Snowflake

by Cecelia Rose

  He nods slightly at me, a sly smile painted across his face as he slips from the room without a word. I collapse down on top of Spencer and let out a deep breath.

  “Fuck.”

  “Again already?” Spencer teases, running a hand up and down my back as he slides out of me.

  “Maybe after breakfast, coffee, and a shower,” I mumble back, snuggling against his chest. I let my eyes drift closed again, and sleep quickly drowns me under its waves of dreams. All of them featuring not just one, but two of the guys that live here.

  Chapter 6

  The hot water cascading down my body does little to remove me from my sleepy post-sex haze. I finish rinsing out the shampoo from my dark-blonde hair, and then step out from the shower. Snagging a large blue towel and wrapping it around myself, I look around for a smaller towel to use for my hair, but can’t find one. Guess I’ll have to go and ask for one.

  I step out into the guest bedroom that the bathroom is linked to and instantly feel grateful for whoever put the heating on so high. After quickly towelling myself off, I let the towel drop to the floor rather than adjusting it every five seconds to keep it on.

  With water dripping from my still-wet hair down my back, I walk over and start to dig through my small, purple suitcase. I freeze when a cough comes from the doorway, quickly turning around and trying to cover myself with my hands. I look up at Noah standing in the doorway, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, and what appears to be a plate with a full English breakfast in the other.

  “I brought breakfast,” he says, his eyes flicking between me and everywhere else. It’s as if he both wants to look, and wants to look anywhere but me.

  “I can see that, but I’m a little naked right now,” I reply, wishing there was a dignified way I could grab for my towel without flashing him everything. Unfortunately I realise that must have gotten a pretty good view from behind just then anyway.

  “I can see that,” he replies, mimicking my words. He pointedly looks me up and down. Well, at least he’s decided where to look.

  “Maybe you could just leave it on the dresser there,” I go to point at the dresser, and then quickly realise that’s not such a great idea, considering that arm was meant to be covering my chest. Hastily slapping my arm back across myself, I feel my face practically sting from the heat in it.

  “Yeah, I could,” he says, but then just stands there, staring not so subtly at my chest. Maybe he’s hoping I’ll point again.

  “Now, maybe?” I suggest.

  “Oh, yeah, now,” he replies, looking up and gazing into my eyes. I notice that the copper tones in his brown eyes catch in the light, giving him an almost unique look to them. He pulls his eyes away after what could have been minutes, but is more than likely just seconds dragged out as I inspected the flecks of colour in them. He places the plate and mug down onto the dresser, and then pulls a knife and fork from his pocket, laying them down next to the plate.

  “Thank you,” I say softly as he goes to leave. He turns and I can almost see the thought light up his face before he speaks.

  “Oh, I added milk to the coffee, but I wasn’t sure if you took sugar. I can always run down and get you some, if you need it,” he says.

  “Nope. When it comes to coffee, I’m sweet enough already,” I reply. He runs his eyes over me again, a slow, intense visual perusal, before looking back up and meeting my eyes again.

  “I bet you are,” he teases. He turns back around and exits the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  Damn, these three guys are gonna kill me.

  I quickly slip on whatever clothing is closest to the top of my suitcase, the smell of breakfast far too inviting to ignore for long. I grab the coffee and the food and place them onto the bedside table. After sitting down cross-legged on the bed, I tuck straight into my food, feeling my tastebuds do happy dances on my tongue.

  Damn, Noah makes a good breakfast.

  Making quick work of my meal, the food is gone all too quickly. As I catch my reflection in the mirror I try not to linger on it. The negative thoughts I still have thanks to my mother never quite leave me, no matter how far away she is.

  Maybe I shouldn't have eaten all of that? They'll think I'm a pig now for sure.

  I shake my head, trying to physically shake off the dark thoughts. My relationship with food is better now, and I’m not about to let those issues creep back on me. I grab a woolly, black cardigan and pull it on quickly, before grabbing the plate to take downstairs. I can't exactly make their guest room messy when they've been kind enough to let me stay.

