by Lush, Tamara
I’ve been in my room for a half hour. It’s not cool to leave Oliver downstairs by himself. I need to at least hang out with him for a little while. I can’t just sit in here and watch The Weather Channel by myself.
Being offended about a minor brush off six years ago seems a bit dramatic, even for me.
I’m an adult now. A woman. Someone who gives zero fucks about men and their games. Oliver’s probably like the rest of them, anyway. How can he not be like his brother Alex, who screwed two of my friends? That was a debacle. He’d slept with one on a Friday, another on a Saturday, when they visited Madrid a few years ago. The shit hit the fan on Sunday when they both realized what had happened. They’d all called me in the middle of the night to grouse.
As kind as Alex is to me—he’d never dream of coming on to me, because he knows I’d never put up with his cavalier treatment of women—he’s a fuckboy with a capital F.
Oliver worships his older brother, or at least he did. So, he’s probably picked up Alex’s habits and attitudes toward women. And he’s way too good looking and rich to not be in hot demand by every woman with a pulse at MIT.
I wash my face, add a long sweater layer to my boho outfit, apply lip gloss, kick my boots off, and respond to a bunch of texts from friends. Glancing in the mirror, I assess my outfit. Cute and appropriate for a ski vacation…except for the stockings that stop about two inches above my knee, which means a few inches of thigh peek out.
It looks a little too sexy without footwear. I dig in a bag, pull out my calf-high, white faux fur boots, and slip my feet in them.
Checking myself in the mirror, I almost giggle out loud through my sniffles. The idea of hooking up with Oliver flits through my brain. I probably would, if he hadn’t ghosted me when we were teens. And if I wasn’t feeling so afraid for Mom.
So. The boots stay on.
Oliver’s in the kitchen when I go downstairs. He’s in front of an open oven door, bent over slightly.
I check out his ass for the third time. Then I clear my throat because I feel a little too pervy.
He notices me and shuts the door. “Hey. You want pizza? It’s meat-free. You’re still vegetarian, right?”
I slide onto a high stool at the massive white granite kitchen island and set my phone in front of me. “Yeah, sounds good. How’d you remember?”
“Found a bunch of pizzas in the freezer. I think your mom had them stocked. We have enough food and booze to last the winter.”
“Well, at least we won’t have to resort to cannibalism if we’re stranded.”
He busts out laughing. I’m admiring the hint of stubble on his face when it dawns on me that he hasn’t answered my question. He remembered I’m a vegetarian?
“Beer?” he asks, pointing to the fridge.
“Why not?”
There’s an awkward silence while he grabs the bottles out of the fridge and goes through every drawer looking for an opener. He hands me an open bottle, then clinks his to mine.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers. Hey, I got this alert on my phone. It says this huge blizzard’s going on till tomorrow.” I wave my phone at him, and he grabs it.
“Yeah, I got the same one. Supposedly this is one of those hundred-year storms.” He pauses and taps on my phone. “Nice screensaver. Where was it taken?”
My screensaver is a photo of Mom and me. We’re both in little black dresses. “Thanks. That was in New York. My mom met me there for my twenty-first birthday.”
A grin spreads on his face. “That’s really cool. Spending your twenty-first birthday with your mom. Most people get obliterated at a frat party or club.”
“We did get tipsy.” I grin, thinking about how we’d gone to the Algonquin, drank champagne, and looked for the resident hotel cat.
And then I remember that I might not have any more weekends in New York with her. My eyes grow wet, and I shudder in a breath.
“You okay?” He tilts his head.
“Yeah.” God, this is so hard. “No.”
His eyes grow round. “What’s wrong?”
“Jesus, I’m falling apart in front of you within an hour of getting here.”
“Sharkie, we’ve known each other our whole lives. I know we haven’t seen each other since…since high school. But tell me what’s going on.”
