“Your start was shit,” Coach Fitzgerald says, letting the timer fall to his chest.

I position my goggles on top of my helmet, not sure what the hell the problem is. It can’t be Demi. It can’t.

Damn Beckett for putting that shit in my head in the first place.

“You have one more practice run. Then I'm restricting you to inside practice.”

One more time to try the course before I have to be on it to win my medal. Fucking great.

I hop on the snowmobile without a word to coach. He's not going to be happy because I already feel like this run will be shit.

Getting to the top, I get on the board, mentally put Beckett's crappy opinion to the back of my mind and only think about the course, visualizing what I need to do to get down it the fastest.

The gate flips down, and I jet my hips so fast, I think it was a great start. By the time I reach the bottom, the truth is on Coach's face. The timer drops again to his chest, his head falling forward in defeat.

“What's happened? What's changed?” He approaches me and I unclip my board again, waiting for my breath to even out.

“It's because I didn't get laid again.”

“What?” He picks up his head, staring at me with drawn brows.

“Last Classics, I was messing around with this skier when I won gold. Before the last run, I nailed her in a bathroom the night before. She's my lucky charm and I might as well face not medaling because she'll never sleep with me again.” I toss my board a few feet away.

Coach laughs, his hands smoothing down his red beard. “You're shittin' me, right? You're telling me that you're fucked up in the head because you didn’t get laid? Go find someone else then.”

I shake my head. “It has to be her. She's the only one I slept with last Classics.”

“What about the other competitions leading up to this?”

I'm not sure what excuse I have other than I wasn't around her then. She's a skier, I'm a snowboarder. We weren't running in the same circles. Our only common friend is Skylar and it’s not like I see her much in the off-season.

“She wasn't around.” I shrug.

“So, she's in your head is what you’re saying.”

I flip off my helmet, tucking it under my arm. “Only since Beckett put the idea in there.”

He's still shaking his head. “Well, I'm Irish so I do believe there's something to be said for luck.”

“URGH!” I scream up the mountain. “She's going to crush my balls.”

Coach laughs, slaps me on the back. “If you want to medal, I suggest you do what you have to do. I'll see you in the gym tomorrow morning at eight.”

I nod. Fuck me. I look down between my legs. “I'll try to protect you guys.”

But I’m not sure I can. I’m pretty sure getting Demi to play nice might involve handing my balls over to her.

---

I raise my hand to knock on her door.

I drop my hand.

I blow out a breath.

I raise my hand again.

I blow out a breath.

I knock and tuck my hands into my pockets.

Footsteps echo from behind the door. My heart skips a beat, my stomach churning.

Demi opens the door, the welcoming smile falling from her lips. “Dax?”

I'm momentarily speechless because she's in a tank top that's so tight her erect nipples are practically yelling ‘tease me.’ I swallow down the extra saliva in my mouth.

She raises her arms, putting her hair in a high bun.

Not helping.

“I'm sorry, were you sleeping?” I ask and clear my throat.

She cocks her head. “An apology for waking me?” She reaches forward, the back of her hand resting on my forehead. “No fever. What gives?”

“Can I come in?”

She stands in front of the door, her expression telling me that she’s trying to figure out why I'm here. If she only knew.

“Okay.” She steps out of the way and I walk in.

“You sharing with Skylar?” I ask, finding pictures of Skylar’s family on one of the nightstands.

Skylar's parents are heavily involved in her career, which is completely foreign to me since I got here on my own.

“Um, yeah.” Her hesitant voice says she's still trying to figure out why I'm here.

“Can I sit?” I motion to the desk chair.

She nods.

“So.” I crack my knuckles, pulling on my fingers.

“Dax, why are you here?”

I look up at her. There's no judgment or seething anger, which says this might be okay.

“I want to apologize. I don't know what I did exactly, but I obviously upset you.”

She huffs, walking over to the cabinet to grab a sweatshirt, zipping it up and covering the eye candy I was enjoying. “Now you want to apologize? Four years later?”

I thought I said a good thing, but the anger in her eyes can’t be missed.

“What the hell did I do?”

She rolls her eyes, standing up and walking around the small room. I sit silently while she roams around and tightens her bun, fiddles with her phone, picks some lint off her sweatshirt, until I can’t take it anymore.

“What? Demi? Just tell me what I did.”

