Dinner is at the restaurant in her parents’ hotel. It's supposed to serve American food and it's a tad more elegant than the way I usually dine, but it's not outside of my comfort zone.

We check our coats and head to the hostess stand. Demi gives the hostess her last name, but I spot her mom waving us over. I'm not sure what I expected, but I didn't expect this. There are more than just her parents here.

Demi grips my hand harder as we approach. The entire table stands and begins clapping. Demi elegantly moves around the table, hugging and kissing the cheeks of who I assume are grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. All these people took time out of their lives to come support her.

When she’s finished making the rounds, she stands to the side of her chair and glances over at me. “This is Dax Campbell, he just won silver at snowboard cross.”

The fact she announces me as a medalist already has me wondering if she thinks that would make a difference as to how I was treated tonight. I try to push back my fears and insecurities of being at a table with people who never in their life have had money problems.

“Dax, this is my dad, Ashton Harrison, Junior.”

Her dad smiles, stands and holds out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Dax.”

He seems friendly enough, I dissect his features trying to find one that matches Demi, but our introduction is over too soon.

I shift my hand to Carla. “Nice to see you again, Carla.”

She smiles, and again with the dainty handshake. “Nice to see you,” she says with a look like she's chomping down on shards of glass.

We all sit down, Demi pointing out all her family members while I exchange waves with them.

“And this is my grandma, Pearl,” she points to the elderly woman next to me.

She smiles a sweet grandmotherly grin with a light but welcoming handshake. “I’m Ashton’s mom.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” her tone slightly more seductive than the way I said it. I had to hear that wrong, right?

The waitress comes over and takes our drink orders. Demi just finished ordering a seltzer water with a lime when her mother speaks up.

“Oh, Demi, you know how carbonation makes you. Maybe just distilled water.”

Demi turns back to the waitress. “Distilled water with lime.”

“Oh, maybe lemon,” Carla says. “I know sometimes limes give you heartburn.”

“It's fine, Mom.” Demi looks to the waitress. “Lime, please.”

The waitress nods and looks over to me, but I’m not about to drink when she has to endure this meal sober. “Same.”

“No.” Demi shakes her head, looking to the waitress. “He'll have a Miller Lite.”

“No, I won't. Distilled water with lime sounds great.” I lick my lips and Demi laughs, her head falling to my shoulder.

“You didn't have to,” she says under her breath.

“I want to.”

She gives me one of those you're-my-hero looks that I'm really starting to love. They almost make me believe that maybe I could be a hero to her.

“So, Dax, silver? That's quite an accomplishment,” her dad says from across the table.

I nod and shift in my seat when I find Carla's eyes scrutinizing Demi and me.

“Yeah, I mean I wanted gold of course, but I can’t really complain about silver.”

“Gold is the best,” Carla says.

If you hadn’t already guessed those three medals Carla won? All gold.

“Well, Carla, as you know from being an athlete in the Classics as well, sometimes you work hard and just don't get gold,” I say.

Her eyes narrow. “You were gold last time, correct?”

So, I wasn't the only one googling.

“I did.”

“Do you think you got silver because you were more distracted this time?”

“Mom, let it go,” Demi interrupts.

My hand slides under the table and I squeeze her leg, reassuring her that I can take care of this.

“I think we only get one life. And for me, I've always wanted to live it. Was I disappointed I didn't get gold? Of course. I wouldn't be here if I was okay being second best, but I also wouldn't change anything that's happened this Classics.” I squeeze Demi’s leg again to reassure her that she wasn't a distraction to me. Furthest thing from the truth.

“Well, you and Demi only have a few more of your top years left to compete.”

Is that seriously her comeback?

“True, all the more reason I'm not going to beat myself up about silver. I'm going to work harder this off-season and come back stronger and faster for the next Classics.”

“That's good thinking, Dax,” Ashton says. “I tell Carla all the time to just relax and enjoy it. Her daughter followed in her footsteps, what more could you ask for?” He smiles, raising his drink in the air.

“Ashton was never a competitor, so he doesn't understand,” Carla fires back. “Spreadsheets and numbers don’t bring the same sense of achievement as a gold medal does.” She slides her hand to the back of his head, massaging his neck.

“What is it you do, Mr. Harrison?” I ask.

“Ashton, please. I’m an investment banker.”

