Page 3 of The Christmas You Crash

three

LEXI

This is the life.

Snow falls all around me, the bite of the frigid breeze over my neck and face eliciting a shiver, even as the rest of me almost overheats. I’ve probably been in this hot tub twenty minutes too long, but I can’t seem to bring myself to go inside.

It’s sosilentout here. With every additional inch of snow, the world stills, and so does my heart. Between school and my parents’ divorce, I’ve been so stressed, I swear my heart always feels like I’ve just finished an hour of cardio. There’s so much pressure to have it all figured out right now. To be responsible and mature and perfect. I need to keep my grades up so I can get a good job after I finish my MBA.

Then there are things with my parents.

Dad has asked me to get together a couple of times since things with Mom imploded, even though he hasn’t made any real effort to bridge the gap he created between us. I figure it’s out of obligation, since he knows on some level that he should feel bad about everything that’s happened. Not that he does.

My mom wants me to have this great relationship with Jeff, even though I want nothing to do with the man. Shitty marriage or not, nobody likes a home-wrecker, and Jeff knew my mom wasn’t single when they started hooking up.

Everyone wants something different from me, but do any of them care about what I want?

Not likely. Hell, they didn’t even bother asking what I might like for Christmas. Not that I expected them to. I’m an adult. I don’t need presents. But it’s nice to feel thought of and seen.

But all of that fades away as I turn into a human prune in this hot tub, surrounded by wintery magic. This is exactly the peace I was looking for.

My stomach growls, reminding me that all I’ve eaten today was a breakfast sandwich and a few snacks on the road. Not to mention way too much coffee. Tonight feels like the perfect night for bougie grilled cheese. I have gruyere, onions to caramelize, the perfect, soft sourdough, and this really yummy bacon jam I picked up from the indoor farmer’s market last month. Time to get out of this gloriously hot water and run inside.

Grabbing my freezing cold towel from the lidded tub I brought out to keep the snow from covering it, I take a few deep breaths. “Get your ass out of the hot tub, Lexi. It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid. You’re going to freeze your tits off, but it’ll be worse if you don’t suck it up and run inside.” I still can’t seem to make myself get up. “One. Two. Three!”

Leaping out of the hot tub, I quickly wrap the fluffy towel around my body. I grip the cold cotton in one hand and my empty wineglass in the other before scampering over the snow-covered deck. It’s so. Damned. Cold. Worth it, but geez. My nipples are hard enough to cut glass. The wine stem in my hand causes me to fumble with the door for a moment, then I rush inside with a shiver and a little squeal. I give the winterwonderland outside one last look as I shut the door. Beautiful. Now it’s time to dry off and get dressed.

Turning, I take a step toward the counter to set down my glass when I stop dead in my tracks. All the peace and relaxation I just enjoyed is undone in spectacular fashion when my eyes land on the massive, well-over-six-foot form of an intruder standing mere feet away from me. My heart thunders in my chest as I quickly take him in. Black coat, black leather gloves, a black knit beanie tugged low over his eyebrows, drawing my attention to icy-blue eyes that flash with anger, a strong jawline that ticks and flexes, and full lips pursed into a severe line.

My heart thunders in my chest. I’m going to be murdered. This is how I die. Killed by a man who is way too hot to be a serial killer, and yet here we are.

Screaming, I do the only thing I can think of and chuck my empty wine glass right at his head. It connects with his jaw with a satisfyingthud, and my would-be murderer shouts. The pain distracts him from pulling out his weapon. It’s probably a jagged-edged knife or a garrote or something equally ominous. He rubs his jaw, his eyes furious as he stares at me like I’m going to pay for that.

But if I die here tonight, at least I’m going out with a fight. When my favorite true crime girl creates a podcast about my murder, she’ll be able to tell her listeners I got in a few hits of my own.

“Get. Out!” I scream as I grab the half-full bottle of rosé and throw it at him. My aim isn’t quite as solid this time, and the man swats it away with his hand, which makes him shout again with pain. I must have hit a knuckle or something, because he cradles the hand to his chest.

“What the fuck?” he shouts. “Bitch!”

Bitch? He’s the one trying to murder me, andI’mthe bitch? Mind spinning, I grab the only other potential weapon withinreach. The corkscrew I used to open my wine. My fingers close around it, and despite the fear that makes me tremble, I stand straight, putting both hands out in front of me, ready to defend myself.

And then my towel drops to the floor in a wetsplat.

Well, shit. In all my panic, I sorta forgot about the fact that I’m naked and the towel keeping me from using my left hand was the only thing covering my body.

Wide-eyed and nearly feral with panic, I lift my gaze to the intruder. He’s still cradling his garroting hand to his chest, but his attention is now squarely on my nipples. My very hard, very pointy nipples.

At least he’s distracted?

With few options left, I throw the corkscrew at him and run. If I can make it to the main bedroom, I can lock and barricade the door, then lock myself into the main bath. Two locked doors between us are better than none, and hopefully, it will give me time to call for help.

Putting on a burst of speed, I make it past the stunned axe murderer I’ve hypnotized with my nipples, and pound through the house on wet feet. I pray I don’t slip, because I sure as hell can’t afford to slow down. Not if I want to keep my blood in my body. And I do want that. Very much.

“Hey,” the man shouts as the spell breaks and his heavy footsteps follow behind me. “Get back here!”

“Fuck you,” I scream as I skid into the main bedroom, slam the door shut, and lock it. My heart tries to punch its way out of my rib cage, and I gulp down huge, ragged gasps of air. I press my forehead to the thick wood of the door for a moment as I try to catch my breath. But the relief is short-lived as the man in black pounds on the door.

My panic comes back full force.

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