Page 11 of Oh No, My Best Friend Hates Christmas!

My arms lower, wrapping around his where they squeeze me. I twine my fingers with his, then lean back further against his body, forcing him back too until we’re nearly at a forty-five-degree angle. We slow marginally, then more and more as the sled levels out at the bottom of the mountain. Coming to a slow stop, we topple over the side of the sled and into the soft snow.

We lie there on our sides, me in front and Baz still wrapped around me, catching our breath. Once I can breathe freely, I untangle our limbs enough to roll, pushing him onto his back and propping myself up on his chest.

“That. Was. Exhilarating!” I yell, beaming down at him. He winces, grunts, then throws an arm around my neck and buries my face in his chest.

It was not.

I rub my nose against the warmth of his coat and let my body melt against his. The more time we spend cuddling on the ground, the more time I can spend pretending we aren’t about to hike the rest of the way home.

Stupid Archie.

Unfortunately, Baz doesn’t let us laze for long. After only a couple of measly little minutes, he gives me aget uppat. I do, grouching the whole way up, and he follows. He takes a quick moment to get his bearings before heading in what I trust is the right direction.

Not that it matters. I’d follow Baz anywhere. To home or deeper into the woods – as long as I’m with him, I know I’ll be okay.

“Archie is on mylist,” I snarl, walking behind Baz so that I can step in his boot prints. “What is wrong with him? Was he dropped on his head as a baby? I know the man likes torture, but he’s not supposed to tortureus. He’s supposed to save that for the bad people!” I stomp into the next Bazzy bootprint. “Is he bored? Is it slow season for torturers? Do torturershavea slow season? You used to kill people. Surely you’ve got some kind of inside scoop into Archie’s demented little mind.”

Baz stops to look over his shoulder at me, eyebrows raised.

Ah. Right.

“Not that I thinkyou’redemented! Or anything like Archie!” I smile an apology, grimacing. My legs work double-time to get me to Baz’s side, and I grab his hand. Walking backward, I pull him in the direction we’d been heading. “I’d never imply anything so crazy! Or rude! You’re Basil Cole, the most wonderful man on Earth. Other men look at you and tremble! Women fall at your feet!” Unfortunately true. Ugh. “You would never be anything like stinky, stupid, annoying Archie. You–”

I trip over a tree root, and the most wonderful man on Earth tumbles after me. He catches himself, thankfully, before all twelve trillion pounds of muscle lands on top of me. I look up at his face – hisvery closeface – and blink.

“Oh,” I say, because I am a genius. A blush works its way up my chest and neck, joining the frigid redness on my face. Baz’s hot chocolate eyes trace the warmth on my neck up the side of my face all the way to my eyes.

I’ve never seen this expression on him before, and to be honest, it’s freaking me out a little. He looks predatory – a jungle cat ready to pounce.

It’s scary.

It’s electrifying.

My lungs are barely taking in any air, and my heart appears to have stopped working altogether. He erases a centimeter of space between us, and my lungs give up the ghost as well.

“Bazzy?” I wheeze.

“Yeah, baby?” he rumbles back.

Oh my gosh.

Oh my gosh.

Oh my gosh.

That wasnota friendly, platonicbaby. That was a hot, large British man type ofbaby.

I moan a low, embarrassing sound.

His face loses its feral edge, and he hums what might be amusement. I can’t tell, because I am dead.

Dead.

So, so dead.

And the afterlife is lovely, thanks for asking.

He leans down, getting rid of those pesky final inches between us, and pecks a quick kiss on my cheek.

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