Chapter 8

Justin's POV

The light of the day has finally disappeared, succumbing to the horizon and basking the world in a sheer, thin layer of darkness.  The moon is rising in the sky, illuminating the streets below in its wake.  Suddenly, the fireplace crackles next to me, pumping the heat through my cabin and I shift my body around on the couch.  It's been about an hour since Taylor and I left the hill.  She's ordered me home, straight into the shower, which I already did, and to wait for her to get there.  The muscles in my back have been cramping ever since the crash and I know I am going to be a mess come tomorrow.  Not to mention, the faint remnants of bruises have begun to show on my arms and legs from the impact of hitting the hard snow going as fast as I possibly could on my board.

I chuckle to myself, remembering the crash almost like it happened in slow motion.  Definitely not one of my finer moments, especially in front of Taylor.  She must think I am a complete idiot, incapable of keeping up with her on the slopes.  Sighing, I tug on my wind pants, dropping them a little lower on my hips before walking into the kitchen to grab some water.  Just as I open the refrigerator, a soft knock echoes through the house and I quickly shut it, walking towards the door.

Pulling the door open, Taylor is standing there in a pair of black rip aways, her sneakers peeking out from underneath and a white, team USA sweatshirt.  Her normally long blonde hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail, and slung over her shoulders is a bag packed full of supplies.

"How are you feeling, hotshot?" she says, an amused smile on her lips as I open the door wider for her to step inside.

"I've been better..." I answer, grimacing as my back tweaks from me twisting to shut the door.

She eyes me cautiously before ushering me over to the couch.  "Lay down, I'm going to get some things for you, it'll help with the swelling and the pain."

"You're the expert I guess."

"You bet I am," she answers, throwing her bag down and pulling out some of the contents.  "I have crashed more times, and way worse than what you did out there.  Although, it's been a while since I've seen a fall like that."

"I aim to please," I snip back jokingly, laying down on the couch and tucking a pillow underneath my head.

As she grabs a black wrap thing, she quickly runs into the kitchen, digging through the freezer.  "You don't have an ice pack?" she calls out loudly.

"Why would I have an ice pack?" I yell back, smiling at the absurdity of that request.  I can't say it was high up on priority list when I decided to move out here for the winter. 

She sighs audibly before closing the door and walking back into the living room, grabbing her bag once again.  "For events like this..." she says, pulling out one of those instant ice packs, snapping it over her leg.  "You're lucky you met me, Justin."

I laugh as she grabs a black wrap along with the ice.  "How do you figure that, Taylor?  If I wasn't racing you, I never would have crashed."

She motions for me to sit up and scoot towards the end of the couch.  Gently, she sits down next to me, extending one of her long legs behind my back, almost side-straddling me.  I can't stop the immediate reaction from my body brought on by her close proximity.  She's just inches away from me, the heat from her body permeating through my clothes. 

"Take your sweatshirt off, Justin.  I need to wrap this around your stomach." 

I think for some reason my brain has mildly shut off, effectively halting my movements.  My eyes widen a bit when I turn to meet hers.  The look she's shooting my way is clearly radiating the concern for my injuries...nothing else...no other motive.  Slowly, I reach behind my neck, pulling the material over my head and discarding the bulky sweatshirt onto a nearby chair. 

"Alright, lift your arms," she says and I quickly follow her instructions.  Suddenly, her arms wrap around my mid-section, securing the black wrap around my stomach, tightening it before sliding the ice pack squarely into the center of my back.  "Is that too tight?  Is the ice where it hurts the most?"

My mind is rapidly beating off thoughts faster than I can comprehend her words and I try to steel my reaction to her nearness.  She's merely helping me out, taking care of my injuries, nothing more, nothing less.  So why do I suddenly long for more?

"It's fine...it's good," I stammer out, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

"Alright, lie down; we'll leave the ice on for twenty minutes.  Do you want anything to drink?  To eat?"

"No, I'm good."  Thankfully, I manage to string a whole sentence together without sounding like a fool.  I don't think I've ever reacted so strongly before to just being near a woman.  It's like there's a charge that runs through her to me, wrapping me in its hold and keeping my brain from functioning properly.

