Page 113 of Snowed In

Nothing.

Just No Service andThe Ass. Merry freaking Christmas.

The temperature in the cabin feels like it dropped ten degrees in the last half hour. I shiver, the tremor rippling down my body.

“If you quit checking your phone every ten seconds, you might get warmer faster,” saysThe Ass.

“I could be zipped up in two of these things and not get warm it’s so cold in here,” I retort, but yank my freezing hand back down inside the bag, tucking it underneath my armpit. “And please spare me any more factoids about Minnesota winters. It’s stupid cold in here no matter where anyone’s from. It’s not…human.”

The sigh I hear has me wincing at my dramatics. I hate complainers. Maybe that’s why I hate Ronny. He seems to bring out the worst in me.

Great. Now he’s unzipping us. I’ve annoyed him so much that he’s going to kick me out.

Before my pride allows me to move, I feel him roll again. Into…me.

The Assis gone. Bonus.

The downside?

The opposite of his ass is now pressed against my back.

It only gets worse after he reaches behind him and zips us back in. We are now two peas in a pod…areallysmall pod.

Using one arm as a pillow, he folds the other one to his chest, resting his elbow on the side of my ribcage like I’m a shelf. His cuddly leg hair brushes against the smooth skin at the back of my thighs.

“What… was that?”

“What was what?”

“The… you… I…” Oh, my God. He stole my ability to form sentences. “You’re spooning me,” I say, trying for more of the petulance I’ve displayed all day, but it comes out sounding wary. Wary and affected by Ronny’s body parts pressed against my body parts.

Warm. He’s so fucking warm.

“You’re freezing. I don’t know what else to do. This is the best way to share body heat.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t going to work for me.”

“Do you want me to bottom and you top?”

Did he…

What the actual fuck? I think I’m choking on my tongue.

“Did you just say…bottom? And…top?”

“Yeah,” he snickers. “Don’t read into it. You know what I meant.”

“Um, yes. I thinkIknow what you mean, but… but how doyouknow what you mean?”

“What?” he chuckles, an infectious sound that shouldn’t beinfectious. “Okay, you’re going to explain that for me because that was some crypticism even I don’t understand.”

“How in the hell do you know what a top and bottom are?”

The warm breath from his scoff gusts across my neck. I can feel the vibration of his words, amplifying the surreal intimacy of our proximity. “Um…is that a trick question?” When I don’t answer, he supplies, “Same as everyone else, I guess—experience.”

“Experience? What kind of experience?”

Another scoff. Am I a comedian? Why is he always laughing at me?

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