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“You were awesome. I was, like, nine years old and you totally inspired me to board as a lifestyle.”
Shit.
There it is.
I can tell right away that Jared, even though he's smiling and friendly, is retreating. He's calculating the age difference and the deduction is not adding up nicely. Cody is already almost ten years older than Brit and I, which makes Jared – prehistoric. In his mind anyways. I'm losing him to the age police.
And then it gets worse.
“Let's get a selfie,” Britnee insists, pulling out her phone and posing. “No one is going to believe Carina Wallis is on the piste.”
We huddle in and I have to tug Jared to my cheek to get him in there. He keeps squirming and shifting enough so that he's out of the shot. He tries to kiss me so his face is hidden but I manage to pull away.
“Oh, you moved,” Britnee squeals.
At the last second Jared bends down, pretending to flick some ice off his boot.
Before Brit gets a chance at another shot, Jared takes my hips to direct me to stand in front of him. I'm tucked against his stiffening groin, his thick thighs caging me like a little girl as he glides me down the hillside.
“Good to meet you,” he calls back to them.
I shrug back at Britnee.
I'm helpless to do anything but go where Jared leads me.
But what was that?
He purposely messed up a photo of us together. Why doesn't he want to be out on social media with me?