  I freeze in the doorway.

  What if Spencer is downstairs? Or Blake? Hell, even Noah just saw me naked. I've never been particularly shy in my relationship with sex, but I am stuck here for at least a few days. I need to keep things sensible here—I don't want to end up causing trouble and having nowhere to stay.

  After coming to the decision that I will ensure a more platonic stay with the guys, I make my way along the hallway, and then creep down the stairs. I manage to make it to the kitchen before I see anyone. Spencer is sitting on the kitchen side with a large, red mug in his hands. He looks up, and I feel his eyes drilling into me. I almost flee back out of the kitchen just from the intensity in his stare.

  He lifts the mug up to take a sip, and I catch what is written on the bottom… scrawled crudely in what appears to be permanent pen are the words, “Blow me, I’m hot.” Followed by a wink face.

  I let out a choked laugh, and a grin takes over his face as he lowers the cup. The tension somewhat broken, I step further into the room and place my plate on the side by the kitchen sink.

  “Dishwasher?” I ask, noting the fact the kitchen looks modern, new, and expensive. I'm sure they have one somewhere. Instead of answering, or moving, he opens his legs slightly and reaches down, opening the shiny, black cabinet door underneath him. That just had to be where the dishwasher is. Just. My. Luck. With a smug smile on his face, he doesn't make any sign of moving. I sigh and walk over, dropping to my knees to load my dish. Once it's in, I can't help but look up.

  “I quite like you at that height,” he teases.

  “I can't imagine why,” I say sarcastically, standing and going to step back, however he slinks an arm around me tugging me close against him. “What do you think you're doing?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

  “What do you think, awake Tamara,” he teases. Damn Him.

  He leans closer, his blue eyes not leaving mine. His lips are just inches away when the lyrics to an electronic, sped-up version of ‘I touch myself’ blares out from my phone somewhere.

  Shit. Whitney changed my damn ringtone again!

  I jump back from Spencer and look around, spotting my phone charging on the counter. I sure as hell didn't put it there. I grab the phone and quickly answer it, hoping to shut off the lyrics that are screeching about the joy of touching oneself. Turning back as I pull the phone to my ear, I see Spencer laughing his ass off at me. Great.

  “Thanks, Whitney,” I say as way of greeting.

  “Heya, doll-face. Why are you not home?” she asks, ignoring my sarcastic thanks.

  “I touch myself, really?” I question.

  “Oh, honey, I already knew you did that. I mean that drawer of yours—”

  “Whitney!” I snap, mortified in case Spencer caught that. The sly smile on his face says everything. Thanks, Whitney. Rolling my eyes, I accept the fact that Whitney will always be Whitney, but even as I think that, I know I wouldn't change her for the world.

  “Well, are you going to answer me, then?” she asks.

  “I'm stuck,” I reply.

  “Stuck?”

  “Yeah, I'm stuck on the island. The ferry isn't running, so I'm staying a little longer than I planned, I guess,” I answer.

  “Damn, when do you think you'll be home?”

  “Well, not until the 27th now I don't think,” I answer.

  “You'll miss awkward Christmas dinner with your mum,�
� she says.

  “I know,” I reply.

  “Does she know?” she asks mischievously.

  “Oh, she knows,” I answer, letting the dry tone in my voice explain exactly how well telling her went.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “It wasn't great. ‘You can try harder, Tamara.’ ‘You shouldn't have gone off gallivanting, Tamara.’ It was basically the usual,” I reply.

  “I know she's your mum, but screw her, dude,” she replies.

  “Hah, how I wish it were that easy.”

  “Damn it. I’m sorry to do this, babe, but I gotta run. Text me later, okay?” she says quickly.

  “Sure thing,” I reply.

  “Bye, Tam!”

  “Talk soon, Whit,” I say as I end the call. Tucking my phone into my pocket, I focus back on Spencer. “How did my phone get in here?” I ask.

