“Skylar?” Ben approaches and she swallows hard, plastering a smile on her pale face.

“Ben.” She bites out his name, but there’s still a tinge of affection in her tone that annoys me.

If I saw Summer, I’d stroll right by her without a word. Sky’s different though. She might be balls to the wall protective of her friends, but when it comes to her own self, she’s not as outspoken.

He places his basket down and my stomach lurches knowing exactly where his arms intend on going—around her. He holds her to him for longer than necessary—at least in my opinion when you’re the prick who screwed over the woman in front of you.

Sky looks at me with widened eyes when she pulls away.

Guess we should have ditched the cart. My bad.

“You look great. Did you just get back? We watched you on television. I still have no idea how you do what you do.” His face reddens and glances my way. “Sorry.” He holds his hand out. “Ben Crabtree.”

“Beckett Myers.” I shake his hand, stopping myself from spouting out the millions of jokes running through my brain over his name.

He snaps his fingers and points to me. “You’re a skier, too, right?”

“Snowboarder,” I correct.

He nods and shrugs like they’re the same thing. I’d like to sit him down and explain the difference, but the conversation moves quickly back and forth between the two of them with me clearly on the outside.

“The whole city is abuzz about you. Your whole family went to the Classics, right?” Ben’s voice hangs on that upper octave that’s annoying as shit.

Skylar’s cheeks pink. Why the fuck is she blushing? This guy is no reason to blush. “Well, my parents did, then headed straight to Arizona for the rest of winter and...” she eyes my way, making Ben follow. “I’m taking care of Beckett until he’s healed.”

I lift my arm.

“Oh, did you get that while competing?” he asks and, in this moment, I wish I had. It’d be so much more badass if I could say I fell during a trick. Saying I slipped on ice makes me sound like an eighty-two-year-old who broke his hip.

“No,” I answer curtly.

He nods, unfazed and looks back to Skylar. “We should totally catch up. What are your plans?”

Did he not catch the part where she’s taking care of me? How does he know I’m not her boyfriend?

“Um, yeah, you still have my number?”

The dip wad pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. His eyes light up and he shows her his screen. Doesn’t say much for the guy if he’s holding onto a girl’s number from six years ago.

I busy myself looking at the food at the end of the aisle, picking up boxes and reading the labels. Like I’m worried about calorie content and preservatives.

“Great, Beth and I would love to have you over. Of course, she’s about to pop, so, maybe we should go out where someone else can serve us.”

I glance over to Skylar. Her face has lost some of its earlier luster after seeing he still had her number. She hides it well, but I know her better. Her smile teeters on creepy more than genuine.

“Great. Give me a call.” Skylar’s phone dings and she moves to her pocket, probably looking for any distraction she can get.

“Now you’ve got mine.” Dear Ben leans in closer. “Let’s keep that between us. You know Beth.”

The corner of Skylar’s lips lift for a half second before they go creepy again.

“Well, I better get going. Beth is waiting at home and had a craving for steak.” He lifts his basket in the air, like either of us gives a shit about what his pregnant wife wants.

“See you around, Ben,” she says.

He reaches in for another awkward hug, Skylar patting him on the back like he’s the overzealous uncle everyone avoids.

“Oh, yeah, congratulations on the bronze. At least you medaled, right?”

He’s shittin’ me, right?

I step forward to follow the bastard, but Skylar grabs my good arm, squeezing until I stop trying to chase the asshole from the store.

“You’re going to let that stupid fuck get away with that?”

I’m not even sure why I’m so angry. I’m the guy that nothing really bothers. But this guy grated on every easygoing nerve I’ve got in my body. To end it like that, like bronze is a participation ribbon his damn kid will be getting in a couple of years. What has he done? Other than messing around with her best friend behind her back.

“Is that the Beth he was referring to?” I ask.

Skylar nods, pushing the cart down the aisle, grabbing the Oreos from the end cap. I say nothing because I want them and because if it makes her feel better her complaints afterward will be worth it.

She’s silent down the next two aisles, letting me put chips, sugar cereals, and candy into the cart. No lectures, no putting them back on the shelf.

Finally, when we get to the refrigerated section and she’s staring into the case of milk, she asks me, “Have you ever thought we’re wasting our lives?”

She opens the door and I reach into the cooler, grabbing a gallon of milk with my good hand.

“We’re living our dream.”

“At the sacrifice of everything else.”

“Is this because the dipshits are having a baby?” I grab a carton of cookie dough ice cream. She’ll thank me later.

She shrugs. “I just...it’s stupid. Forget it.”

I grab the front of the cart, not letting her move forward. “Sky, you gotta let the bronze thing go. It’s eating you alive.”

“It’s not just the bronze thing...I mean, it is...but not because I came in third. It just made me think, why am I sacrificing so much, only to be third best?”

“What are you really sacrificing? You’re young. By the time your body tells you it’s time to retire, you’ll still be young enough to do whatever you want.”

“Ben and Beth are living their lives—married, a baby on the way, probably a house. I rent my condo. I’m perpetually single. When or if I ever meet anyone, there’s dating—as if I ever have the time. Then plan a wedding, I’d only have a small opening of time to get pregnant and have the baby before I have to be back on the slope.” She shakes her head. “If I go back to the team, I’m looking at another four years at least before I can do any of that. Which makes me almost thirty.”

“Which is young.” I pause between each word, hoping she’ll see my point.

“That’s all if I ever meet anyone, which we both know is nearly impossible with our schedules. No male wants to take a back seat to his girlfriend’s career.”

She’s right. I mean, I wouldn’t be following a girl around the world, but I’m not your typical male. I’ve never had real roots.

“There’s something called a beta male. Maybe we need to score you one of those.”

She giggles, breaking the tension and I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “You might have to be the one with the muscles in a relationship. The one to fight off a thief in a dark alley, but hey, you can ski and have a baby.”

She jabs me in the ribs with her elbow. “Let’s go home, veg out with some junk food and watch movies for the rest of the night.”

I take control of the cart, grabbing a container of mint chocolate chip ice cream and then we revisit the chip and cookie aisle. I know what you’re thinking and you’re right, I know how to let my girl deal with the fight inside of her. But that doesn’t make me a beta, I’m an alpha all the way to my bones.