Our heads rest millimeters apart, our fingers inches away from one another, our breaths releasing in an even stream. With my laptop propped up on my suitcase, we Netflix and Chill in the literal sense.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” I turn toward her.

“What?” Her eyes remain on the screen.

“Do you love alpine skiing?”

She doesn't respond right away. She winces, turning her body sideways to look at me.

“Don't.”

She shakes off my concern. “I'm good.” Her hands tuck under my pillow and there's something way too intimate going on right now, but this must be what having a girl for a friend is like.

I've never had a real female friend before and that's half the reason I don't understand Beckett and Skylar. They’re always touching each other without ever getting to the really good stuff. What’s the point? But having Demi in my bed warms parts of me that are normally cold and vacant. Being friends with a girl is a lot different than being one with a guy.

“I'll answer the question if you answer one of mine,” she finally says.

Of course, I should’ve known Demi wouldn't put herself out there if I wasn't prepared to do the same. The question is, am I? Not many people in my life know about my family situation. Grady and Brandon are the only ones. All Beckett really knows is my family is as absent as his.

“Okay, but be kind,” I say.

She giggles, her hand shoving me. “Sure.”

She thinks for a moment, her eyes staring up at the ceiling and she inhales a few deep breaths. “I did. I mean, I do enjoy it.” Her face scrunches. “I think I'd like it a lot more if my mom wasn't so involved. She makes it hard. It's the classic story of a child never feeling good enough.”

I nod. From the small things she's mentioned I figured as much. “Why don't you ask her to stop coaching you?”

She huffs. “Have you met my mother?”

“I haven't had the pleasure.”

“She’d never let me train solely with another coach where she didn’t have any input. Mother knows best. She's a three-time medalist. Her not being involved is not even a remote possibility.” The smile on her face looks forced and I hate it. “It's not all bad though. I mean I might not be here if it wasn't for her. She pushed me when I wanted to play with Barbies instead. And I do have love for the sport. When I'm on that hill, she's not in my ear and it's just me and my skis. Those are my favorite moments.”

“What would you do if you didn't ski?”

It's a tough question and I don't even have an answer if I was asked myself. During off-season, I freak out about what I'll do when I'm too old to compete in this sport.

A long stream of breath leaves her mouth. “Teach it?” she laughs. “I have no idea. Every winter I've skied. My mom always arranged for me to go to school through summer to have the winters off. I know nothing else.”

“Me either.”

We sit in a comfortable silence for a minute before she speaks again.

“Is it my turn now? You asked two.”

I chuckle, always one to stay on course. “Hit me.”

“Your family, how come they don't come to support you?”

“Man, you're hitting the bullseye first.” I lay my hand over my heart, implying this is the topic I don't really like to talk about. Which is putting it mildly.

“Hey, you hit me where it hurt, too.”

I shake my head because she’s got me there. “Ah, my family. I could say finances. My mom always says she has to work. My brothers both have families.”

“But you're competing to be the best in the world. It doesn’t get any bigger than that.”

This is why I never talk to people about it. It's hard for them to understand.

“I've offered to pay, but they say they can watch it on television. That the money should go to something better than traveling and staying in a hotel.”

Her lips turn down and her forehead crinkles.

Yeah, I don't get it either.

“What does your mom do?”

“She's a waitress.”

That does nothing to change her look. Nope, she's not some high-power attorney who can't get a moment of free time for herself. She's not a doctor on call. She serves drinks at a rundown bar in the middle of Vermont.

“I don't know, I'm the youngest and my mom was so busy working to put food on the table that there wasn’t much time or attention left for me.”

“What about your dad?”

“Nu-uh. My turn.”

She smiles that million-dollar grin I'm starting to become addicted to.

“Julien? Did you, do you love him?”

I'm not sure why I care, but when I saw her face at the karaoke night and how hurt she was, I wondered if there was more to it than just dating.

“God, no.” She rolls onto her back, entwining her hands over her stomach, her chest rising up and falling with deep breaths. Then she turns back my way, but her eyes shift around like she doesn’t want to look directly at me. “I think it was like the last straw, but more like the last guy.”

