it not because I actually do—I’m not even sure what I’m forgiving him for—but because he’s peer pressured me into it. Just like he did when he got me onto this stupid chairlift. Why is he always so convincing?
“Good, because in a moment, I’m going to need your forgiveness again and I think I have a better chance of getting it if I break them up into smaller parts.”
“What are you talking about?” I hear voices up above us and as the lift glides steadily upward, they’re becoming louder.
Ran pulls his arm back from my shoulder. “You know how you were afraid to get on the chairlift?”
“Yeah.” My breathing picks up without me having any control over it.
“Well, now we have to get off of it.” The lift lurches forward and the fifteen-pound weight strapped to my foot swings back and forth like a pendulum. “And some people might say that it’s a little scarier than getting on it.”
Obviously I knew we’d have to get off of the lift, but that was back when I thought all I’d have to do was literally walk off of it, balanced in my stupid moonboots. But now I apparently have to “skate” off of it, one foot strapped in and one foot out. Seriously, how do I let him talk me into doing stuff like this? Oh yeah. His impossibly gorgeous face and husky voice might have a little something to do with it.
“I hate you.”
“I know.” I feel the jolt of the couple in front of us abandoning their seat and know we’re next. I’ve managed to keep my eyes shut the entire duration of the ride, and know that I don’t have the luxury of doing that much longer. This is seriously going to require all of my senses on high alert.
“Just point your board straight and keep the tip up,” Ran instructs. “When it meets the snow, just roll like you’re getting off of a couch.” I’m feeling really lightheaded and I’m sure the altitude isn’t helping. “Put your left foot on the stomp pad, and when we get off, we’re going to make a J-turn to get out of everyone’s way.”
“Ran,” I plead, gripping onto the back of his jacket. “I have no idea what any of that means.”
“Just follow my lead. Keep your back foot on your stomp pad and don’t drag it in the snow; you’ll end up doing the spits. And as much as I’d like to see that, this is not the time, nor the place.” There’s that audible smirk in his grin again and I don’t even have time to be flustered by it because I feel the impact of the snow push up my board and my eyes instantly fly open.
Clinging to Ran’s back, I try to find some strength in my shaky legs to push up, but they collapse under me and I feel myself beginning to fall backward. Ran rights us by leaning forward in an over-exaggerated motion, and I wrap my arms around his waist like I’m holding on for dear life, because I sort of am. Even though he’d warned against it, my left foot slips from the stomp pad and drags behind me and I lose any ounce of control I might have possessed. My board swivels like a car fishtailing on black ice and hooks under Ran’s. We’re not even five feet away from the chair we were sitting on when I crash to the ground, dragging Ran down with me, the next chair careening toward us as we lay in a heap on the packed snow.
And then the most mortifying thing happens. They shut down the lift.
“Are you okay?” Ran twists around. He’s practically sitting on me, his weight pinning my mangled legs, pressing me further into the snow.
Physically, yes, I’m okay. But as I look back at the row of chairs strung down the mountainside, the people seated in them rocking back and forth like they’re on some ride at Disneyland, I realize that this probably ranks as one of the most humiliating moments of my life. And everyone is right there to witness it from their comfy little dangling chairs in the sky.
“I’m fine,” I grumble, and someone, probably a ski instructor, rushes over to us to help us off the ground, not because they’re worried or concerned, but more because we’re holding up the line. “And I still hate you.”
“I figured,” Ran says, pulling me up. My legs already feel sore and my