by Elle Kennedy
“Yeah, got a problem with that?” To Siri, I dictate, “Hey dipshit, at least I wasn’t sneaking around taking baths with pink dildos.” With a smug nod, I press send. “There. That’ll shut him up for a while.”
Up ahead, the road gets narrower and windier, summoning a worried frown from Grace. “Where is this place?”
“I told you, it’s rustic.”
“Rustic.”
“Oh, come on, don’t give me that look. It’s not like we’re gonna be sleeping outside in a tent. I told you, we’ll have a huge bed, a roaring fireplace…” I waggle my eyebrows enticingly.
“You’re really trying to sell me on this fireplace.”
“Because it’s fucking awesome and I wish we had one in the apartment.”
“No, you don’t. They’re a fire hazard.”
“You’re a fire hazard.” I wink at her. “Because you’re so hot.”
Grace sighs.
For the next five miles, we chat about nothing in particular, until Grace becomes apprehensive again.
“The snow is picking up,” she says.
It is. What started off as light flurries is now falling harder and sticking to the road. The sun has completely set and the sky is pitch-black, the Mercedes’ top-of-the-line headlights the only thing illuminating our way. Maybe it’s good I don’t have my truck anymore—the right headlight was always flickering, and the left one was too pale. We’d be driving blind right now if we were in that pickup. It was a piece of shit, but I loved it.
“Do you think we should turn around?” Grace asks.
I glance at her. “And go where?”
Her teeth worry her bottom lip. “Back to the highway maybe?”
“The highway’s an hour away.”
“Yeah, but according to the GPS, it’s still another hour and a half to the B&B. Technically we’re closer to the interstate.”
“We can’t just bail,” I chide. “We’re not quitters, babe.”
“But it’s…” She trails off.
“It’s what?”
“It’s dark and scary!” she wails. “Look out the window, Logan. I feel like we’re in a horror movie.”
She’s not entirely wrong. Save for the two yellow stripes from the headlights, the road is dark and the snow isn’t letting up. If anything, the weather’s only getting worse. The wind has picked up, a deafening gust beyond my window. It’s troublesome that I can’t hear the damn engine and yet I can clearly hear the wind.
“All right, hold on, let’s figure this out,” I finally say.
I click the emergency blinkers and pull onto the shoulder of the narrow road. Though I probably don’t need the emergency lights, considering we haven’t seen another car in ages.
I grab my phone from the cup holder. I only have two bars, but it’s enough to load the weather app.
“Shit,” I say a moment later.
“What is it?” Grace leans toward me to peer at the screen.
“Apparently there’s a blizzard tonight. What the hell. It said nothing about a blizzard when I checked the weather earlier.”
“Did you…” She stops.
“Did I what?” I demand.
Grace exhales ruefully. “Did you check the weather for Boston or did you check the weather for northern Vermont?”
I pause.
“Boston,” I grumble.
“Babe.”
“I’m sorry. That was dumb of me.” I lick my lips in an overly lewd way. “Want to spank me for being a bad boy?”
A glint of lust lights her eyes. I chuckle softly. We both know she loves how dirty I am. I’m not shy about what I want and what I like, and Grace has gotten pretty good at voicing her desires too. That’s why our sex life is so phenomenal.
“Maybe later,” she says, her face growing serious. “Let’s focus. It looks like this area is expecting more than a foot of snow tonight.”
“They always say that, and it’s never that much,” I argue.
Stricken, she peers out the dark window. “I don’t know… It’s really piling up out there.”
“So what do you want to do? You want to turn around? Because I think we can beat the snow and get there before the worst of the storm hits.”
She chews on her lower lip. It’s so goddamn adorable. I’m tempted to lean over and kiss the hell out of her.
“Fine, let’s do it,” she decides. “Just don’t speed, okay? I want to get there alive.”
“Deal. I’ll spare our lives.”
She snickers.
I steer back onto the road, and despite its stupidly expensive winter tires, the SUV actually skids.