  “We found it next to you and put it on charge, in case we needed to get a number for you friends or family,” a voice answers from behind me. I turn to see Blake walking into the kitchen. “Morning, Tamara,” he adds, a far too hot look in his eyes for my liking.

  I can’t help but picture his face when he watched me with Spencer earlier. How the hell am I going to rein this situation in before it spins anymore out of control?

  “You know, as much as I enjoy just looking at you, a response would be nice,” Blake says, earning a chuckle from Spencer behind me.

  “I was just thinking,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

  “Thinking about what?”

  “Nothing much.” Just working out how the hell I’m going to resist jumping all three of your bones while I’m stuck here. Turning back around, I catch Spencer's eyes keenly watching me, remind me that it’s too late as far as he’s concerned. Well, two out of three ain't bad. I’m pretty sure that was just one of the worst uses of that phrase ever. Oh yeah. Go, Tamara! You managed to resist two of the three hotties—it really doesn't seem worth cheering about. In fact, I feel like the opposite would be much more cheer-worthy.

  “Did you enjoy breakfast?” Blake asks me.

  “I did, actually. Do you know where Noah is so I can say thank you? He caught me a little off guard earlier, so I probably wasn't as polite as I should have been,” I ask.

  “Yeah, he’s out walking with Lola at the moment,” he says.

  “Lola?” I question. I really hope that's not his girlfriend. I can see the awkward conversation already in my head. Oh yes, your boyfriend did see me naked this morning, but it's nothing to worry about. You see, I slept with Spencer earlier, and I'm pretty sure I want to sleep with Blake, too. So, I can just skip your boyfriend, no worries! I feel my eyes rolling at the ridiculousness of my own thoughts.

  “Don't you like dogs?” Spencer asks me, clearly having noticed the expression on my face. Dogs?

  “Lola is a dog?” I ask him.

  “Yes, she's pug crossed with something,” Blake answers, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.

  “A beagle,” Spencer says.

  “So Lola is a puggle?” I ask, a smile coming over my face. Those things are freaking adorable.

  “Yeah, she is,” Spencer answers.

  “When did he leave?” I ask.

  “Just now, actually. He's probably not got far yet, Lola is lazy as anything,” Blake says.

  I walk out into the hallway and look for my coat, realising I must have left it on Spencer's bedroom floor. I shrug and grab one of the guy’s coats and pull it on. It's huge on me, but at least I'll be warm.

  “Do you know which way he went?” I call peeking my head around the kitchen door frame.

  “Same direction as you walked in last night, are you sure you wanna go out there? I don't want to have to come rescue you again,” Spencer says, a slight tinge of worry in his otherwise jokey tone.

  “I'll be fine!” I shout, rushing for the door. I need to get away from those two and get some air, before I start considering things I shouldn't.

  Chapter 7

  Buttoning up the coat as I walk briskly through the winter morning air, I try to keep my steps more careful as I go, not wanting a repeat of last night's disaster. I doubt I'd live down the humiliation of falling on the ice and smacking my head twice. I noticed a nice little bump when I was washing my hair in the shower, and I'd rather not get a matching one on the other side.

  I spot a figure up ahead, and I speed up a little wanting to get closer, so I can tell if it's him or not before I shout after him and make an idiot of myself if it's not him. Once I'm a little closer, and the back of the head looks decidedly like Noah, I call out.

  “Noah!” I shout after him, but with the wind blowing in my direction, it carries the sound the wrong way, and he doesn't hear me. I whistle and then shout again. “Lola!” I call. The dog at his heels turns and rushes towards me, bounding across the snow-covered ground without a care. Lazy? I think not.

  The cute-looking puggle has a cute, pink dog coat on. So macho, guys. The dog jumps straight up at me, and I pet her soft head. “Hey there, girl,” I coo. She wags her tail and yips, jumping back down and running in excited circles. Noah stops up ahead and turns back, looking for the dog, and spots me. I wave, and he heads back in my direction as I walk to meet him.

