by Kat Pace
“I’ll try to keep it at bay.”
“Says the guy who just ran outside to pout, again,” I say, remembering Thanksgiving and how he stormed out of my loft. “You seem to do this a lot.”
“Yea but I knew you’d come find me this time,” he says.
I sigh and start propping my own head up in between my legs.
Him. His face in the moonlight is a glorious thing. A shadow creeps across his face, pale in comparison to the darkness in his eyes. Hungry darkness.
“Dance with me?” He asks.
“If you insist,” I smirk.
And then we’re dancing in the courtyard, under strings of white lights and garland festooned with mistletoe and holly. He spins me around and back into him. Just his hand on my waist is making me want him.
Def not agreeing to another night of cuddling.
“And you said you can’t waltz.” I say, looking up at him.
“Shut up,” he says, laughing.
We walk the town, bundled up, our steps in rhythm with the snowflakes. Each one is a piece of me –a piece of him –a piece of the us we are becoming. It’s beautiful and poignant in an almost tragic sort of way. We’re like snow. Sure, we are beautiful now but eventually we will melt.
Again, I’m ahead of myself. My eager thoughts too ready to destroy my own happiness are already trying to take over. Can’t I just enjoy this evening stroll through a white-lit, snowy lane? Can’t you enjoy your TV channel movie for a goddamn second, Em?
Weirdly I’m not digging a holiday hymn or Christmas song for my soundtrack vibe right now. I just keep thinking of a line from Let’s Hurt Tonight (One Republic). Well, every single line, but some hit extra hard.
Love is pain. He is pain. We are pain.
I agreed to the pain, accepted it even. I accepted it when he liked my selfie, when I changed into 18 outfits for a bonfire, when I agreed to go on a walk with him after volleyball.
“I got a room,” I hear myself saying before I can stop.
“You got a room?” He asks, his lips turning into a perfect smile. He looks up at the towering B&B in front of us. “Here?”
“Yup.” I’m still leaning against him, burrowing my face into his chest to avoid the snow.
“And you’re telling me…” He trails off. I see him smirking. “Because you want to make me jealous that I have to go back to my parents’ house?”
“I’m telling you so I’m not alone in it,” I blurt out. I bite my lip and look away quickly. I’m losing my shit.
“That’s nice of you,” he says like I just offered to share my umbrella with him.
“You did make me promise you.” I remind him of Thanksgiving –of a month ago when he made me agree to save myself. The fucking weirdo.
“Promise me what?” He says. I pull myself away from him and look up, 100% ready to berate him for forgetting but I see that he’s cracking up at me. “Relax. Of course I remember.”
“Good.” I roll my eyes.
He wraps his arms tighter around me. My feet are starting to lose feeling. “And did you keep your promise?”
I sigh and give him a DUH look.
Brooks leans down and kisses me. Just a tease of a kiss. But it’s enough.
The bed is giant. Like, MEGA big. Not sure how they fit a Cali king in such a small B&B room. I plop myself across the center when we sneak up to my room. We waited until long after the rest of the guests left. The lobby was deserted apart from the lingering smell of cinnamon candles and withered festoons of mistletoe.
We don’t speak.
We don’t need to.
I sit up on the bed and he walks over to me. I’ll never get tired of seeing this look on his face. The look of want, of need. I can’t even smile at him. I’m just frozen in my spot.
Brooks unbuttons his shirt and his pants. It’s like a little strip tease. I watch him move closer to me. My insides are screaming for him.
“Stand up.” He looks at me, waiting. I oblige.
He unzips my dress and slips it off me, sinking to his knees as he does so. He takes me by the hips and pulls me to him. This is my reward for keeping my promise. I can already tell I’ll be happy that I did.
I feel his breath on my inner thigh, right above me. I bite my lip to keep quiet. All of my weight is leaning on him, my legs resting on his shoulders. I dig my fingers into his hair. He responds by gripping harder on either side of me. I don’t know how he can breathe. I don’t know how I’m breathing.
His tongue should win awards.
Every. Award. Ever.
I’m so close to losing it but I don’t want to without him. It kills me to pull him up by the hair. Brooks groans as he slides his hand under my ass to lift me back onto the bed. I wrap my legs around his back as he pushes into me.
Hearing him exhale with relief will NEVER. GET. OLD.
My hands are still entwined in his hair, holding his face to mine –his lips to mine. I let my hands fall down his back until they reach his ass. I try to pull him even closer into me. Brooks laughs beneath my kisses.
Brooks rolls onto his back and spins me on top of him. I steady myself on his chest.
Guys. Eye contact is key.
His hands glide up my waist and over my chest, cupping my tits. He licks his thumb and puts it back to my nipple. Instantly hard. Then his hands are up my neck and he’s pulling my head to his. I lean over him, moving up, down, left, right, diagonal, you name it.