“You fucked me and left me,” she snaps, stopping all movement. “You just left.” Her angry tone fades and she fiddles with the strings of her hood.

“What? We were just messing around when the opportunity presented itself.”

She shakes her head. “Not to my knowledge.”

“We were having fun. You wouldn't want me as a boyfriend anyway. I'm not a relationship guy. Everyone knows that.”

What is she thinking? I’m not the guy who will buy her a ride on some horse-drawn carriage or order roses with some sappy love note on Valentine's Day. I'm the freewheeling, take life as it comes, non-committal but fun while you’re with him guy.

Still, I feel bad that we weren’t on the same page all those years ago and that she ended up hurt because of it. I may be a playboy, but there’s no enjoyment for me in making someone feel like a throwaway.

“I thought we were on our way to something.” She turns her head and walks over to sit on the bed facing away from me. “But don't worry, I'm over it now, so thanks for the half-assed apology. You can go now.”

I stand up from the chair, the squeakiness of the wheels making her turn in my direction to see me approaching. She sticks her hand out in the air and shakes her head.

“Shit. I'm a dick.” I sit down next to her, my hand on her shoulder. “Demi,” I say.

She's too busy shaking her head that I'm not even sure if she's listening to me. “It's fine Dax. I'm fine. It’s probably just bugging me more right now because of everything that went down with Julien.”

She turns her head and I catch the lone tear that falls with my thumb.

“I truly am sorry. I thought we were having fun for the Classics. I didn’t realize you thought differently. But trust me, you dodged a bullet.” I knock her with my shoulder.

She lets a small laugh escape.

“I'm not joking, you would’ve dumped me a week into it. I'd make a shitty boyfriend.”

She smiles and rolls her eyes, though this time a little more playful.

“And why the sudden revelation?” She scoots back on the mattress and brings her knees up to her chest, effectively separating any closeness between us.

I shrug. “I really enjoyed the other night.”

“I assumed you would.”

“Did you not?” I ask. “The way your body responded, I think you enjoyed yourself as well.”

She rests her chin on her knees. “It was nice.”

“Nice? Nice is for middle-aged, married people.”

She laughs again. I forgot how much I missed the thrill that runs through me whenever I can make her laugh. “It was great, Dax. The best I've had in the last four years. Better?”

“How about hot, earth-shattering, and you put me on speed dial?”

“Put you on speed dial?”

I take my chances, sliding a little closer to her. “How about we try this again? No strings. An agreement that it's just for while we're here.”

“You're propositioning me?”

I raise my shoulders. “I'm not usually someone who goes back, but I have to say I kind of crave you.”

“Like a candy bar?” She tilts her head and I stop my hand from tucking the loose strand of her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear.

“Like the most decadent chocolate in the entire world.”

“Dax Campbell, did you just sweet talk me?”

“I can be sweet.” I reach forward and tuck the piece of hair behind her ear.

Her gaze stays on me, deep in thought and I hope considering my offer.

“You can see other people, I don't care,” I say just to sweeten the pot.

She studies me again. “I can see other people?”

“Yeah.”

“And what about you?”

I shake my head. “Only you. I only want you.”

“Those are words a girl loves to hear but not necessarily in this capacity.” She smiles showing she doesn't mean it in a bad way.

“What can I say? I'm a closet romantic.”

There go her eyes again, rolling to the back of her head. “Well, I'm not exactly looking for any type of relationship after my most recent experience and the sex between us is a great way to ease some of the pressure of the games, so what the hell? Okay.”

“Okay?” I ask, biting my lip and double-checking.

She nods. “You must’ve caught me at a weak moment.”

“So, can we get this started now?” I slide closer, my hands moving her legs apart.

“I was taking a nap...”

She doesn't fight me and her legs part, opening for me to slide between as my lips move to hers.

Just as I'm about to taste the latest flavor of her lip balm a finger lands on my lips. “Dax?”

My eyes open. “Yeah?”

“This is over when I say so, okay?”

“Of course. You're the boss.” I press my lips to hers, and she doesn't stop me this time.

In fact, I’d say she was jonesing for me as much as I was for her because she flips me on my back, straddling me and stripping off her sweatshirt and tank top.

My hands instantly mold themselves to her straining tits and I bite my lip from the image in front of me.

Where's a camera when you need one?

“I'm a fucking genius,” I say, and she giggles as she falls on top of me, her lips crashing into mine.