Page 121 of Snowed In

Flashing me a quizzical look, he steps inside. “You told me.”

“I did?” I gape the surreal sight of the star of my bizarre sleeping bag fantasies standing in my entryway.

“Yeah. Are you ready?” he asks, giving me a once-over.

“Uh… ready for mydate? Yeah. That’s what I just said. He should be here any minute. We have to be at my aunt and uncle’s in half an hour, so I’m sorry, but we need to make this quick. Did you need something?”

Please tell me he didn’t come here to discuss my cabin behavior.

“Wait. I thought you were just messing with me. You really don’t know?”

Could he be more infuriatingly vague? I can’t believe I actually jerked off to the memory of our near-dicking.

“Know you’re being more obtuse than usual? Uh, yeah. That’s pretty clear,” I heave, throwing my hands out to the sides.

“Oh, wow.” He chuckles, scrubbing his palm over his stupidsmile. Squaring his shoulders, he extends his hand like he wants me to shake it. “VincentRonald Carmichael, at your service. Here for all your fakeholidateneeds.”

Did he just say…Vincent? I never told him my date’s name. I know I didn’t. I only told him about the app when we were…

Oh, fuck.

No.

“What? You’re kidding me.You’reVincent?”

He retracts his hand and lets out an amused puff of breath. This isnotamusing.Iamnotamused. Of all the dirty tricks!

“This isn’t funny. First, you ruined my pre-date, and now you infiltrated theHolidateapp just to mess with me?”

“Whoa. Whoa. Hold up with the overactive imagination, will you? I’m not as devious as you seem to think I am. I knew you needed a date, and I was free, so…here I am.”

Ew. It was better when I thought this was a trick. Hearing that he volunteered out of sympathy just evaporated any confidence I had mustered for the evening.

Folding my arms across my chest, I hold my head high. “I don’t need your pity.”

He lets out a heavy sigh. I hate how he always makes me feel like I’m dramatic. I’m not. I’m…flustered.

“Will there be food at thisfuck-you-Trentgathering?”

“Yes, although I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Stepping forward, he reaches past me, clearly ignorant of the fact that his body traumatized mine. “Good. I’m starving. Let’s hit it,” he says, snatching my navy peacoat off the hook and holding it open by the lapels.

The sight of him being courteous wars with my hackles over his pushiness. I don’t care that he looks like some kind of gentleman holding my coat out. He’s still being bossy.

“Hey, you can’t just barge in here and assume I was dateless or that I’d wantyouto go with me.”

“Look. You said we need to be there in half an hour. We don’thave time for a pre-date,” he rationalizes, raising my coat up higher. “Just put the coat on.”

“What makes you assumethat’sthe coat I want to wear?”

It is. It’s my nicest coat. All the others are work jackets, threadbare or stained, but it’s the principle of the thing.

“Um, because it’s uptight and unsuitable for cold weather?”

I hate him.

Truly, I do. Good looks and rare moments of kindness aside, I know for certain that comment just eradicated my late-night fantasy problem.

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