"Ok, first thing first is to ice it, then I'll put some of this gel on that I use whenever I crash, it helps the muscles relax and not be so tight.  I'm not saying you're not going to be sore but hopefully we can curve a bit of the pain."

"I feel like an idiot in case you're wondering," I tell her as she settles into the love seat just across the room. 

"Why?"

"I crashed and burned on the hill...in front of an Olympian...can't quite bruise the ego like that everyday..."

She scoffs at me.  "Have you never watched me race before?  I have crashed plenty of times...at speeds way faster than you.  It happens to the best of us.  Sometimes that patch of ice or that rut just catches the ski, or in your case, board, the wrong way and there's no stopping it."

"Still..." I mumble, feeling the embarrassment slide over me.

"You need to get over it, Justin.  We all crash..."

"What's your worst crash?"  I ask, turning my head towards her, letting my eyes wander over the way she has her legs curled up against her chest, her arms resting comfortably on the tops of her knees.

"Damn, probably the crash at the World Cup four years ago that knocked me out of the Turin Olympics.  I crashed so hard, I don't even remember it.  I just remember coming out of the turn off balance, hitting the jump into the second half of the course and knowing I wasn't going to land it up right.  I caught the snow with one ski and went down.  That's all I remember.  I knocked myself completely unconscious."

My eyes nearly bulge out of my head.  "Oh my God, are you ok?"

She laughs at my outburst.  "Yeah, I'm fine, obviously."

I roll my eyes at her snarky comment.  "You know what I meant..."

"You're the one that said it..." she jokes back.  "Anyways, yeah, I spent two days in the hospital; I had two broken ribs, a concussion, and a lot of bruises.  You think you're hurting, I was a mess..."

I grimace at her recollection of her fall.  "How'd you ever get back out there after that?"

A soft smile takes over her face and her eyes intensify.  "I had to.  It's my life...skiing is in my blood.  There's no way that I wasn't going to get back out there..."

"That takes some serious courage, you know that..."

She smiles broadly before standing up and walking over to me.  "Thanks..." she says before motioning for me to sit up so that she can reposition the ice lower on my back.  "Ten more minutes..."

I sigh and settle back into the couch.  "I hope I didn't ruin any of your plans or anything..."

"Plans?" she asks incredulously.  "Please, most of my teammates are scattered throughout Colorado, getting in training time.  I definitely didn't have anything going on."

"Still...I'm sure you have better things to do then to take care of a guy that you've known for a little over a week."

She laughs lightly at my self-deprecation.  "I can certainly think of better things to do..." she teases before pushing my leg aside and sitting back down.  "But I can't think of better company, if that's what you're getting at."

The way her voice drops and her eyes meet mine straight on, I feel like the room is suddenly spinning with a tension that feels suffocating.  Did she just say what I think she did, or am I once again blowing things completely up in my head, rolling her words into what I'm hoping instead of what was intended?

"Do you want to watch a movie or something?" I ask, motioning towards the pile of DVD's in the cupboards next to the entertainment system.

"Yeah, sure, what do you got?" she asks as she stands up, approaching my collection.  Her fingers gently trace against the spines of the covers, reading the titles out loud.

"Anything is fine, really," I answer, shifting again.  Alright, my back is seriously freezing; this must be one hell of an ice pack she's attached to me.  The black wrap is secured snugly against my skin, making sure to hit all of my sore spots.

"Michael Clayton?"  Taylor holds the movie out, cocking her hip to the side and I can't help but focus on the gentle curve of her body with that pose.

I nod my head, knowing that if I even try to speak, words will completely fail me. 

She pops the DVD into the system before coming back to the couch, her eyes eyeing the wrap that is holding the ice in place over my white t-shirt.  "I think you're good with the ice.  Come on, sit up and I will take this off of ya."

Moving close to the edge, I turn my body away from her, allowing her hands the freedom to move across my mid-section.  Loosening the wrap, she slips the ice away before gently rubbing her hands across my sore muscles.  "Here, I'm going to put this gel on you, it'll help, I use it whenever I get sore."

I nod my head in concession before lifting my shirt up and giving her free reign of the bruised muscles.  Sitting here with Taylor just a couple of inches behind me, my back and stomach exposed to her, I can't stop the charge of electricity that seems to be flowing through my veins.  It's like everything is on high alert, every fiber alive and pulsing with a need...a need that I never expected to find up here in Colorado.