So he is acknowledging, at least a little, our kiss. That’s a start. “Sorry. It’s my mom. She had some weird test results last month. Health stuff. It’s why she organized this whole vacation, this cabin, for everyone. For your parents, and Dad’s sister and brother. I think she’s worried this will be her last holiday with the people she loves. The words testing for breast cancer are never good.”
A fat tear rolls down my cheek.
“Oh, Sharkie. God. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” He rounds the island kitchen counter and puts his big hand on my back.
Lord. He smells so good. What twenty-three-year-old guy smells like fabric softener and freshly cut Florida grass? I swivel the chair into him, and in one fluid motion, he takes me in his arms. Uh-oh. I like this. Too much. I wrap my arms around his neck. He’s all muscle and comfort.
Through my sadness, I feel flare of desire. The heat from his body is like a lit match pressed against my skin.
Sadness and lust battle for control in my body. Not cool.
I don’t want him to think I’m a total mess, so I straighten my spine, which is his cue to back away. He does. That’s a good sign that he understands my boundaries. Usually college turns good-looking guys into disrespectful dicks.
I pray Oliver isn’t a dick.
“I’m probably overreacting. She was supposed to get results today but didn’t. Maybe tomorrow.” I swivel away and reach for a napkin so I can dab my eyes.
“No, you’re not. You’re close to your mom. It’s like me and my dad. When he got in that car crash, I thought I was going to lose it.”
“Wait. I didn’t know about that. When was it? Is he okay?”
“It was in downtown Miami, some idiot ran a red light. Dad was really lucky because it only clipped the back of his car. But they took him to the hospital anyway, and when my mom called and said something about internal injuries, I’d never been so afraid.”
I nod, staring at him through my wet lashes. “So, you understand.”
“Yeah. I do. You just need a distraction until you know what’s going on with her.”
My breath hitches as we stare at each other. What’s he suggesting, exactly?
“See, that makes you grin. I just need to entertain you until they get here. Get your mind off everything.”
I grin. There are many ways he can entertain me. Starting with those full lips of his. And those hands. I imagine them sliding down my ribcage and clutching my hips as we—
He laughs. I laugh. The laughter fades.
The awkward silent pause is back. Hoo boy. This is going to be an interesting night, me with graphic sex fantasies, not sugarplums, dancing through my head.
“So, about that blizzard.” He takes a sip of his beer and eyes my cute furry boots. He quickly looks away, and his aura is suddenly aloof. Too much emotion for him, probably. I’m a lot to handle, at least that’s what other guys have said.
“Yeah. That blizzard. Let’s check the forecast.” I fiddle with my phone and pretend to look at weather.com with a serious look on my face. “Yep. It’s going to snow for a while. I’ve never seen it like this in Vermont.”
He looks at me funny, probably because it’s kind of ridiculous. It snows in Vermont. All the damn time. Sometimes from October to May. I turn back to the phone and recall what I’d heard on the phone.
“This is an unprecedented March storm.” Then I remember that he called it a hundred-year storm, and I shut up. Why am I so nervous around a guy I’ve known all my life?
“At least you wore the proper boots.” He grins.
“Are you talking shit about my boots?”
He shrugs. “You look a little like a woolly mammoth
.”
I throw my balled-up napkin at him, and we laugh, the awkwardness evaporating into thin air.
We spend the next few minutes talking about safe subjects—the weather, school, his sister, the weather again—when I smell the distinct aroma of burn.
“Uh, Oliver?”
“Yeah?”
“I think the pizza’s burning.”
“Oh shit!” he yells.
When he opens the door, a cloud of smoke wafts out. “It’s not that burned.”
He dons an oven mitt—what is it about muscular men wearing oven mitts that’s so sexy—and pulls out the pizza stone. He sets it on the granite-topped island in front of me, then slides the mitt off his hand.
“See, it’s only burned on one side.” He takes a round pizza cutter and, with more finesse than I’d expect, expertly slices it into eight perfect pieces.
I lean toward the pizza to inspect it. “I’ll take the burned piece.”
