Mirage
“Tyler asked, sprawled beside me on the piste. Around us, the rest of the team were packing up their gear, heading out to make the most of what was left of the afternoon. I was too tired to do anything but lie there, staring up at the ceiling.“What, you mean tonight?” I swiped the back of one hand across my sweaty forehead. The air was hot and damp, like a sauna. Not for the first time, I wished the long row of floor-to-ceiling windows lining the far wall opened, allowing in fresh air. The studi...o was stuffy, and it smelled like stale sweat and dust—not particularly a pleasant combination, but a familiar one.“Yeah, I mean tonight.” He raised one arm, sniffing his own armpit. “God, I stink.”“Yes, you do,” I agreed enthusiastically.He reached for the end of my ponytail and gave it a tug. “For the record, princess, you smell pretty ripe yourself.”I sat up, eyeing him sharply. “Hey, watch it. And yes, I do have plans tonight.”“Ah, with the boyfriend, I suppose. Speaking of Mr.MoreLess
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