Page 9 of See You Next Winter
“Since February. It was a really brief thing. She got a modelling contract in New York."
“A model?” I screech, throwing my hands in the air and shoving past him. “Well, that’s brilliant, isn’t it? Golden boy with his cool friends and his supermodel girlfriend coming back to fuck my life up.”
“We’re not even in touch,” he calls after me.
It used to be so easy when we were kids. We'd say goodbye, then live our separate lives, me in Scotland, him in London. He was just a friend I saw on holiday, and while it was a comfort knowing we'd be reunited the following winter, I never really missed him.
Obviously kissing complicated things, sex even more so, and somewhere along the line we decided this would be our own tradition. A‘what happens in the mountains, stays in the mountains’agreement that was clearly easier for him than it’s been for me.
“What is this all about, Kayla?” he asks, following me into the living room where I busy myself with straightening the sofa cushions and blankets. I hadn’t been expecting guests. Least of all him.
It’s been a busy week, and I’ve not kept on top of tidying. Though he’s been in my bedroom at my parents’ house plenty of times, I don’t want him judging me or the home I've built for myself.
“Oh shit, are you with someone?” he asks, and the cushion hits him square in the chest before my brain even registers I’ve chucked it.
“Do you think I’d have let you come in my mouth if I was with someone, Ryan?” I shriek, catching it when he throws it back. “Argh, you are so infuriating!”
“Have you been with anyone else?”
My jaw drops. That was not part of the deal. Our entire… whatever we are, only works on the understanding we don’t talk about whatever we get up to when we’re not in the mountains. We turn up, fuck as much as feasibly possible, and off we go. Him asking means he gives a shit, and I can’t have him dropping bombs like that when I’ve convinced myself he doesn’t.
“You’re not supposed to ask,” I say, turning away to pick up the empty cereal bowl I left on my coffee table this morning.
“Well, I’m asking.”
“This is the first time I’ve seen you in three years, so I think it would be pretty rude of you to expect me not to sleep with anyone else.”
“That’s fair.” He tries to touch my arm when I pass him, but I duck out of reach and the spoon goes clattering across the kitchen floor. I squat to pick it up and when I look at him, all I see is heat in his eyes.
“Don’t you stand there half-naked and hot and give me that look.” I pick his t-shirt up off the kitchen floor and throw it at him. He’s not quick enough, and when it lands on his face, I pinch my lips together to hide my satisfied smile. “Put your clothes on before you talk to me in my house.”
He grabs the rest of his things and disappears to clean himself up. I pull a pan from the cupboard and click on the stovetop to warm milk. Once little bubbles appear on the surface, I add two scoops of chocolate flakes and stir them slowly with my grandma’s old wooden spoon.
Ryan has the sense to keep his mouth shut when he gets back, pulling out a stool to sit at my breakfast bar. I focus on the dull scrape of the spoon against the bottom of the pan, making sure the milk doesn’t catch. When all the chocolate has melted, I pour the rich liquid into two mugs and carry them over to where he waits, watching. My place isn’t big, and there’s no option but to hop up onto the other stool.
“So you missed me?” he says.
“Of course I missed you, but I’m still mad as hell.”
“I like you mad.” He ducks his head to nip at my jaw. “Makes me want to put you over my knee.”
My core clenches at the thought. He’s very good at spanking, always takes his time to really draw it out and tease me until I’m a begging mess. Whenever I’ve asked someone else to do it, it hasn’t been nearly as good.
“Did you miss me?” I ask him and immediately wish I hadn’t. I shouldn’t care, and this is only going to end badly.
“Are you kidding me? Winters are nothing without you. Winters aren’t even winter in California.”
“How long are you here for?”
“We fly home January 3rd.”
Almost two weeks. Two weeks I’ve crammed with ski tour bookings, so I wouldn’t have to spend my time pining over him.
“I have a lot of work on,” I tell him.
“So squeeze me in whenever you can.”
I ignore him and lose myself in my hot chocolate instead. There’ll be pockets of time, but if he wants them, he’ll have to grovel.