Grace yelps. “Logan!”
“Sorry. I’m not speeding, I swear. It’s just slippery.” I ease up on the gas, proceeding to drive with more caution.
For the next twenty minutes, we don’t speak. We’re too focused on the drive and the worsening weather. A wall of white has appeared in front of our car. All the snow accumulating on the ground and on the hood of the Mercedes tells me a foot of it isn’t a far-fetched estimate. To make matters worse, this area is so isolated, I doubt any snowplows or salt trucks pay it many visits. Eventually the road becomes treacherous, and it isn’t long before I’m driving at a crawl.
“John,” Grace says in concern.
“I know,” I say grimly.
But it’s too late to turn back now. The interstate is too far behind us. The GPS says we’re about forty minutes from the B&B, but at the pace we’re traveling, we won’t reach it for several hours.
“Shit,” I curse. “Okay. Keep an eye out. Maybe we’ll see somewhere we can stop.”
“Like where?”
“I don’t know. A motel? An inn?”
A note of panic creeps into her voice. “Babe, there’s nothing here. We’re literally in the middle of nowhere—” She jumps when the SUV skids again.
“Sorry.” My hands are curled tightly around the steering wheel. I lean forward and intently stare out the windshield like an elderly lady who forgot her glasses at home.
“Should we pull over and wait it out?” Grace frets.
I think it over. “Probably not a good idea. What if we get snowed in at the side of the road? I say we keep going.”
“Sure, let’s keep going at this brisk pace of zero miles an hour,” she says sarcastically. “We’ll get there at dawn.”
“It won’t take that long—” Something suddenly flies past the windshield.
A gust of blowing snow, I realize half a second later, but it’s too late. I’d already instinctively tapped the brakes. Just lightly, yet even that soft touch sends the car into a fishtail.
“Fuck.” I attempt to steer out of the skid, but the tires swing sharply, and this time I can’t control it. The next thing I know the Mercedes is barreling toward the slope at the shoulder.
“Hang on!” I shout, white-knuckling the wheel as we fly off the road.
7
Grace
My pounding heart nearly busts out of my chest horror-movie style as the SUV fishtails dizzyingly out of control. When it finally comes to a stop, my hands are shaking and I’m weak with relief.
I plaster my face to the window. All I see is total darkness, broken only by the thin columns of the headlights. They’re pointing at a stretch of white. Nothing but snow fills my line of sight. We’re at the bottom of a small slope, but it might as well be a mountain. When I peer up to where I think the road is, it feels impossibly far.
Logan is breathing hard beside me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” We didn’t hit anything. We’re both in one piece, and so is our vehicle. “We have four-wheel drive, right? Can we make it back up to the road?”
He purses his lips. Assesses the situation. “I mean, we can try. Worst-case scenario, I’ll get out and push.”
“You’re going to push an SUV up a snow hill?” I say in dismay. “I mean, I know you’re a big sexy beast, but—”
“Thanks, baby.” He sputters out a laugh.
“No problem. But I don’t think you’re strong enough for the job.”
“Ye of little faith.”
I roll my eyes. “Prove me wrong, then. But let’s do it now, because I’d like to try to get out of here before we die.”
“We’re not going to die.” But there’s a serious note in his voice.
He moves the gearshift to drive and gently presses the gas pedal. The car eases forward, much to my relief. Good. At least we’re not stuck in some inescapable snowdrift.
Logan drives a few feet, then starts to turn toward the slope. It’s not at all steep, but the Mercedes ascends only about a foot before it struggles. Logan hits the gas. The car won’t budge another inch.
“Shit.” He accelerates again.
I feel the tires laboring to try to gain some traction.
But it’s not happening.
“Guess I’m pushing,” Logan says in resignation. As I look on miserably, he reverses down the slope and puts the car in park. “All right, gorgeous. It’s your time to shine.”
I laugh weakly.