Brooks’s right hand is in my hair, around my neck, holding me to him. He sucks my neck –no –bites my neck. Vamp Status. His left hand is holding my ass in place as he moves faster. Our heartbeats mimic his tempo. My nipples are still hard, smacking against his bare chest. Raw.
I want to explode into 1000 pieces. I want us both to. And then when people put us back together maybe they’ll mix up our pieces and build us to be a part of each other.
Here for it.
His hands are in my hair now, pulling on it. My nerves stand of edge. I moan into his kisses. He could rip my hair out for all I care.
“Ready when you are,” he whispers against my neck.
I can hardly nod in agreement. I feel him tense beneath me.
The climax.
The collapse.
The collateral damage:
My heart.
8:11 AM
“So how exactly did you get the invite to this soiree again?” Brooks asks.
“Soiree. What an excellent word for it,” I laugh at him.
“Thank you, I’ve been working on some new vocabulary. This New Year's Eve party. Isn’t it very exclusive?” He asks.
“Someone my dad works with knows someone who is a big donor. Friend of a friend,” I laugh. “My parents are doing Prague this year, so I got stuck with Vail.”
“Stuck with?" He smirks. “It’s Vail.”
“It’s Prague.” I make my eyes big, like I’m saying Duh, Prague > Vail.
“Seems you lucked out if you ask me,” he says, shrugging beneath me.
God that smirk. “Lucked out? You think so?”
“Sure do. Better company,” Brooks says, his eyes wild. “So what exactly is this elusive exclusive party?”
“Soiree,” I correct him, laughing.
“Soiree,” he nods.
“It's supposed to be this crazy time-capsule party. No expense spared.” I say.
“Time capsule party?” He repeats, raising his eyebrow at me.
“If prohibition was stranded in the mountains surrounded by wilderness but the booze was falling like snow.” I nod.
“Really painting a picture.” He laughs.
“I try.”
“So we dress the part?” He raises his brow.
“Sure do. You'll be suited up.” I say.
“Can't wait to see you in one of those tiny flapper dresses. Can't wait to take it off either.” He laughs. I laugh.
“Yea, yea,” I laugh, tossing a pillow at him.
“And everyone is coming? Meg and Trix and the
guys? Alex too?” He asks.
“Yes, Alex is coming,” I say. “Think he’s bringing Katie –or that chick from the summer.”
“Oh, OK.” Brooks shifts. I can’t unhear the weird tone of his words.
“OK…” I drop it.
I crawl from the bed and cringe at my dress chillin’ in a ball on the floor. I cannot believe I’m about to do the walk of shame from my ex-boyfriend’s hotel room …in my hometown …on Christmas Eve Day.
“Can’t you stay tonight?” He asks, his voice masking some weird hopeful-hopeless hybrid of a feeling. “It’s Christmas Eve. Who flies home on Christmas Eve?”
“I know,” I say quietly.
“And you’re flying home to be alone,” Brooks says, like he’s reminding me.
“I know,” I say again.
Visions of Brooks and sugarplums dance in my head. WHY. But I know I can’t stay. Can’t spend Christmas with him.
“You’re always so ready to leave me,” he says.
“I learn from the best,” I tease. Well, I meant to tease. He shifts uncomfortably. Shit.
“You’re never going to let me forget it, are you?” He asks, his sad eyes slaying what’s left of my soul.
“Nope,” I smirk. “But don’t worry, I won’t forget it either.” I try to laugh when I say it.
Brooks sighs and rolls his eyes. He decided against a comeback. Good.
“I really do have to go,” I mumble.
“I will drive you.”
I’m not sure I want Brooks to pull up to my driveway and drop me off at my parents like we are still in high school or like we didn’t just spend the night together. I am however definitely sure I do not want everyone strolling the streets in town to see me walking back, heels in hand and shame in tow.
“OK.” I nod.
He smiles and sits on the edge of the bed, pulling my back into his chest.
“I’ll see you next week,” I laugh, stressing each word.
“Five more minutes,” he says and scoops me back onto the bed.
“Brooks, I have to go!” I try to squirm out of his grasp. His hands are tight around me.
“Nah, I’ll let you stay.” He teases.
“You are impossible, you know that?”
I stare into his beautiful seafoam-blue eyes. I’m so close I can see the yellow specs freckling his irises. Yellow specs of sunlight.
“I know that.”
Arrival
New Years in Vail.
Vail with 5+ of my high school friend group. I didn’t need much convincing. I’m committed to it. Embracing it.
Brooks will be there.
Don’t judge. Snowboarding. Drinking. Making out in hot tubs surrounded by snow-capped mountains? You wouldn’t need convincing either.
