Page 136 of Snowed In

Mistle Foe

Cora Rose

ChapterOne

Wren

“Is this really where we have to stay?” Christian asks, his light blue eyes moving around the dilapidated motel room. Not like we have options.

Unless we want to die from exposure.

“What, not good enough for his highness?” I ask, my voice coming out far too snarky.

Though I have to admit, the room’s looking pretty bad. The bed is sunken in and there’s a hole in the wall, where snow is drifting in, but it’s shelter. And, like I said, it’s all we got at the moment. We’re lucky the man behind the counter let us stay. The motel was packed with other travelers trying to find shelter from the unexpected blizzard hitting the mountain pass, just like we were.

And now I’m stuck here. With him. Overnight.

The worst guy on planet Earth.

I should never have told Bree that I’d bring him to her wedding. He should have driven his own ass to NorCal. I don’t know why I ever agreed to this. I was drunk at the moment. And high. It’s the only explanation.

“I didn’t say that,” he replies and then points to the hole in the wall. “I…there’s a hole in the wall.”

I move to the small heater that sits near the bed and turn it on, a chill already forming in the air. The heater whines and puffs slightly and I eye it, hoping it doesn’t catch on fire. Then I grab a towel from the bathroom and stuff the hole as well as I can before flopping on the bed.

“See. Fixed it. Now stop fucking complaining.”

His cheeks pinken, and I force myself not to look at him. I hate how hot he is, with that wavy blond hair, those big blue eyes, his broad shoulders, and strong legs. Not that I’ve ever seen any part of him. He keeps himself buttoned up, always wearing slacks and a tie. Looks like some kind of missionary.

That thought drags my mind to the missionary position, my cock sliding in and out of his hole, the way his skin would flush from need, and I cringe at the way my body lights up at the thought. Nope. No. Not ever going there with him.

Not that he’d ever. I don’t even know his sexuality, nor do I care. But I’d bet, with how religious he is, that he’s not gay. And even if he was, he’d never go for a brooding, tattooed, and pierced guy like me. We couldn’t be more opposite, in both physical appearance and attitude.

“Well, what do we do now?” he asks after a long moment of silence.

“Dunno,” I say as I wiggle around on the bed and stare at the sinking ceiling. “Guess we just go to bed.” He eyes the only bed and his cheeks darken even more. “I’m not sleeping on the fucking floor, either. You can, but I fucking won’t.”

I tend to swear more around him. Something about the way he never utters a bad word, probably never has and never will. It makes me want to say fuck three times as much.

“I don’t want to sleep on the floor,” he finally says and I close my eyes, kicking my shoes off and letting them fall to the floor. It’s silentfor another moment, the wind picking up outside, the snow pelting the window.

This really is unfortunate, I think. Stuck in this motel room with him, for who knows how long. Hopefully, we can be back on the road and on our way to the wedding tomorrow. But I just don’t know. This was all so unexpected. I knew there was a storm moving in, but being from SoCal, I didn’t expect it to be so bad. Certainly didn’t expect it to snow us in on the one pass we needed to get to where we’re going.

I hear the shower turn on and realize Christian moved out of the main room and is now in the bathroom, giving me a moment to gulp down some deep breaths. I hate how he affects me when I don’t even like him. He bugs the shit out of me with his sweet smiles and his kind eyes and his fucking un-potty mouth. Something about how good he is just bugs me. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And I’m sure he feels the same way about me. Not that he’s ever given me any indication of this, but I bet he does.

Guys like him don’t ever like guys like me.

I huff and pull my clothes off, tossing them onto the chair in the corner and sliding under the scratchy sheets. I always run warm and the cold winter air doesn’t bother me. From inside the bathroom, I hear a yelp and then a murmured, “Gosh, that’s freezing,” before listening to Christian wash himself.

I imagine him naked, his skin covered in goosebumps, his nipples hard and peaked.

I slap my arm over my eyes and breathe through my mouth.

Fuck, don’t think about that. Do not get hard when we’re sharing a bed. That’s the last thing I need.

My cock doesn’t listen, though, and hardens against my thigh, the metal barbel through the tip tapping against the skin of my leg.

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