He zips up his coat and grabs his wool hat from the center console. He shoves it over his head, then takes a pair of gloves out of his pocket.
“Well,” he announces with a wry grin, “this is gonna suck.”
“I can come and help you push.”
“No, I need you to steer and work the pedals.”
After he hops out, I climb into the driver’s seat and buckle up, then feel a bit stupid for doing so. But better safe than sorry, right? When I open the window so I can hear his instructions, a gust of bitterly cold air slaps me in the face.
“All right,” I hear Logan’s muffled yell. “On the count of three, hit the gas and I’ll give you a little push. Okay?”
“Okay,” I call out the window.
He begins to count. “One…two…three.”
I slam my boot on the gas. The car shoots forward. A foot, two feet. And then it keeps moving.
“Yes!” I shout. “It’s working.” We’re about halfway up now.
“Keep going!” Logan hollers his encouragement. “We got this, kiddo.”
“Did you just call me kiddo?”
“Yeah, sorry, G got in my head!”
We’re shouting over the wind.
“Oh my God, would it kill you to make any sort of sense ever?”
“Forget it. Just keep your foot on the gas. We got this.”
He’s right. A few more yards and—
Except we don’t got this. I hear a loud curse, and then the car slides backward several feet.
Holy shit, is he still behind me? Alarm tightens my throat. What if I’m running him over?
Before I can blink, the car rolls right back to where we started. Dammit.
Relief pounds into me when Logan’s wind-burnt face appears in the driver’s side window.
“I slipped,” he growls. “Sorry.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” I say, breathing hard. “I wasn’t fast enough with the brakes. I could’ve killed you.”
“Let’s try again.”
“But what if you slip again? I don’t want to run you over. I like you.”
His muscular chest shudders with laughter.
“Besides, I honestly don’t think we can do it. Let’s just call a tow truck,” I advise.
“Fine.”
Logan gets back in the car, sliding into the passenger side. He grabs his phone and checks the screen. “Shit, I’m down to one bar. How about you?”
“Zero bars,” I answer cheerfully.
“One bar for the win.”
Rather than Google the number for a tow truck, he pops open the glove compartment and rummages inside. “I have complimentary road assistance with Mercedes,” he says at my questioning look.
“Fancy.”
“Number should be in here somewhere.”
He finally finds the paperwork. Dials. When someone answers, he provides a policy number and explains the situation. He gives our location, listens for a moment, then rolls his eyes.
“They put me on hold,” he tells me.
And while we’re on hold, the call drops because of the weak signal, so he’s forced to call back and do the whole thing all over again.
“I just called,” he grumbles after being asked a bunch of questions. “Someone was checking for me when the call failed and—” He bites out a curse and glares at me. “They put me on hold.”
I giggle.
This time he survives the hold, but the response we get is not ideal. “In the morning?” he exclaims. “Seriously?”
“We’ll be dead by then,” I hiss.
Logan grins at me. “We won’t be dead by then—no, no, sorry, I was talking to my girlfriend. But that’s way too long. Come on, man. You gotta get someone here sooner. We’re stuck at the bottom of a hill in the middle of a blizzard.” He pauses. “I understand it’s New Year’s Eve, but—” He stops for a beat, then snarls like an irate beast. “They put me on fucking hold.”
8
Logan
Six hours. The roadside assistance dispatcher managed to reduce our wait time from twelve hours to six. Which is fantastic, except six hours still means we’re stuck here until about three a.m.
Looks like we’re ringing in the New Year in our car.
We don’t have another choice, though. We’re stranded, and there’s no way we’re leaving this vehicle. I’ve seen movies. Nothing good ever comes from leaving your car in a storm. Outside sucks. Inside the Mercedes is nice and toasty. For now, anyway.
Although we have more than half a tank of gas, I don’t want to take any chances, so I turn to Grace and say, “Let’s turn it off for now.”
“You mean the heat?” She looks horrified. “We’ll freeze to death.”
