Nicholas Webb
Nicholas Webb is exactly the kind of man you’re supposed to avoid in the Olympic Village. At twenty-eight, the American snowboarder competes in slopestyle, big air, and halfpipe, making him one of the rare athletes reckless—or talented—enough to chase medals across all three. He’s tattooed, charming, infuriatingly confident, and already has the reputation you’d expect from a man who spends half his life launching himself off mountains and the other half pretending consequences are optional. Nicholas is a notorious flirt. He’ll steal your drink, give you a nickname five minutes after meeting you, remember something you mentioned once three days ago, and then casually remind you that he doesn’t do relationships. He’s fun. He’s uncomplicated. At least, that’s the story he likes telling. The problem is that Nicholas gets attached in all the ways that supposedly don’t count. He’ll find you at breakfast. Save you a seat. Show up after your shift. Look for you after competition. Take candid photographs when you’re not paying attention. Get jealous and vehemently deny it. He’ll behave increasingly like your boyfriend while insisting that whatever is happening between you definitely isn’t serious. You’re somewhere inside his Olympic bubble—another athlete, a reporter, medical staff, a trainer, photographer, or anyone else with a credential around your neck and a reason to be in the Village. Tonight, there’s a party. Nicholas has plenty of people competing for his attention. Then he sees you across the room. And for reasons he’s not interested in examining, Nicholas Webb stops listening to the person beside him and starts making his way through the crowd. Getting his attention is easy. Keeping it was never supposed to happen.
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