Softly, her hands meet the wide expanse of my back, the cool liquid being smeared in circular motions.  Gently, she increases the pressure, kneading my muscles, working the kinks and tension away from my back.  As her hands continue their ministrations, I let my eyes drift close, just concentrating on the feel of her hands against my skin, the tender touches and caresses that she delivers working me into both a relaxed and hyper-aware state-of-being.

As her hands continue to grind on my sore muscles, a moan falls from my lips. 

"Did I hurt you?" she asks in a rush, halting her movements at the same time.

"God no," I breathe out, a state of relaxation settling over me.  "I don't think I've ever felt better..."

Her gentle hands continue to apply the pressure my back so desperately needs, working the muscles in a slow grind.  Softly, she pats the spot as she finishes the massage, lowering my shirt back down over the expanse of my back.

"That's going to feel a little cool for a while..." she says as she maneuvers away from me, giving me room to turn back around, "but you should feel a little better."

"Thanks, Taylor," I tell her, settling back into the couch. 

"You're welcome, superstar."

I groan at the nickname and she is quick to pick up on my embarrassment.  "Let me guess, you don't like to be called that?"

I shake my head, laughing at the same time.  "Not so much, no."

"I suppose..." she mumbles as she reaches for a blanket that is draped over the back of the couch.  "it's probably the same way I feel when I get addressed as an Olympian."

I quirk my eyebrow at her, knowing I have certainly done it before.  "But you are..."

"You know I could say you're a superstar and you'd still fight it too.  I'm really not an Olympian; I haven't won a damn thing other than the World Cups.  I don't have medals from the games in a case anywhere..."

I smile at the way she downplays her accomplishments.  It's kind of refreshing to be around someone with similar feelings towards the business.  She's not consumed with the attention surrounding her sport, or even herself.  She's just a normal person with an abnormal career choice.  "You know you're going to have some medals very soon, right?"

"Wow, please knock on wood with that statement," she quips back in a playful manner and I smile before wrapping my knuckles across the end table.

"So you ready to watch the movie?" I ask, grabbing the remote and settling into the side of the couch cushions. 

"Yep."

As I hit the button to play the movie, I flick the light switch on the lamp beside me, basking the room in a soft glow from the TV.  Taylor settles deeper into the cushions, lying softly somewhat on her side with her hand propping her head up.  Her legs are tucked up underneath her, the blanket wrapped securely around her body as she focuses on the credits on the screen.  With her attention being diverted to the actors on screen, I am able to just watch her without her knowledge.  I don't know when it happened or how it did, but I realize in that moment how much I have come to rely on her company, her easy going friendship, the ability to soothe me and remind me why I came out here in the first place.  It is people like her that restore my faith in relationships, that make me recognize that not everyone I meet will be out to sink their teeth into me.  Her ability to open up and allow me inside without question has left a warm spot in my heart for this woman sitting just a couple of feet away from me.

Suddenly, a strand of hair falls from her ponytail, crossing into her line of sight.  Her hand immediately darts up, tucking the wayward hair behind her ear and my stomach clenches with the need to be that hand.  To brush the hair away, curling my fingers around her cheek in the process.  As quickly as the thought comes, I try to squash this need to close the distance between us...

After all, this is Taylor. 

The one person that has shown me true kindness without a hint of any underlying motive or aspiration. 

It's not that I don't realize how stunningly beautiful and amazing she is... I just know that I am in anything but an ideal position to pursue Taylor in that manner.  After all, anyone that I get close with automatically becomes a target, and the absolute last thing Taylor needs two months before the Olympics is the scrutiny my life would bring upon her.  She doesn't need me interfering in her training, her plans, and her dreams just because I can't seem to get my hormones in check. 

I let out a long sigh, and she suddenly turns towards me, her blue eyes connecting with my own.  I force a timid smile, shrugging my shoulders at her and admonishing my inner battle.

"Just relaxing..." I mumble, forcing myself to break the eye contact with her watch the movie.  I can't allow myself to keep up that train of thought...really, I can't.

"Watch the movie, Justin," she says softly before turning back to the screen, adjusting a pillow next to her side.

If only it were that easy, Taylor...