I nod, not really understanding the ins and outs of what an investment banker does and not really wanting to.

“I assume my work would seem boring to someone who races down mountains.” He almost seems ashamed of his profession, but from what I can tell from the size of the ring on Carla's finger and the overall outward appearance of them, he does well and should be proud of himself.

“Well, we all have different things that make us tick, right?” I say.

He smiles, raising his glass once more. “I like you, Dax.”

Demi's hand links with mine and she squeezes.

“Me, too.” Grandma Pearl surprises me by placing her head on my shoulder. “You seem good for Demi. Calm her down a bit.”

“Thanks, Grandma.” Demi looks past me to her grandma.

“Sweetie, you're just strung too tight like your mother. You need to loosen up and it seems like this lug could unravel you.” Her voice sounds almost seductive. I crack my neck, thinking I must be hearing things.

“Oh, Pearl, Demi is fine,” Carla says.

Pearl rolls her eyes, and Carla moves on to talk to the waitress about dinner.

“Someone needs to pull the stick from her ass,” Pearl whispers in my ear and my eyes widen, but I try to keep my cool.

I choke out a laugh and Pearl laughs outright, not caring who hears her.

Things with the family are going well, our drinks come, and a meal Carla planned for everyone—some specialty item that would be good for Demi. The only thing halfway appealing is the pasta side dish.

Demi excuses herself, going down the table to talk to her cousins. They're younger, and she sits and colors with them for a bit. They ask her questions about how fast she goes down the hill and she even points to me to say I race people down the hill, too. They all look over with slack jaw expressions like I'm their favorite Disney star.

“So, Dax, may I ask how you invest all your money?” Ashton’s question throws me off a little. “I'm sure you have a guy, but I feel like it's my duty to make sure athletes don't spend all their money and end up with nothing. You guys work hard for it, but you wouldn’t believe how many professional athletes end up bankrupt.” He leans back in his chair, and one of Demi’s uncles comes over and joins the conversation.

“I’ve heard that about professional athletes. Hard to believe,” her uncle says.

Carla, thank God, is talking to the waitress again. Hopefully she tips well.

“I'm good.” My stomach tightens. Not like I’d tell him I give loans to my family with no interest and no plans of ever being repaid.

“So, you got a guy?” he winks. “Good boy.”

He turns to the other guy. “I've set Demi up nicely. Of course, she doesn't even know how to get to her money.” He laughs and the feeling in the pit of my stomach has me excusing myself to the bathroom.

I stand in the bathroom, knowing if someone were at this table they'd know one thing isn't like the other. He set her up nicely. Probably made her winnings triple, whereas my mom is calling to see if by getting silver she'll get less from me every month.

I'm not desolate, hell, I've done better than any member of my family, but Demi is on another level. Like the cheerleader in high school—she’s an untouchable, beautiful girl who no one deserves, especially the burnout who cuts class to head to the slopes.

We’re done eating, so this night should be over soon.

Just get through it a little longer.

After tomorrow Demi’s event will be over and there's no reason for us to hook-up anymore. I could leave and go home.

I can’t stand to think of how the thought of that makes me feel, so I do what I do best. Push the feeling to the side and open the door to head back to the table.

“Hey, you.” Demi steps out from under the light in the dark hallway. Like an angel. Not my angel though.

She walks right into me, arms sliding to my back. I hug her to me, her warmth always something I enjoy too much. With her chin resting on my chest and staring up at me she says, “Thank you. I know tonight isn't easy.”

I shrug.

“I selfishly asked you because I didn't want to deal with questions from my aunts and grandma about guys and how I'm getting older.”

I chuckle, my hand running up and down her back. “It's fine. Your mom is a tad intense, but...”

Her arms tighten. “More than a tad.”

“Can I take you home soon?”

She lets her hands slide down, grabbing my ass. “Yes.” She rises up on her tiptoes kissing my neck. A move that's become like crack to me. I can't get enough. “I have some nervous energy I need to dispense before my race tomorrow.”

“I don’t think your mother would approve.” She links her hand in mine, pulling me down the hall.

“My mother doesn't know what you're hiding under those pants.”

We’re both laughing as we walk up to the table to say our goodbyes.

We leave the restaurant and all those feelings of how I’m not worthy of her disperse when I’m buried deep inside of her and she’s calling out my name.