Page 125 of Snowed In

“I’ll just pop a squat here on the floor.” He turns around andsettles down in the space between my feet. One of his firm asscheeks lands on my foot, forcing me to spread my legs wider. I suspect that was his plan, judging by the way he leans back against the couch between my knees.

Wow. This is… cozy.

Without a word, he slings his arm over my knee closest to Trent. Once again, I can’t question his gestures, too distracted by my dear cousin’s ever-watchful eye. Right now, he looks like a villain whose plan has been foiled.

Damn. Ronny really knows what he’s doing.

My aunt distributes cards and gifts, but most of my brain cells are zeroed in on the body heat pouring off Ronny right in front of my crotch. I’ve never cuddled with anyone in front of my family. This is an odd sensation, and I hate that it’s all fake. It feels so dishonest to fool my mother just for Trent’s sake, but I’m too grateful about not feeling like a life failure for once.

Stranger than that, I find myself wanting to thank Ronny. It’s like he read the room and knew exactly what I needed. Maybe he’s… not so bad after all. I’m sure he had twenty other things he could have done tonight that were more appealing than this. I wish I could talk to him without Trent lurking.

Reaching out, I give his arm a squeeze as a silent expression of my gratitude. I can feel Trent eyeballing us, so I leave my hand where it is. Ronny shouldn’t have to do all the work. He’s certainly done plenty of touching tonight, so I doubt he’ll mind, even if it does make me feel like I’m wearing a scarlet letter after how I behaved at the cabin.

I have the perfect view of the back of his thick head of pitch-black hair. It looks soft, making me remember his fingers in my curls. I didn’t imagine that. I know I didn’t. The memory combined with how thoughtful he’s been this entire evening, has my body growing warm. I’m sure he’s bored as hell and the way his fingers are stroking the side of my calf can be chalked up to restlessness. I blame the rising instinct to reciprocate the affectionate touch on my need to show upTrent and Chet. My fingers gently stroke a lock of his hair. When I continue, I know that’s bullshit. I am running on full narcissism now. How can it be so rewarding to run your fingers through someone’s hair? I feel whole. And blushing be damned. In the grand scheme of things, is it honestly so wrong to enjoy it while I have the opportunity?

His head tilts to the side, making my self-preservation kick in. Shit. He must be sick of being petted like a cat.

Before I can pull my hand away, he leans into my touch. Is he… giving me the green light? Breath in my throat, a wise voice tells me to stop, but I ignore it and flex my fingers, slowly stroking his scalp.

Oh, God. Was that…

I shift my gaze to gauge Trent’s reaction. He looks horrified. Yeah. It was definitely a moan.

Geez. Ronny’s really going overboard.

I count my good fortune and retract my hand. Trent has officially been shocked and awed tonight, and I am dangerously close to unleashing my lumberjack desires on Ronny’s pretense of being willing. It’s time to stop and call this a victory.

Chapter Eight

Tugging my unsuitable-for-cold-weather coat tighter around me as we pull out of my aunt and uncle’s driveway, I’m still buzzing from the warm farewells. My family basically wants to adopt him and plan our wedding. Stick that in yourBluetoothand smoke it, Trent.

“Wow. That went better than I planned. Have you done this before?”

“Christmas? Yeah, once every year since birth.”

And there’s the Ronny I know.

“No. Duped someone’s family into thinking you’re the perfect boyfriend?”

“Ha! If I had, I probably wouldn’t be single.”

The self-deprecation in his playful retort has me fidgeting over my accusation. “Fair enough.” Yesterday, I’d have said it would be highly unlikely for Ronny and his glorious, good looks to be unable to snag any guy he wants, but my sense of judgment hasn’t exactly been on point with him.

“Thanks,” I blurt into the following silence. “Today was…great, actually. I think they bought it. Trent looked like he was going to swallow his tongue at least three times.”

“I don’t know. I almost felt sorry for him.”

That has my eyes emblazoning the wordtraitorwith invisible lasers on his stupidly perfect forehead. Which is ridiculous. What do I care if he read Trent wrong?

“Sorry forTrent?Why?”

“People who try that hard usually aren’t actually happy.”

I sit in thatSnapplebottle lid logic for a moment, blinking at the passing scenery. I’ve always focused on how Trent appeared to have his shit together and not on the possibility he might be overcompensating. A painful lump of reality gets stuck in my windpipe.Itried hard tonight, didn’t I? I brought a freaking fake boyfriend to meet my family.

Fuck. Have I become Trent?

“I’mhappy. I just didn’t want to feel like shit during another Christmas.”

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