“Blind Boards? What the hell’s a blind board?”
“Oh. Well, I read somewhere that it’s about the difference between snowboarding and other sports.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, sports are usually colorful and flashy, you know? Think about what you see when you watch a soccer match or football game. Especially if you’re right there in the stadium. How much do you think you’d miss out on if you couldn’t see color?”
Regan paused. “A lot, I suppose.”
“Exactly. But snowboarding is just you and your board and one huge, white mountain. The thrill is in the ride, not what you see.”
Regan nodded, absorbing. “That makes sense.”
She tilted her beer and drank greedily. It wasn’t until she started on the second that she realized it’d been several hours since she ate. The alcohol hit her with fantastic force, fumbling her next words.
“Do those shicks really snowboard naked?” she asked.
Jeremy glanced behind him. “You’ve had one beer, Regan.”
“I know!” she laughed.
“Do you think those ‘shicks’ snowboard naked?” he teased.
She screwed up her face in thought. “I’m thinking no. But then again, if I had that girl’s ass, I’d do it.”
“You’d snowboard naked.” He didn’t pose it as a question.
“Hell yeah. That’s epic.”
“Epic?”
“Look. You hang out with popular kids long enough and you start sounding like an idiot.”
Jeremy chuckled. “Well, there are no naked chicks on the slopes. Chicks in bikinis, yes. But none of them naked.”
“Oh, yeah! I’ve seen those girls! They’re crazy,” Regan said.
“You think?”
“It’s cold up there!”
“You never shed your ski jacket? I get hot when I snowboard. I take it down to a T-shirt most of the time.”
“I never do. I’m always cold. Always.”
“That’s too bad,” Jeremy said, looking her over . . . Paying extra attention to her chest . . . Imagining what she looked like in a bikini . . . Imagining what she looked like naked.
Regan smiled to herself. “Bikini snowboarding.”
“Our version of South Beach surfer babes, I guess,” Jeremy replied.
She whistled low. “It’s gotta hurt like the dickens when they fall.”
Jeremy laughed hard.
“What?” Regan cried.
“The dickens?”
“What’s wrong with that?” She couldn’t help it and burst into a fit of giggles.
“Absolutely nothing. I think it’s great,” Jeremy replied.
Screw the axle. He walked to the sink and washed his hands, then to the counter where he pulled himself up beside her. He was careful to keep their knees from touching, but she wasn’t.
“I really do try not to say weird things,” she confessed. “Brandon’s always on me for saying weird things.”
Jeremy scowled. “There’s nothing wrong with the things you say.”
“He doesn’t like my clothes,” she said. “He said I look fat in high-waisted jeans.”
Jeremy sighed.
“Do . . . do you think I look fat?” she asked softly.
“What? Are you kidding me?” He grew angry. “It’s not my place, but I think you should dump him. I mean, if he makes you feel bad about yourself.”
Regan nodded. “I know.”
He wanted to press the issue. Her “I know” wasn’t an answer. He didn’t know what that meant. Would she dump him or not?
“He used to be nice,” she said thoughtfully.
“He was never nice.”
“So, he just put on a show for me?”
“Yeah.”
“Soooo, I’m an idiot?”
“No. You probably really thought he changed. You wanna see the good in people.”
“Is that bad?”
“Maybe unrealistic.”
“You think I’m stupid?”
He exhaled slowly. Jeez. Insecure much?
“No, Regan. I don’t think anything about the way you act and think is stupid. I could never think that.”
She smiled and leaned into him. She bumped his arm with her own and asked about his progress on the car. He didn’t really want to talk about it. He wanted to keep talking about Brandon until he convinced her to dump him. But then he remembered it was her birthday, and who the hell wants to talk about Brandon on her birthday?
He listed off a few repairs he was currently working on.
“I’m distracting you. I know it. I should leave,” she said.
“You’re not distracting me at all.”
“What were you about to do?”
“Slide under the car for a while.”
“Why?”
“To work on the axle.”
“What’s an axle?”
“An important part of a car.”
She pointed to a cushioned board with wheels at the four corners.
“Is that what you use to slide under the car?”
“Yep.”
She tilted the bottle and drained the last of the beer. He didn’t immediately offer her a third. She could take a mini break. Or a permanent one.
“Can I ride it?”
“What?”
“That four-wheel thing. Can I ride it?”
“You wanna ride the creeper?”
Regan’s face lit up. “No. Way.”
“Huh?”
She hopped off the counter and plopped onto the creeper.
“I’m totally digging the name.”
“Creeper?” Jeremy watched her lie back, knees up and feet planted on the floor.
She pushed off and squealed.
“I’m creeping!”
“Yes, you are,” he laughed.
“Hey, Jeremy, watch me creep!” She zigzagged and spun in a circle.
“Impressive.”
She pushed herself around the garage, every now and then asking questions about cars and the different tools she passed, pointing side to side and above her head. She picked up speed as her confidence grew.
“Be careful,” Jeremy warned.
She threw her weight to the left and narrowly avoided a barrel.
“Oh, yeah! I’m a badass!”
“You sure are,” Jeremy said. “Now, slow down.”
She ignored him and took a sharp right, flying parallel to the opposite wall.
“Regan . . .”
“Best birthday EVER!” she bellowed, then ran into a wall—a smart smack right on the top of her head. “Ouch!”
Jeremy jumped off the counter and rushed to her. He dropped to his knees and cradled the top of her head—an intimate move, but he thought the situation called for it.
“Hey,” she said softly. “You’re supposed to be watching me.” Slightly accusatory, but in a sweet way.