I connect in Denver. The short pause on the ground is enough for messages to flood my phone. Off with airplane mode and on with the texts. Trix. Brooks. Trix. Meg. Mom.
Can’t WAIT!
I want you.
U bring ur furry boots? U kno the ones.
Trix needs furry boots.
Stay safe in Vail! luv from Prague.
Prague. I missed fucking Prague this year.
It’s a quick flight from Denver to Vail. Still called for three splits of champagne though. Champagne fueled daydreams. Brooks and his stupid lips. What he does with them to mine. Both of mine.
I’m flying high right now. Boujee in my winter boots and oversized fur coat. Hair freshly trimmed and colored, lashes done, fake face applied, and nails painted snow bunny pink. I’m feeling fine.
The champagne is just helping.
It’s been one week since I last saw Brooks. Since we were basking in the morning-after glory of romping in my hotel room. Since we danced in the garden. Since my parents knew we had a slumber party on the second floor of the B&B.
I drag my rolly through baggage claim. People are judging my fur coat. Relax, snobs. It’s faux. The only downfall of being the last one to arrive is having no one to ride with to the resort. Luckily, plenty of other people are scampering off to the shuttle line, so I have plenty of company.
My fur boots hit the ground as the cute bellhop takes my bag from the shuttle. The place looks exactly like the brochure, right down to the freaking charm. It’s a cluster of resorts –different hotel high-rises and lodges and chalets all centered around a sort of town-square. The center village has a corner bar with a moose head hanging over the entrance.
A real moose head.
The lobby is breathtaking. Gold lanterns and cowhides and dried flowers and ranch oil paintings. Looks like chic and rustic had a baby. It smells like an outdoor garden spa in the basement of a leather shop. Smells like if being rich had a smell.
I’m first to the desk and my nerves are starting to get the better of me.
He’s here somewhere. In twenty short minutes I’ll be hugging him. Though a hug is not really what I want.
“Enjoy your stay.” The concierge smiles.
“Thanks,” I mumble, taking my key from the desk and walking down the hallway.
I pass more animal hides, a glass jar filled with raw cotton, and dark leather couches. My room is on the far side, the mountainside, the ski-in ski-out side. I push my bag into the room and the first thing I see if the sliding glass door taking up the entire back wall. It leads to a small patio with two chairs and a rack for skis/boards. The gas fireplace is on low. And the bed.
Oh god the bed.
White and fluffy and giant: A cloud.
I check out the bathroom to brush my teeth. Plane coffee is still strong on my breath. Can’t have that. Not much of a bathroom. The tub sort of opens up to the lounge area in front of the sliding doors. It’s one of those old claw-foot tubs, the kind only seen in movies.
I throw my coat over the chair and slip my phone from my pocket to connect to the guest Wi-Fi.
ROOM 302 when u get here :)
Here yet?
Where did u put the key again love
Bikini ON
Trix, Brooks, Zoë, Trix. The usual. Oh, here’s another one.
We left -meet us at hot tub.
Meg.
Nothing like a hot tub to wash away plane juju. I answer Zoë. The key is on her clip, exactly where I put it. Then I text Meg back.
Way to wait. Coming in 5.
I unzip the suitcase and my plane book falls out. The cover is folded over since I shoved it in when we were debarking. I dig for my bikini, my fingers searching for the plush neoprene. I’m getting used to living out of a bag –makeup, clothes, life. All out of a bag.
I change into my jeans and pull on my Henley. I flip my hair up in a clip. Yes, a CLIP. A claw clip. Can’t let this beautifully dry hair get ruined already.
It’s not hard to find the pool/hot tub/spa area. There’s only one deck that goes outside. The cold air bites my face and I think my eyeballs might freeze open. I see them as soon as I step outside. A group of twenty-something hoodlums that could only belong to me.
I walk the perimeter of the pool, which is shaped like a sprawling amoeba. One half of it disappears behind a steamy glass wall. Indoor-outdoor pool.
There are at least three separate hot tub areas. One is connected to the pool, separated from the pool by only a low ledge. Another is a standalone tub that’s against a railing overlooking the village (didn’t realize I walked so high to the lodge). The last hot tub and where my hoodlums are currently gathered is another rectangular standalone. It’s sort of raised on a platform too. It overlooks the mountainside but has a wall behind it that’s covered with green pine branches and giant bulbous lights.
Seriously with the white lights.
This place is like an influencer’s backdrop begging to be posted all over the media.
“EMMY!” Trix squeals when she sees me. She stands up and I can’t tell where her hair ends and red one-piece begins.
“No! Don’t get out, it’s freezing,” I laugh, walking over to the side of the hot tub she’s on and f
ake hugging her cause she’s soaking wet.
“Finally!” Meg says. “Good flight?”
“Delayed,” I sigh.
