Page 115 of Snowed In

“Right,” I concur, although I’ve never given the slightest thought to roughing it in cold weather.

Knowing that Ronny—who might not be as big of a dick as Ithought—has, melts away some of my worries. It also helps that he lets out a sleepy, exhausted breath, his forehead brushing against the back of my neck like a lover drifting off with someone they trust. The façade of someone sounding that content being in my presence is comforting, relaxing the last of the tension in me as our body heat radiates around us. I’m so damn tired suddenly, my eyes fighting to stay open.

I don’t even care about myholidateanymore. I don’t care if it means I’ll show up to Christmas appearing single in the face of perfect, happily married Trent. I won’t die or get pneumonia. I’m warm. This cozy semblance of a body hug, honestly, isn’t any worse than sleeping alone in my bed. It’s almost…better.

Almost.

Chapter Four

I’m going to die from pneumonia. It’s cold. So cold.

The illusion of falling asleep, cradled by a warm, furry body hug, has been shattered. Where the hell is Ronny? Why is it still dark?

Maybe I dreamt the entire thing. Am I’m in some feverish state in my bed at home, trapped in a bizarre dream?

Soft footsteps approach like stocking-clad feet on a hardwood floor. “Ronny?” a distraught-sounding voice that sounds like mine calls out.

“I’m here.”

Rolling in my cocooned state, I squint through the dim moonlight coming through the windows. The wind is still howling outside. My teeth are clacking together like someone is tapping out Morse Code with my incisors.

Ronny tucks his bare legs back into the sleeping bag. I’mnotdreaming. We’re still in hell. Together. And the temperature feels like it dropped another twenty degrees.

“Where did you go?” I demand, yanking him to me like an emotional support teddy bear, fumbling a hand behind himgracelessly to zip out the cold. I don’t care if it catches one of his ass cheeks or if I look desperately shameless. “I’m f-freezing!”

“Sorry. I had to take a leak. Shit. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Panting, I gulp for air through my shivering, grappling him any way I can. He is my lifeline. Siphoning every bit of body warmth from him like a parasite can’t be helped.

“Th-that’s the d-dumbest expression I’ve ever heard. Leaves don’t sh-sh-shake. They fl-flap in the…wind. I’m shaking like a ma-ma-raca. Listen to my teeth.”

Baring what probably looks like a psychotic smile, I demonstrate my involuntary chattering. It’s now that I realize he’s accepted my hug attack, his arms wrapped around me. His palms rub up and down my back, creating soft friction, socked feet rubbing against mine.

DidIjam my thigh between his or did he?

“Y-eah. That’s quite the performance you’ve got going on there,” he laments, but his expression belies his quip, face full of empathy. “Give it a minute. We’ll warm you back up.”

“D-did the space heater go out?”

Even as I ask to deflect from my neediness, I hear its soft hum behind me. Shit. I was not built for Minnesota.

“No. Still kicking. You probably lost heat when I got up. Sorry.”

“No, I think it must have d-dropped like t-twenty degrees in here.”

“The thermometer on the wall says it’s forty.”

Seriously? That’s the same as when we went to sleep.

“Fuck! I hate Minnesota,” I grumble, burying my cold nose in his sweatshirt. “How are you n-not shivering? Are you s-supe-superhuman?”

His puff of breath makes his chest expand against my face. He’s…cradling my melon under his chin.

“Hardly,” he chuffs, grazing a thumb through my hair.

I realize now that I forcefully pretzeled myself to him, which screeches my violent trembling to a halt. I’m clinging to him like a leech, and he’s… petting me.

And… it feels nice.

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