“Nah. I’ll keep you warm, I promise.”
Her eyes twinkle. “Ooooh. How are you gonna do that?”
I gesture to the back seat. “Get back there and make yourself comfy. I’ve got some goodies in the trunk for us.”
As she climbs over the center console, I hop outside and once again endure the frigid night air. Snowflakes dance around my head and stick to my cheeks as I walk into the wind and round the SUV. I’ve kept an emergency kit in every vehicle I’ve ever driven, and this one is no different. I grew up in New England—I know the drill. Blanket, candles, water, the usual survival gear. But I also brought some extra treats for our New Year’s Eve getaway.
“Incoming,” I call, tossing a thick fleece blanket over the partition between the trunk and the back seat.
“Thank you!” she calls back.
I grab the canvas bag and close the trunk, then suffer four more seconds of snow and wind before sliding in next to Grace. “Fuck, it’s cold,” I gripe.
She’s already under the blanket, lifting it so I can join her. I’m too big for the blanket, so my boots stick out the bottom, but I don’t care. Cuddling with my girl is all I care about.
“What’s in the bag?” she asks curiously.
“First of all—this.” I pull out a bottle of cheap champagne. “It’s a twist top,” I say with a rueful grin. “You know I’d normally spring for the good bubbly, but I didn’t want to be blowing corks into the B&B walls.”
Grace snickers. “Blowing corks? That sounds so dirty.”
“Also, I didn’t pack any glasses because I assumed we’d have some in our room. So I guess we’re drinking straight out of the bottle.”
“Classy!”
“Hey, I’m the son of a mechanic. I grew up with grease and oil on my hands and face and—actually.” I shrug. “It was all over me, all the time.”
“Hot.”
I arch a brow. “Is that so?”
“Are you kidding me? I’d pay you to let me rub oil all over you. All those glistening muscles…” She shivers, and I know it’s not from the cold.
I make a mental note—Grace wants to see me all oiled up. I bet I could make that happen next time I have a n
ight off. I mean, I’m all about making her feel good. Whatever it takes to get her off, I’m up to the task.
“Should we open this baby now or wait till midnight?”
She mulls it over. “Let’s wait. It’ll be a little less depressing if we’re at least drinking champagne when the clock strikes twelve.”
“Whatcha calling depressing? This is romantic.” I pull her toward me. “C’mere.”
A second later we’re snuggled up, my arm wrapped around her shoulders, her cheek pressed against my chest. The car’s still warm, and we have our combined body heat, but the warmth only lasts about fifteen minutes. As Grace chats about the news show she’s producing for Briar, I notice her breath starting to escape in white puffs.
“One sec,” I interrupt, stretching toward the front seat. “Let’s turn on the heat for a bit.”
We do this for the next hour—let the heat build up, turn it off to conserve it, and then blast hot air again when we start shivering.
“I feel like there’s got to be a better way to stay warm,” Grace says after I shut the heat for the billionth time.
“Mmm-hmmm?” I give her a wolfish grin.
“That’s not what I meant, but…” She grins back. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“Not a bad idea at all,” I agree, and then I thread my fingers through her hair, tilt her head back, and cover her mouth with mine.
I love kissing her. Sometimes when I’m on the team jet trying to sleep or when my mind wanders in the locker room, I think about the first time Grace and I kissed. I’d accidentally shown up at her dorm room thinking it was my buddy’s. Instead, I found a freshman watching Die Hard movies and eating candy. I joined her, because, why not? She was cute and I was bored. But somehow it went from a movie night to a make-out session. My hand down her pants and her hand down mine.
Man, that was such a good night. When I mistakenly knocked on that door, I never in a million years thought I’d fall in love with the girl behind it. Or that we’d be sharing an apartment, a bed. Building a life together. And now here we are in the back seat of our roomy Mercedes, and she’s falling backward onto her elbows while my body lowers onto hers. Her hands tangle in my hair, eager tongue slipping into my mouth.