“Nah, I’ll eat it. It’s my fault for being distracted.” He turns his back and opens a cabinet.
Distracted? Hmm. I raise an eyebrow.
Plates in hand, he returns to the pizza. “What?” The grin is back.
“Why were you distracted?” Oh Christ, I sound way too flirtatious. He’ll probably assume I’m throwing myself at him.
He chuckles and scoops a non-burned piece and slides it onto a plate. “Ahhh.”
I take the plate from him. “Ahhh?”
“This is awkward.” He puts two charred pieces on his plate, tears off a piece of crust and crunches the blackened pizza. It must taste like hell. All the while looking at me with those beautiful eyes.
I clear my throat and wriggle an arm out of my sweater. “That fire’s pretty warm. Really heats the whole house. So? Why is it awkward? Why were you distracted?”
He swallows, and the side of his mouth quirks up. “Not trying to be creepy or anything, but you look different than you used to.”
I slow my chewing. He totally thinks I’m a freak or something. I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “What do you mean by that? How’d I used to look?”
He shakes his head, laughing. “Don’t get paranoid. You used to be cute. Now you’re…you’re…”
“I’m what?” I pick up my pizza slice and smile at it. This is fun, flirting with a guy in person and not through a stupid cell phone.
“You’re gorgeous now. Even with the woolly mammoth boots.” His voice lowers just a touch, and if I was warm before, I’m breaking out in a sweat now. “Especially with the woolly mammoth boots.”
His voice is genuine and tinged with desire. His smile tugs at something deep inside me.
Score one for the furry boots.
Chapter 5
CHARLOTTE
We finish the pizza and move into the living room. Kicking off my boots, I wrap myself in a red knit blanket I find on a chair.
Stretching out on one of the two lounger parts of the sofa, I let out a little satisfied sigh. Between flirting with Oliver, the beer, and the crackling fire, I’m feeling a little better.
“Check this out. There’s a good movie up next on one channel. You like horror?” He’s sitting on the floor near the corner of the lounger, remote in hand. So close that I can reach out and run my fingers through his hair. So close that I can smell him. So close that it will take about two seconds for him to climb up here and kiss me.
Let’s get this party started.
I shrug. “I don’t dislike it. But shouldn’t we be watching a spring break-appropriate movie? Pretending we're romping on some Florida beach like everyone we know? Binge drinking? Partying?”
"I don't know anyone who's going to Florida."
I dissolve into a fit of giggles. "Where are the people of MIT going?"
"The library." Jesus, his grin is gorgeous.
"Fine. Horror it is. And by the way, I’ve never actually done any of those things on Spring Break. Somehow I’ve always ended up somewhere with my parents.” I’m a wild one, all right…
“Good to know. Let’s watch The Shining.”
For a beat, he looks deep into my eyes. My heart rate accelerates.
“I’ve never seen it, actually.”
“You’ve never seen The Shining? You’re kidding.”
“Isn’t it kind of old? And depressing?”
“It’s a classic. Book’s better, though.”
“They always are.”
“But the movie’s so good. Now you have to watch it.”
“Mmm hmm. Okay.” I focus on his hair. So thick and black. It’s a little curly and floppy in the front, and I imagine myself holding on to it while kissing him. As I sit in his lap. Naked.
I figure I’ll zone out during the movie and indulge in a dirty fantasy. It’ll take my mind off Mom. Maybe my thoughts will telepathically get into his brain, and he’ll come up here and snuggle with me. Naked.
But fifteen minutes into the movie, I’m hooked.
After a half-hour, I’m wondering if he chose this because I’d get scared and want to cuddle next to him.
When the scene with the river of blood spilling out of the elevator flashes on the screen, I fling the blanket off, squeak, and grab a fistful of Oliver’s hair. I consider rolling down onto the floor with him.
“This is super intense,” I squeal and release his hair. He’s still sitting against the sofa on the carpet. Now that I think about it, that’s a little odd. Why is he down there? There’s so much room on this sofa that it’s practically in two different ZIP codes, and he’s lounging on the floor.
