that and worse. Any chance you’ll come by and help peel them off when this is over?”
“Tempting as that sounds, it’s not a good idea.” She straightened and pulled her goggles down.
He spoke quickly, wanting to get vital information to her. “Incidentally, your manager, Carl, came looking for me during breakfast in the restaurant.”
She lifted the goggles again. “He did?”
“Yeah. Someone told him the story about you rescuing me last spring, and he thought that was kind of cool.” Tired of sitting in the snow, he used the slope as leverage and pushed himself upright. He wasn’t totally steady, but he was standing. “He wanted to set my mind at ease. He doesn’t see a problem with us socializing when you’re off duty.”
“Socializing.” She smiled. “I guess that covers all sorts of things.”
“Yes, ma’am, it does.”
She held his gaze for a beat. “At the end of the lesson, you should soak in the tub for a while. Your muscles aren’t used to this.”
“Sounds like you want me to get naked.”
Her eyes sparked with mischief. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“Got any more ideas?”
“I happen to have a two-hour break after this.”
That news helped him generate a considerable amount of body heat. “I’m in room 124.”
“Okay.” Repositioning her goggles, she dug her poles into the snow. “See you then.” She sped off to help another fallen cowboy.
He stood there wondering how in hell he was supposed to practice pizza and French fry when his cock was as rigid as a ski pole.
“Trey!”
He recognized Watkins’s voice, although he couldn’t see the guy. Using his poles to balance himself and wincing at the discomfort in his crotch, he turned cautiously to his right, where Jared’s group had been practicing.
So far, the groups hadn’t mingled. Trey suspected male pride was involved. The five married guys wanted to perfect their technique before they joined their wives, who had been working with Jared.
Watkins looked pretty damned confident as he stood on the slope in his peacock-blue ski pants and jacket. He’d opted for a matching knit cap, and though Trey could see the sense in that kind of headgear now, it still looked dorky, especially paired with the goggles. Maybe a different color would help.
“Check this out, my friend!” Watkins’s grin made his handlebar mustache wiggle. He pushed off, his knees bent as they’d been taught. First he sashayed left, and then he sashayed right, followed by a perfect, snow-spewing hockey stop.
“That’s great!” Trey was jealous, but he had no right to be. He’d been lusting after his ski instructor instead of focusing on the task at hand. “Would you be willing to show me how you did that?”
“Absolutely.” Watkins used his poles to good effect as he skied toward Trey.
“Wait for me! I’m right behind you!” Mary Lou called out. Sailing over in their direction, she seemed as much at home on her skis as her husband. “Isn’t this fun?”
“I’m not sure I’d use that word,” Trey said.
Mary Lou looked him up and down. “Of course you wouldn’t, dressed like you’re heading down to the corral. Why didn’t you wear the right stuff?”
“We all thought—”
“Never mind. I had the same argument with Watkins. He couldn’t picture himself in ski pants, either.”
“But you were right to talk me into it, Lou-Lou. I can move a hundred times better in these.” He surveyed Trey’s wet jeans. “That denim looks mighty soggy and uncomfortable.”
“You have no idea.”
“I have some idea. I fell in an icy river once. But maybe you can still learn, even wearing jeans.”
“He can,” Mary Lou said. “He’s young and agile. If old codgers like us can pick it up, so can Trey, despite his wardrobe choices. Come on, son. Show us what you’ve learned so far.”
Trey moved his skis into a good-sized pizza wedge and gradually narrowed it. He began to move slowly down the hill.
“That’s it!”
“Tempting as that sounds, it’s not a good idea.” She straightened and pulled her goggles down.
He spoke quickly, wanting to get vital information to her. “Incidentally, your manager, Carl, came looking for me during breakfast in the restaurant.”
She lifted the goggles again. “He did?”
“Yeah. Someone told him the story about you rescuing me last spring, and he thought that was kind of cool.” Tired of sitting in the snow, he used the slope as leverage and pushed himself upright. He wasn’t totally steady, but he was standing. “He wanted to set my mind at ease. He doesn’t see a problem with us socializing when you’re off duty.”
“Socializing.” She smiled. “I guess that covers all sorts of things.”
“Yes, ma’am, it does.”
She held his gaze for a beat. “At the end of the lesson, you should soak in the tub for a while. Your muscles aren’t used to this.”
“Sounds like you want me to get naked.”
Her eyes sparked with mischief. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“Got any more ideas?”
“I happen to have a two-hour break after this.”
That news helped him generate a considerable amount of body heat. “I’m in room 124.”
“Okay.” Repositioning her goggles, she dug her poles into the snow. “See you then.” She sped off to help another fallen cowboy.
He stood there wondering how in hell he was supposed to practice pizza and French fry when his cock was as rigid as a ski pole.
“Trey!”
He recognized Watkins’s voice, although he couldn’t see the guy. Using his poles to balance himself and wincing at the discomfort in his crotch, he turned cautiously to his right, where Jared’s group had been practicing.
So far, the groups hadn’t mingled. Trey suspected male pride was involved. The five married guys wanted to perfect their technique before they joined their wives, who had been working with Jared.
Watkins looked pretty damned confident as he stood on the slope in his peacock-blue ski pants and jacket. He’d opted for a matching knit cap, and though Trey could see the sense in that kind of headgear now, it still looked dorky, especially paired with the goggles. Maybe a different color would help.
“Check this out, my friend!” Watkins’s grin made his handlebar mustache wiggle. He pushed off, his knees bent as they’d been taught. First he sashayed left, and then he sashayed right, followed by a perfect, snow-spewing hockey stop.
“That’s great!” Trey was jealous, but he had no right to be. He’d been lusting after his ski instructor instead of focusing on the task at hand. “Would you be willing to show me how you did that?”
“Absolutely.” Watkins used his poles to good effect as he skied toward Trey.
“Wait for me! I’m right behind you!” Mary Lou called out. Sailing over in their direction, she seemed as much at home on her skis as her husband. “Isn’t this fun?”
“I’m not sure I’d use that word,” Trey said.
Mary Lou looked him up and down. “Of course you wouldn’t, dressed like you’re heading down to the corral. Why didn’t you wear the right stuff?”
“We all thought—”
“Never mind. I had the same argument with Watkins. He couldn’t picture himself in ski pants, either.”
“But you were right to talk me into it, Lou-Lou. I can move a hundred times better in these.” He surveyed Trey’s wet jeans. “That denim looks mighty soggy and uncomfortable.”
“You have no idea.”
“I have some idea. I fell in an icy river once. But maybe you can still learn, even wearing jeans.”
“He can,” Mary Lou said. “He’s young and agile. If old codgers like us can pick it up, so can Trey, despite his wardrobe choices. Come on, son. Show us what you’ve learned so far.”
Trey moved his skis into a good-sized pizza wedge and gradually narrowed it. He began to move slowly down the hill.
“That’s it!”
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