Page 13 of For the Win
“I don’t get lost. And you wouldn’t either if you stuck to the trail.”
First there was a cabin, now there’s atrail? And he doesn’t get lost? Hello, overconfidence. Being toted around by such an arrogantly mesmerizing sweet-and-sourpuss shouldn’t do it for me, but this guy is… Whew. I’d like to do it right back to him. Naked and in the first bed we can find.
Nowyou can fantasize? Worst timing in the world. You think the cold is only affecting your arms and legs? Imagine the size of your dick right now. Go ahead. I’ll wait.
That information is upsetting, but not a game changer, because my mouth is working fine and I have no problem going down for a good cause. Though the last time I did that, he ruined me for all other men.
Speaking of which… “Where did you go that night?”
He stops walking for a second and then drawls, “So you do remember me,” before starting forward again, going up what must be stairs. I see a porch railing and a roof cutting off the endless torrent of snow. Shelter. We’re here. Wherever here is.
“I guess you didn’t hit your head after all,” he continues. “I was worried you had a convenient case of amnesia. Like that time Serkan disappeared right before he married Eda.”
Or maybe Ididhit my head, because holy shit, my interrupted hookup is talking about my favorite show. Does he actually remember me mentioning those names?
This has to be a dream. There’s no way he said that. No way he’s here. Why would he be here?
Maybe he was invited.
My heart stutters in sudden panic as I try to connect the most obvious dots. I’ve only seen him twice, first at the pub and now here. The two places only have one thing in common. It would be just my luck if the man I haven’t been able to stop thinking about was dating a Finn, and their relationship was serious enough for him to be invited to the big anniversary party.
Too bad I accidentally pass out before I can ask him.
CHAPTER FIVE
This isn’tthe first time I’ve dreamt of baked goods, but the scent of warm, sugary goodness is too realistic and tantalizing to ignore. It’s also suspect, since my roommate can’t follow the directions on a tube of cookie dough and once set fire to our kitchen due to a midnight hot dog craving. Seriously, how do you ruin hot dogs?
That last thought drags me fully into consciousness, though I’m still weighing my desire to remain in bed like a slug versus my need to investigate and possibly call the fire department. It doesn’t smell like anything’s burning. Maybe Connor brought something home from our favorite bakery after practice. Did he have practice today?
I start to stretch, wiggling my toes experimentally, and flinch at the surprise stab of pain.
Ski lodge. Twisted ankle. Gorgeous-but-suspicious rescuer I almost had sex with once.
“Not his Yeti cousin,” I rasp, my throat dry and raw. As I rush to a sitting position, three blankets and two tiny creatures tumble off my chest and into my lap. “What the…?”
Big mistake. Way too soon. I cradle my throbbing head in my hands and try to make sense of my new situation.
This isn’t my bed; it’s an oddly comfortable sleeper sofa. And those aren’t my dogs. I’m not even sure theyaredogs, but it doesn’t matter because they’re zooming around on the mountain of blankets, looking like over-caffeinated Ewoks or teddy bears, and I need them to be mine.
Have I mentioned teddy bears recently?
I couldn’t have, because that didn’t happen. I rememberimaginingit happening, which is the only thing that makes any sense now that I’m room temperature and back in my right mind.
My dreams about him are usually more sexual and rarely plausible, but not even my subconscious would expect me to believe that the guy whose cock I sucked one night just happened to rescue me in a snowstorm this far away from the city two months later.
There’s coincidence, and then there’s that. The plot line would be laughed out of my survival tragicomedy. Too contrived,they’d say, whoever they are. And they’d be right.
It’s not that much of a coincidence if he’s dating someone at the lodge.
Right. I close my eyes on a silent groan, because my almost-hookup being someone else’s plus-one at this event would be on brand for me. But the longer I consider that possibility, the more I have my doubts.
No, it’s not just wishful thinking. Bex works for Tanaka, and he’s very involved in the personal business of his fiancé’s family, which means I’ve heard all the gossip. And what I’ve heard is that there are only a few single members left. People actually make bets on who’ll be the next to fall to Tanaka’s machinations, but no one is holding their breath with the final three.
One moved back from Florida and, instead of rejoining the police force, got a construction job and just received his six-year sobriety chip. He never dates. Another is focused on his son andcounseling firefighters recovering from injuries. The writer who hangs out at the pub just wrote a fantasy novel based on him, which I can’t wait to read. Maybe it will tell me why people still whisper about his handsome manny disappearing so abruptly a few years ago.
And then there’s Kate, who used to go through men and women like it was her job, but has shut down her social media accounts and been swearing since that awful night that those days are over if Bex would only give her a second chance. A real one this time.
I might be too emotionally invested in that last one to offer my opinion.