  “What are you doing out here, Tamara? It's freezing,” he says, leaning down to pet Lola.

  “Just wanted to say thanks for breakfast, and get some fresh air,” I reply.

  “I would have thought you got enough fresh air last night,” he jokes.

  “Yeah, well, I never claimed to be smart. But hey, at least you can catch me if I slip,” I tease. He stands, quickly taking my hand in his, as he pulls me along.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, lifting our linked hands up.

  “Making sure you don't slip. I take my no-slip duties very seriously.” His hand in mine is warm. Considering how cold it is, and the fact that I did fall last night, I decide not to push it further. Nope, not going to address the fact it's making me feel warm for other reasons than body heat.

  Denial, my old friend, how nice is is to see you again.

  “So, how far are we walking?” I ask, feeling my teeth already chattering slightly from the cold. He smirks at me.

  “Chilly?” he asks.

  “Just a bit,” I admit. “But it looks like Lola is just fine,” I add, gesturing with our entwined hands at the dog running off ahead of us, bounding in the light snow that carpets the ground.

  “Yeah, Lola loves it. The first time she went out in the snow, not so much. Now, she has those ridiculous-looking dog-sock-boots and that fluffy coat, and suddenly she thinks snow is the best thing in the world.” He releases my hand from his. I’m about to make a jibe at him for not performing his ‘Stop Tamara from falling on her ass’ duties, when he wraps one of his arms around my back, tucking me tightly against his warm body as we walk.

  “So how far are we walking?” I ask again, awkwardly avoiding mentioning the fact that he's just so casually wrapped his arm around me.

  “Not too far,” he answers. He turns his head toward mine, and I can feel his hot breath against the side of my face. “Am I not keeping you warm enough?” he whispers, sliding a warm hand up underneath the back of my coat as we walk. Brushing his hand gently across my skin, leaving goosebumps across me from his touch.

  “You're doing great,” I answer too quickly, the words just slipping out.

  “I could do better, but probably best not to all the way out here in the snow. Just imagine the frostbite,” he jokes, squeezing me against him in a tight side hug as we continue down the trail.

  “So, tell me some things about yourself?” I ask.

  “There's not a lot to tell,” he answers with a small smile. Soft snow begins to fall down on us from above. “We should probably head back,” he comments, noticing the snow fall.

  “Not a fan of the white stuff?” I ask, and then immediately cringe. Shit, did I really just say that?

  “Well, I'm not such a fan of being covered in it,�
� he answers, chuckling at me.

  “I meant snow,” I blurt, trying to ignore the level of cringe I am feeling.

  “So did I,” he replies, grinning down at me.

  The snowfall increases, and Noah whistles for Lola to come back over to us. She rushes back through the snow, stopping near us to try and catch the falling flakes with her mouth, bouncing around playfully. I look up at the grey-blue skies and feel the snow melt as it hits my face. Turning back to face Noah, I notice he’s looking back down at me.

  “What are you looking at?” I ask him. He reaches a hand to the side of my face and gently touches his finger to my hair and pulls his hand back. Resting on the pad of his finger is a tiny snowflake that quickly melts against the warmth radiating from him.

  “Just a snowflake. Pretty, completely unique, and gone so easily,” he answers.

  “You just managed to make a snowflake sound kind of sad,” I tease.

  “Just because it’s gone now doesn’t make it sad. You enjoy beauty while you can because nothing lasts forever, but it doesn’t mean that it isn’t great while you have it,” he explains, his tone a lot more serious than my own.

  “That’s a whole lot of thought for a snowflake,” I reply, trying to keep things lighter.

  “It is,” he agrees simply. He leans down closing the gap between us before I can think anymore of it, and presses his firm lips against my own. My response is instant, my body melting against his as I return the kiss. I feel the kiss deepening, as our bodies press closer together and our lips part. Suddenly I feel something crash into the side of us, knocking us slightly. Pulling back, I look down at the dog wagging her tail innocently at us.