers.
“Great. We’ll head up after we register.”
Z nods, then pulls me closer as we prepare to make a run for it.
“Is it always like this?” I whisper to him a couple of minutes later as he cuts a swath through the crowd for us. I manage a last wave at Gemma and Todd before Z sweeps me into an elevator and away from the crowd.
“Sorry. I should have warned you. Things have been really crazy for me this time around. With Olympic trials starting in a couple of weeks and that stupid fucking video, it’s like every reporter in the country wants a sit-down with me.”
“So, are you sitting down with them?”
The look he shoots me is pure Z, all arrogance and disdain mixed with just a hint of vulnerability. “Does it look like I’m sitting down with them? I have better things to do.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?” We step off when the elevator gets to top floor. Looks like Z really is moving up in his sponsors’ esteem.
We barely get three feet off the elevator before more flashes go off. And then suddenly we’re surrounded by people shoving cell phones and cameras in our faces. Fans, I realize, as Z doesn’t go off the way I expect him to. Not reporters this time, but fans who just want to meet or talk to or get a selfie with Z.
It’s crazy. I mean, in Park City people talk about him all the time, but rarely does anyone try to take a picture with him. Here, it’s like he really is a celebrity. Everyone wants an autograph, everyone wants a picture and a minute to talk to him.
I’m so shocked that I just stand there like an idiot as the crowd ebbs and flows around me. I end up getting jostled and bumped some, and that’s what finally pulls me out of my surprised stupor.
Z handles it all like a pro, however, and I can’t help wondering if this happens to him at every competition or if it’s new and he’s just had time to get used to it since he’s been here a couple of days already.
Either way, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me out of the ever-growing crowd. Right now there are about thirty-five people around us, but as the elevator dings and lets a bunch more people out—all of whom seem to be here for Z—I realize that this thing can blow up really quickly.
