Page 24 of Stuck on the Slopes

Iwokethenextday, November second, feeling like I’d entered an alternate dimension. One where Juniper and I shared a suite. Despite the snow outside, the sun felt as bright as a Florida summer, streaming in through the cracks in the blinds of my living room just enough to wake me—though, unlike a Florida summer, there were no people buzzing about in the heart of the city. They’d been replaced by the snow-covered pines outside my window and Sasquatch’s head on my lap, his big brown snout claiming my thigh as his pillow as he still slept. As to not wake the dog, I didn’t dare move except to look up at Juniper, whose shoulder I’d fallen asleep on. In my peripheral, I saw the “Are you still watching?” Netflix prompt on my otherwise black television screen.

A five o’clock shadow speckled across Juniper’s jaw. His black hair was a mess behind him with a few tangles forming near the spot where his head met his neck and his bun fell undone. With his eyes still closed, I noticed how long his eyelashes were. His breathing was slow and steady, only audible because of how close we were, and his lips parted ever-so-slightly into a pout.

Leave it to Juniper to be pretty even as he slept. There wasn’t a filter out there that could imitate how much he always seemed to glow, no matter what his temperament was.

My throat itched, but it was likely something a cup of coffee could fix. I chalked it up to having passed out on the couch and didn’t think much else of it.

I felt a slight movement beneath my head: it was Juniper rolling his shoulders back. A small grunt bubbled in his throat but never passed his lips. Something popped and was followed by additional cracking and creaking sounds as he wiggled his hips once to the left and then again to the right.

To avoid looking like I’d been admiring his otherworldly beauty—which I totally had been—I glanced at the television. It felt like the “Are you still watching?” prompt was patronizing me for staring at Juniper.

In the black reflection of the screen, I could see the full picture of us: Sasquatch’s head on my lap, my head on Juniper’s shoulder, one of my arms wrapped around his, and Juniper lifting his head from mine. That was when I realized he’d fallen asleep with his head resting on my own.

If this wasn’t some weird alternate dimension, I really should pick up some of his meds to keep handy, assuming this ever happened again—which, for as much as I doubted it would, a part of me hoped.

“Good morning.” Juniper’s voice was even deeper and gruffer with sleep than it was on a normal day. The tone was enough to make my knees feel like they were jelly instead of bones. Thank God I was sitting with a Newfoundland weighing me down, otherwise, I might have melted right off the couch.

As I unraveled my arm from his, I cleared my throat as subtly as I could. “Good morning. Sorry, I must have totally crashed last night.”

Juniper rubbed his eyes. “Don’t sweat it. You and Sasquatch looked so comfortable I would have felt like a dick if I’d nudged you.”

At the sound of Juniper’s voice, Sasquatch perked up. The Newfoundland squinted in satisfaction when I petted between his ears again, but after only a few seconds, he jumped to the floor. He ran to the counter where Juniper kept his medicine, opened it, and then bounded around the coffee table to reach Juniper’s right side. Sasquatch nudged Juniper’s thigh, medicine bottle in his mouth.

“It’s alright, bud,” Juniper said to the dog. “Good boy.”

Seeing how gentle he was with Sasquatch, and the sleep still lingering in his voice, made me want to kiss him. It would be so easy to lean up and do that with how close we were still sitting, the slight pout of his lips so tempting. I knew I should get up and thank him for watching crappy reality TV with me, but I couldn’t will myself to stand up.

I wanted to kiss him.

I wanted to kiss Juniper Hart.

Shit.

“Do you need anything?” I asked, hoping to push the thought from my head. Juniper may have been something of a friend now, but he was my boss first and foremost.

But I’d never fallen asleep on the couch with my last boss and his dog, nor did I ever think of kissing him. Come to think of it, I wasn’t even sure if the old suit and tie had a dog.

“I’ll be alright. Squatch can tell when I’m having a flare-up. It’s one of the things he was trained for.”

“I swear, dogs are smarter than the lot of us.”

Juniper chuckled. “I have to agree with you on that.” He stood and stretched with his arms overhead, clasping his fingers together as his body cracked and popped a few more times. I tried not to stare—and failed—as his shirt rose, revealing a thin strip of skin above the waistline of his pants that I wanted to press my lips against.

I reached for the water on the coffee table from the night before, chugging a few sips. The light sting in my throat soothed, as I thought it would.

“Meet me at The Elk’s Head in a few? We can grab breakfast before we get started today. My treat.”

I nodded. “Sure. Let me freshen up.”

“Yeah, same.” He reached for the knots in his hair with a nervous chuckle. “This may take me a minute, so no rush.”

“Do you need a detangler?”Why was I still talking?The longer I was around him, the more unprofessional my thoughts became. “I have a great one you can borrow. If it works on this mane, it should definitely work on your hair.”

“Oh, you sure?”

“Yeah,” I said as I stood from the couch. “Let me get it before you go.”

As I grabbed the detangling spray from my bathroom, I made a mental note to let the cold water run over me for a few minutes before bumping the heat up as soon as he left.

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