The Ex Games(35)
Author: Jennifer Echols

“What’s your good reason? That I didn’t call you a fire-crotch last week in the lunchroom?”

He had me there, but I wasn’t ready to admit defeat. Nick was just as guilty as I was. “You’re one to talk. You walked around mad at me for something I didn’t mean to do for a whole day, until I persuaded you otherwise.”

“And then I apologized,” he pointed out. One side of his mouth cocked up in a mischievous grin. “And then I slipped you the tongue.”

We both cracked up then, with spontaneous exclamations of “the tongue!” I was glad we’d broken the ice. At the same time, it seemed like we were laughing about a relationship we’d had long ago, rather than last night. Maybe we had nothing in common now that the bet was off.

I hoped not. To show him that a sequel to “the tongue” was not out of the question, I crossed his room, shedding layers of outerwear as I went, and sat beside him on the bed. “Seriously, I came over to make sure you’re okay. Did you go to the doctor?”

“I’m not hurt,” he said flatly.

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “I was there this afternoon, Nick. I saw you fall. You were lying immobile in the snow.”

“Yeah. I didn’t get enough—”

“—rotation in the 540,” we said simultaneously.

We paused, watching each other. All our problems fell away. Just for a moment we were friends, fellow snowboarders, discussing a mistake we’d both made a million times. This was not my imagination. Nick felt it, too. He looked deep into my eyes. His own eyes were impossibly dark with the lights of his room reflecting as little halos.

And then he looked away, flicking his hair out of his face with his pinkie. “So anyway, after I busted ass, I’m lying there in the snow. My life flashed before my eyes.”

“Why?” I asked, horrified, scooting closer.

“Not my whole life, I guess. My personal life. I’ve been kind of down about my parents, and I was mad at you for yelling at me, and then I wondered why we’re doing this stupid comp anyway. Gavin’s been breathing down my neck about winning him Poseur tickets and putting Chloe in her place. All I ever wanted to do this winter break was have fun and board and relax.”

“Amen,” I sighed. Thank God the comp was over. “I was worried about you. I called your cell and rang the bell at the gate. You didn’t hear it?”

“It rings downstairs, and my dad …” Nick stared into space, and his voice trailed off.

I could have finished this sentence for him. My dad … is lying on the couch, listening to the middle-aged person’s equivalent of emo songs on his iPod, because my mother left him. Journey, or something. Duran Duran.

Finally Nick focused on me again. His long, dark lashes blinked slowly. He looked lost. A more accurate end to his sentence: My dad … is lost himself, and I don’t know whether my parents are coming back.

I wanted to reach out to him then, to touch his stubbled cheek with my fingertips. We were alone in his bedroom, after all. On his bed. His mom was gone. His dad probably didn’t care what we did. Doofus stretched into a different position on Nick’s carpet, sending a wave of wet dog odor toward us only occasionally. We could have made out.

But maybe Josh actually had a point, and it wasn’t good for Nick and me to keep making out and arguing. Perhaps making out was not the answer to all our problems, oddly enough. And I’d come over to check on him, not to seduce him. Shaking my head to clear it, I said, “I know what will make you feel better.”

“I’m not hurt,” he insisted.

“Obviously you are, or I wouldn’t have walked in on you doing half-assed yoga.” I stretched out on his bed and hung forward over the side, just as I’d found him. “Come on, I’ll do it with you.”

Grumbling, Nick bent over the side with me. We hung that way for about ten seconds of quiet before he said, “It’s not working.”

“That’s your problem, like I told you yesterday. You don’t hold the stretch long enough, and besides, you do it while listening to”—I felt behind me on the bed for his MP3 player and peered at the screen—“alt metal.” I tossed it across the room into a leather armchair. “Try this with me. Inhale through your nose, and let your legs melt into the bed. Exhale through your mouth, and let your body and your arms fall toward the floor.” I led him through a few more long breaths that way, until I could see from the corner of my eye that he’d relaxed, like when we’d made out last night.

I reminded myself yet again that this was not the time for making out. I was making up with Nick for exploding at him in public about the fire-crotch comment. As he stretched with his eyes closed, he looked so young and vulnerable, so normal, that I ached to reach out and feel around on his back for the bruise where he’d fallen, or to change my voice from soothing to sexy. But I’d come here on a mission to make Nick feel better. And I was pretty sure making out with me was not what Nick needed right now. I took him through a whole series of easy poses, moving from the bed to the floor.

Finally we sat up. Nick slouched glassy-eyed against his leather armchair. I relaxed in the Lotus Pose, invigorated from the stretches.

“I feel better,” he said languidly.

“I’m glad.”

“No, really better,” he said like he couldn’t believe it now that he was waking up a little.

“Keep stretching every day and take it seriously, and you won’t be as likely to get hurt boarding. Now I’d better go.” I nodded at the clock on his bedside table. “I told my mom I was taking Doofus for a walk. We could have walked to Leadville by now.”

He stood up unsteadily, leaning on the chair. “I’ll drive you home.”

I wasn’t sure this was a good idea. I had a lot of anxiety about him being polite to me. It would probably be best to give him more time to cool off after I’d yelled at him at the half-pipe.

On the other hand, I really did not want to walk back home through the freezing night or make Doofus do it, either. He’d been through enough. “Is your SUV parked outside, or is it in the garage?” I asked hopefully. “Doofus and I would rather not face your attack cats again.”

“There’s a cat door in the back of the house. They can come inside any time they want. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” He slid a machine gun from his dresser—a red-and-blue plastic water gun.