Near me.
He chuckles and raises his right hand. The backs of his fingers lightly graze my knee. Even through my knit stockings, his touch sends hot sparks through my body.
* * *
OLIVER
I should kiss her. I should crawl onto the sofa next to her and kiss her. She’s sending me all the right signals. I’d even sat on the floor in the corner just to be near her. Figured it would be close, but not all hey baby let’s watch a movie and make out like teenagers close.
This turns out to be a good spot, because she keeps touching me. Mostly my hair. She’s grabbed and tugged and squealed at the scary parts at least three times. Probably pretending to be scared, because Sharkie is never scared of anything. Her little noises are cute as hell.
And her scent. Sweet baby Jesus. It’s like sugar and strawberries. Sugarberries. It makes me think of the color red, like her lips. The smell is positively torturous, making me hard and edgy.
I want her right now. Maybe I could go to the bathroom and when I get back, sit next to her.
But I’m hesitant, because of what she said about her mother. Making a move when she’s upset would be a shitty thing to do. Even though I did mention distracting her. Even though she’s been flirting with me all night. Who knows? I’m awful at this shit.
She’s running her fingers through my hair. I touch her knee with the backs of my fingers, then stroke a little.
I want her so fucking bad.
Licking my lips, I steal a glance at her. She’s shifted on her back, propped up on pillows, and all I can think about is being on top of her.
Is now the time? I turn this over in my mind as we watch the movie.
Other guys would just go for it, not care about her situation. But I don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage of her when she’s upset. I shift in my seat.
This isn’t exactly the most comfortable idea I’ve ever had. Especially since I spent hours on the slopes today and every unused muscle is screaming in agony.
Something happens in the movie—I’m totally zoning out, thinking about how I’d like to see her with just those boots on and nothing else—and she yelps.
Her hand goes in my hair again and tugs hard. It sends a shower of lust and sparks through me, all the way to my dick, which is now uncomfortably solid. I look down and am mortified to see the outline of my erection against my sweatpants.
“Got another pillow?” I ask in a r
ough voice. Hopefully she can’t see my dick from up there.
She bends forward, and I nearly groan when I see her long hair fall down her back. In my head, she’s naked, only wearing the furry boots, her hair loose. Like a cavewoman. Spreading her legs. I grunt.
“Here,” she says, tossing me a red pillow that says SKI LODGE. “You okay down there?”
“I’m good, thanks.” I set the pillow on my lap, feeling awkward and horny. I grip the pillow in one hand, because every time I catch a whiff of her perfume, I want to bury my face in her thighs. “Never been better.”
* * *
CHARLOTTE
“Well. That sure was an uplifting movie. I mean, it was good and all. But maybe it wasn’t the thing to watch while we’re snowed in.” I sit up and crane my neck to peer out the window. “Look outside. It’s still coming down.”
“Aww, it wasn’t that bad.” Oliver’s voice sounds gravelly and sleepy, and it makes me yawn.
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m tired from that drive.”
“Yeah, same. I came up early this morning and went on a few runs this afternoon. Kinda kicked my ass because it’s the first time I’ve been skiing in a few years.”
“Snowboard?”
“Yeah.”
I tilt my head. “You never came up when you were in school in New York?”
“I actually haven’t ever been skiing here. Last time I went was with my dad in Telluride. Years ago. This is the first time I’ve been out of Boston since I started at MIT in September.”
He’s always been laser-focused on his studies. Mom told me a while back that he’s going to work for his father. He’ll probably take over the company in no time.
“If you want, we can go snowboarding tomorrow.”
“I’m guessing you’re way better than me. So, we can go if you want the challenge of the bunny slope.”
He turns so he’s facing me. I shift onto my side and prop myself on my elbow. The fire’s still going—turns out its gas, so it will roar all night if we want—and now that the TV’s off, there’s a hush through the cabin. He’s going to kiss me now. I can feel it.
