Page 45 of Jump

“I’m ready.” She grabs her keys and walks toward the wall of barking dogs.

It’s an audible attack, for a man who is not used to the constant noise, but she doesn’t even appear to notice the cacophony as she flips lights off and meanders to a control panel by the front door. She sets the thermostat to keep the dogs warm overnight, then the alarm system, then swinging open the heavy front door, she wanders out and watches as I follow and shut the door at my back.

Snow flurries race in circles, and my bare arms turn a gnarly shade of blue in the time it takes to get from the front of the building, into her car. Snow doesn’t fall from the sky, but it sits on the ground and floats up when the wind catches the softer flakes that haven’t yet stuck.

My lips chatter, and my jaw aches.

I’m a man used to the fire. My body has adapted to blistering heat, which leaves no room for it to learn the cold. But Viv starts her car and cranks her heater right up, then she twists in her seat and snags a blanket from the back.

“It would be smart if you stopped coming out into the winter weather in just a shirt, Matt.”

While I burrow beneath the blanket and tug it to my chin, she rolls her eyes and pushes her car into gear.

“If you get sick,” she chides, “you’ll be home all alone and dealing with it yourself.”

“You wouldn’t take care of me?”

She chokes out a laugh and pulls away from the Friendly Paws driveway and onto the main road. “I’m not the type to volunteer to care for sick people.”

“So you’re heartless?” I taunt. “Cruel.”

“Busy,” she counters. “Twelve hours of my day, six days of the week, are already accounted for. The one day I get to myself, the one chance I might have to sleep in, can become undone if Jase isn’t feeling well. And if I get sick…” she indicates to turn onto the next street, “if I catch your cold because you decided to run in a tee-shirt in the winter, then my entire business is in trouble, and the poor animals who depend on me are let down. So no.” She brings us around the corner and straightens the car out, while beneath the borrowed blanket, my legs begin to thaw. “I won’t hang around you while you’re coughing out germs and spreading illness. But I bet if you ask Axel nicely…”

“He’ll tell me to fuck myself,” I chuckle. “Yeah. So I’m on my own.”

“And you have fair warning.” She brings us to a stop outside our apartment and cuts the engine so fast, I wonder if she’s counting every single drop of gas in her tank. “You’re not sick right now, which means if you become unwell at a later date, you will have been fairly warned. No one is coming to save you. So next time you decide to go for a run at night, in November, wear appropriate layers.” Grinning, she meets my eyes, and cuts me straight to my fucking core. Then she snatches her keys and opens her door so the heat we’ve managed to squirrel away is sucked out again, and my skin breaks out in goosebumps anew.

I keep hold of my blanket and climb out my side of the car, but when I realize that forgetting to return it would mean risking her being cold someday in the future, I take one last whiff of the lilac-and-dog scent, then toss the heavy fabric onto her passenger seat before slamming the door shut and crossing my arms to keep my chest warm.

“Was there something specific you wanted?” She shivers under her coat and makes her way up the stairs before unlocking our front door with tremoring fingers. “Or were you just lonely?”

My breath comes out on a white cloud as I follow her into our apartment. The heat inside is like stepping into a shower. It’s so comforting, so enveloping, I have to stifle the groan that fights to roll along my throat. “We had things to discuss.”

Although she wanders left to the kitchen, I move right, into my room, to snag a thick hoodie.

“You read mine, I read yours,” I call out. “You left a note and said you’d be working late.” I drop my hoodie over my head and battle with the fabric until I find the right hole, then step back into the hall to follow my nose to her. “I knew what time you’d be finishing up, and I needed my run. So I figured I’d run toward you. Maybe even save you from working all damn night and sleeping with the dogs.”

“Funny,” she drawls, “you seem to think I need to be saved.”

I walk into the kitchen and find her pouring a glass of red wine. She looks me up and down, seemingly approving of my more weather-appropriate wardrobe change. Then moving to the fridge, she holds the wine bottle in one hand, and a beer in the other.

She’s offering, so I step forward and accept the second. “Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

She caps the wine, while I uncap my beer, then closing the fridge, she picks up her glass and takes a small sip that ends with a content sigh. “I’ve been to the lake a million times. I’ve been there, with alcohol and my friends, a million times. Yet, you felt the need to check up on us.”

“Just doing my civic duty.” I grab both books that remain on the kitchen counter and turn toward the living room.

She follows, her eyes on my hands like a hound on the scent.

“Cold weather,” I continue, circling the couch and sitting on one end, “freezing water, and alcohol.” I reposition myself as she sits on the other end, and lift one leg so my knee rests against the back cushions. “People have died under better circumstances.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I was entirely safe, as I always am. And your little stunt, with the whole ‘read a book and stay in’, was only mostly successful.”

I bring my beer up and take a sip. “You didn’t stay in, though.”

“No, but I went out and read the whole time. Hannah thought I was a complete bore, and my date felt I was exceptionally rude.”

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