Page 75 of War on Christmas

Forty-Six

FREYA

Tap-tap-tap.

I wrap my arms around myself, teeth chattering, and wish I’d dragged on more than a thin hoodie. I’d considered reaching out to Jeremy in the morning, but I knew I’d be in for a night of tossing and turning, envisioning the worst. My mind wasn’t on my wardrobe as I’d thrown on whatever I could grab and climbed out my bedroom window.

So, here I am. Colder than a witch’s tit.

I reach out to tap on the window again, eggplant fingernail an inch from the glass, when it slides open with a squeak. I scurry back, nearly falling on my ass in the snow as Jeremy, wearing a plain black T-shirt, leans out the window. Instead of the easy smile I’d been hoping for, he raises a thick, sandy eyebrow, his handsome face inscrutable.

So, it’s going to be like that then.I take a deep breath. Press my hands to my stomach.

“Hey,” I mumble.

His second eyebrow joins the first.

Damn. Tough audience.

“I came back,” I blurt out, then chew at my lip. “Obviously. I mean, I’m here.”Oh gods.“You must feel like your life has been nothing but drama since we’ve been hanging out, but—”

“I never complained,” he shoots back.

His forehead creases into a V, but even scowling, he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. The moon is round and bright and nearly full. It highlights the sharp cut of his cheekbones and his long nose, throws shadows on the defined muscles of his arms as his fingers flex around the windowsill.

“You’re right,” I whisper. Jeremy may love to tease and taunt me. And there was that spanking. But he’s never complained about me or the drama I inevitably stir up.

I run my hands along my thighs, trying to dry my sweaty palms on my leggings. How I’m simultaneously sweating and bordering on frostbite, I’ll never know, but that’s where love gets you, I guess.

Silence stretches between us, Jeremy’s eyes glowing silver in the dark, revealing nothing.

This is it. Our moment. The stories from this afternoon’s car ride race through my brain, but they all feel so…big. Dramatic. I don’t know why that bothers me.Iam usually big and dramatic. But I don’t want drama right now. I want to feel safe. It’s like my breastbone has been cracked and pried open à laGrey’s Anatomy, leaving my beating heart quivering and exposed. I want to make things right, but can’t I do that with a gesture that’s, I don’t know,smaller? So that if Jeremy rejects me, I still have a teeny, tiny shred of dignity I can army crawl back to Chicago with?

“I was thinking…” I trail off. Twist my hands together in front of me. “I was thinking that maybe…after Christmas…”

I swallow.Shit. Why am I fucking this up so badly?He’s not going to reject me…is he? It’s Jeremy. It was always meant to be him. Him and me. Even if I didn’t want to admit it. Fate wouldn’t have thrown us together again just so he could turn me down. I mean,he’sthe one who suggested dating in the first place.

“After Christmas…” he drawls.

Oh gods. Here goes nothing.

I shrug. Try to look casual. Like I don’t know I busted his heart into smithereens yesterday morning. Just like mine.

“Maybe we could, I don’t know…go on a date?”

There. I said it. My hands are numb, and I don’t know if it’s the cold or an impending panic attack, but I said it. I exhale and lift my gaze from the snowy ground to his face, expecting to see that summer-and-sunshine smile he shares so easily. Especially with me.

He snorts.

“You want to go on a date?” he repeats, his tone suggesting I requested something truly ridiculous.

“Yes?” I ask. “I mean—that’s what you wanted. Right?”

His eyes narrow as he considers me like an especially difficult calculus problem.

Good luck, buddy. Math has rules; this brain is all anarchy.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “I did.” I sigh, releasing my breath with a misty puff, but before I can feel relieved, he adds, “But the terms have changed.”

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