With the silver medal under my belt, I head to the only place I want to be this morning—Demi's practice. The entire time I’ve known her, I've never seen her ski in person. I mean I have, but never paid much attention.

Hearing her mom's voice on my approach makes me happy I've stayed away until now. I have a feeling I’m going to have to bite my tongue and I've never been good at that.

“Demi, what are you doing? You have to take that last turn sharper.” Her mom is shaking her head.

Demi hasn’t seen me yet and inhales a big breath, unclips her skis and steps out of them.

“Carla, she's beating her time.” One of the other coaches intervenes, no doubt this isn't the first occasion.

“She could do better. Her skis are cutting in and slowing her down.”

Maybe I should be thankful my family never joins me at the Classics.

“She's tired. You can see it, same as I can. She needs a day of rest,” the other coach argues.

I look at Demi to see her reaction to all this. I'm almost positive she's not listening. Her hand is on her phone, her thumbs moving at hyper speed.

My phone dings in my pocket and all three heads swivel in my direction.

Demi smiles, taking off her helmet and tucking it under her arm as she walks over to me. “Hey,” she says, without hesitation.

I tuck my hands into my jacket pockets and dip my head like I can hide out and only see her. “I thought I'd catch you at practice.”

“It's not much fun.” The snow crunches under her boots while she leaves her skis stranded by her coach.

My gaze flicks to her mom who’s glaring at me.

“How much longer will you be? Maybe I can take you to lunch?”

A devilish smile crosses her lips and she glances over her shoulder. “About a half hour. I'd love to.”

I nod.

“Demi?” Her mom's boots tread through the snow toward us.

“Hey, Mom, this is Dax. Dax Campbell. He's in snowboard cross. Won silver yesterday.”

I look at her mom closely. She has a matching set of eyes with her daughter and if I wanted to know what Demi will look like in twenty years, I just have to study her mom's face—she has the same strawberry blonde hair, a few less freckles than Demi, but their eyes and their nose are both the same.

I hold my hand out and her mom shakes it, although daintily as if she's afraid I have something she'll catch. “Carla Harrison.” Then she turns back to Demi. “We have to get going. You have two more practice runs.”

Demi nods. “Dax is going to watch and then we're going to lunch.”

Carla forces a smile. “How nice.”

Demi glances back at me. “The sooner I’m done, the sooner we're out of here.” She winks slyly so her mom doesn't notice.

They both walk away, and I don’t think I've ever spoken less my entire life, but Carla Harrison is about as scary as Kathy Bates’ character in Misery.

Demi's mom has a vice grip on her daughter's arm, pulling her away like she's a toddler who just ran off. I step forward, but Demi shoots me a smile over her shoulder before hopping on the snowmobile to take her back up the hill.

Figuring I have some time, I pull out my phone to read the text Demi sent me.

A smile forms on my lips. She was thinking of me, just as I was thinking of her.

“So, Dax, are you the one tiring my daughter out?” Carla stands next to me at the bottom of the hill. I didn’t even hear the woman approach. She’s like a damn ninja. There are no accusations in her tone, so I'm hopeful that must mean something good.

I chuckle. “No, Ma'am.”

She side eyes me.

I'm full of shit and she knows it.

“Now that your event is over, is your plan to monopolize the rest of my daughter's time?”

“No, Ma'am.”

“Stop calling me Ma'am, I am not that old.”

“Okay, then. No, Carla.”

We’re both still facing the hill. If anyone saw us from a distance they'd never think we were having a conversation.

“As you can see, Dax, I do not take this sport lightly. I’m a three-time medalist and if I have any say my daughter will be, too. Her entire life is skiing. I don't intend for that to change now.”

“Believe me, Carla, I don't intend to alter Demi's dreams in any way.”

She huffs. “Sure, you don't. But one thing will lead to the next and soon she'll be telling me that she's engaged and pregnant.”

I chuckle to myself and she shoots me a look. One that if she had anything sharp on her, would cause me to fear for my life. I hold up my hands. “Your daughter and I are just friends.”

“Friends? I may not be that old, Dax, but I'm old enough to know there's no such thing as a man and a woman just being friends.”

“You don’t have to believe me, but it's the truth.”

I can't very well say, ‘I'm screwing your daughter until the Classics are over and then you can have your workhorse back’, now can I?

“I assume you're the one joining us for dinner tonight?” Carla asks.

My heart thumps in the chest. Dinner?

“The annual dinner we have before her race every Classics. It's a tradition and she asked that her father add one more to the reservation. I assume that's you?”

I swallow to coat my now dry throat. The dinner is with her parents? She might have mentioned that.

“Yes, I know about it and please thank Mr. Harrison for making room for me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Mr. Harrison will be mighty surprised with you. However, he'll probably like you. I, on the other hand, see the distraction you and your friendship is on Demi. She might not realize it, but a man is the last thing she needs right now.”

Demi carves out her stop at the bottom of the hill, pulling up her goggles immediately. I missed her skiing and I have Carla to blame for it.

“What'd you think?” she says, using her poles to pop out of her skis. She genuinely wants my opinion on her run.

“You look great.” I'm not lying, the skin-tight lycra shows off all her curves, and the places I love to kiss.

“Thanks. Okay, one more.”

“Demi,” her mom says, jogging over to the snowmobile.

I can't hear the specific words, but I know she’s judging her on the run which I don't really understand. She can only see the bottom half of it and she spent more time talking to me than watching her daughter. Not to mention, I want to tell Carla to bug off, but there’s no way would I try to drive a wedge between Demi and her family. I know all too well what it's like to live without one.