“Meaning?”

She tilts her head as though I’m supposed to get what she’s saying.

“It was four years ago for us,” I say.

“True...but since then I haven't had a true relationship. All the guys I date seem to like me enough to sleep with me, but that's about it. I mean, I get that we all have crazy schedules and it's hard to get something started, but it's like I wasn't worth it. Being tossed aside—again—it hurts.” A tear slips down her cheek.

Fuck. My heart hiccups, my stomach clenches so hard I swallow down the bile rising from the disgust I feel at being one of the guys who made her feel that way.

“I'm sorry.” I hope she can hear the sincerity in my voice.

“Don't be. It's just...” She pauses, and I let her collect her thoughts rather than interrupting like I usually do in uncomfortable situations. “It probably all stems from my relationship with my mom. I'm sure a counselor would have a field day with my mommy issues. It's like I'll never be good enough in her eyes and I think I find that feeling easy to transfer over to other relationships.”

Makes sense and it doesn’t surprise me that she knows this about herself. One thing about Demi is that she’s not a bullshitter. Not with anyone else and apparently not with herself either.

“That's why I agreed to this thing between us. I needed to have some fun and know that there were no expectations. So, thank you.” Her hand nudges my shoulder. “I've had a lot of fun this Winter Classics.”

Again, the fact that she has no expectations of me gnaws at my gut when it should make me rejoice.

“So...your dad?” she asks, switching topics.

I huff. “Your guess is as good as mine. He walked out when I was one and never returned.”

She blows out a long breath. “Oh, that sucks.”

“Not really. If he doesn't want to be part of my life, then I don't want to be part of his.”

I've always been fine with the fact my dad left. My brothers feel differently but maybe that's because they remember him more. You can't miss something you never had. There were times I'd see Grady and his dad or Brandon and his, and think what if, but I've been on my own for so long that I accept it for what it is.

“That's very untherapeutic. A counselor wouldn't make any money off of you.” She giggles.

“I'm sure if you dug deep enough you could find something worth exploring.”

She slides closer to me, her hand cradling my cheek. “I bet that’s true. You're nothing like what I assumed.”

I knock my forehead with hers. “Is that a compliment?”

“Yeah, it is.”

A spurt of electric energy erupts in my stomach and I suck in a breath because whatever it was, it felt good...too fucking good.

“Your turn,” she whispers. I want to feel her body, but I know the best thing for her is rest, so I try to use all that willpower I have and keep my hands to myself.

“Favorite color?”

She draws her head back, studying my face. “Aqua. You?”

“Black.”

“Heartless, huh?”

“I was kidding, Manatee.”

“Manatee? What color is that?”

I shake my head like I'm disappointed in her. “Have you never read the colors on crayons?”

“No. Typically I stick with the color wheel.” She chuckles.

“You're missing out then. Manatee is a grayish blue. And there's not just Aquamarine, there's Caribbean Green or Tropical Rain Forest. You really need to up your game if we're going to be friends.”

I stiffen my body in anticipation of a playful hit. Usually, when I say some smart-ass remark, her reflex is to hit or kick me. Instead, her lips land on mine, her hand holding me in place by the back of my neck.

Our tongues instantly perfect the dance they've been practicing the past week and soon I'm on my back with her on top of me.

She slows the kiss. “You're an odd duck, Dax Campbell.”

“You love that about me, admit it.”

I feel her smile against my lips. “Yeah, I do.”

I ease her off my body. “Stop trying to take advantage of me. You need to ice again.”

She falls to her back, her eyes rolling as she does. “The best remedy would be sex.”

I roll off the bed and head over to the freezer. “You really are insatiable.”

She shrugs.

“I must be killer in bed.”

She throws a towel across the room at me. “Cocky ass.”

“It's not cocky if it’s the truth.” I signal for her to roll over and she does as I ask, and I place the ice pack on her bruise. “No worries, babe, once this is better, I plan on making up for lost time.”

“I'm holding you to that.”

Finally, she expects something from me.