at Manny. “I’ll give you another set.”
“If distracting yourself doesn’t work, then visualize. Isn’t that what you fancy athletes do? Close your eyes, feel the weight and imagine it’s the g-forces from going around a gate.”
Fine idea in the abstract, except that when he closed his eyes, the image in his head was Lainie, staring at him, stunned, as he kissed her hand. J.J. sank down into another rep, pushing aside the pain of fatigue. He liked seeing Lainie stunned, her control and assurance gone. He liked knowing that for a moment all she thought of was him.
So maybe he should get in her way a little more, see where it all went. He had the time; she wasn’t attached the last time he’d heard. Maybe they ought to run it around the block, see how it did. Of course, she might take some convincing.
He smiled broadly. Then again, the convincing might be the fun part. After all, he’d never set out to charm a woman yet without succeeding.
“There you go, imagine yourself winning,” Manny said.
“It works—you know as well as I do. You get a goal, then concentrate on it and make it happen. It’s as simple as that. Give me one more.”
J.J. swiped away the sweat that was starting to drip into his eyes and tried to ignore the trembling of his legs. Think about something pleasant. Like the feel of Lainie folded against his chest at the Jack and Jill party. Like the way she’d feel, warm and naked against him in bed.
“There we go, that’s what I’m talking about,” Manny said.
“Focus, concentrate on what you want.”
And J.J., in the midst of another rep, concentrated.
The mountains were where he felt best, he thought as he stood on the terminal slope of the Mount Jefferson ski run with Gabe. Something about being there always felt right. Not that he didn’t love the beach and the city, or that he couldn’t find a sort of quiet beauty in the desert. They weren’t the same, though.
Up among the peaks, he somehow felt more alive, as though he could breathe more deeply, stand taller, become more than what he was. Whether it was because skiing was in his blood or whether he’d become a skier because of his love for the mountains, it was the place that was right for him.
They stared down at the sweep of turf that spread out below them. To their left, the sculpted curve of the new half pipe was already lightly grassed over. Across the valley, the Hotel Mount Jefferson gleamed white in the morning sun.
Gabe turned to stare thoughtfully at the point where the new downhill run tapered into the main slope. “You did a hell of a job.”
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