Snowbound

by CJ Martín

  He also introduced me to Erika, who ironically was the same instructor from my first day on the bunny slope. She remembered me only because not many twenty-one year olds take ski lessons with her. We chatted briefly, and she told me that on slower days she sometimes works the front desk at the medic station adjacent to the office building in which I’d be working, so it was likely I’d see her around. It was good to know at least one person close to my age at work.

  Overall I was feeling fairly good about starting my upcoming internship, but by the time Friday rolled around the nerves resurfaced. Brit, Anders’s sister, was coming to visit for the weekend. Anders didn’t seem keen on introducing me to Brit, which immediately set me on edge. I really didn’t know where I was supposed to go; the loft apartment is tiny. I tried not to act offended when Anders suggested I stay in the hotel for a few nights, but I was.

  Even though my stomach was a flurry of nerves, I didn’t want to be pushed out of my own, well his, apartment for the weekend. Would that set a precedent? Would he ship me off every time he invited a girl over? When JJ texted that the hotel was booked solid, I secretly rejoiced. You won’t be able to hide me now.

  By nine o’clock, a little over two hours after Brit arrived, I knew exactly why Anders suggested I stay in the hotel. From the moment she came through the door, it was like the freaking Spanish Inquisition. Well I guess it was more like the Norwegian Inquisition, but that’s not a thing, so yeah, Spanish Inquisition.

  “Who are you?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Anders, you have a girlfriend?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “How old are you?”

  On and on.

  My head was spinning. Thankfully, Anders handled it with grace. I guess he’s used to his sister’s prying. When he told Brit that I was just a friend he was helping out until an apartment became available I smiled, but the comment stung. Was I nothing more than charity to him?

  Ultimately it wasn’t Anders that convinced Brit. It was my boxes of stuff in the living room and the unmade sofa bed that proved that we were in fact just friends and not secret lovers. Or whatever else she thought.

  Her eyes scanned over my belongings. “Interesting,” was her only comment.

  While we were waiting on our Chinese takeout, I overheard Anders and Brit discussing the sleeping arrangements.

  “So brother, where am I gonna sleep?”

  “I told you this wasn’t a good weekend.”

  Brit snorted. “Yeah, I’ll say. I didn’t know you were otherwise occupied.”

  “I told you, she’s just a friend.” His voice was strong and slightly pissed off.

  “Okay.” The way she drew out the syllables told me she didn’t believe him. “Friends or not, where the hell am I sleeping?”

  “You can have the couch.” I heard him blow out his breath.

  Brit chuckled. “And Gigs? Where’s she sleeping?”

  “In my bed.” My heart started a rapid pounding in my chest. Upstairs. Alone. In bed with Anders. I didn’t know if I should kiss Brit or slap her.

  “Friends.” Brit singsongs, and her voice pulls me back to the moment.

  “Yeah, friends.” His voice is cold. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  My stomach dropped. Of course, he wouldn’t actually be sleeping in bed with me. Stupid.

  Brit is quiet for a few moments before she asks, “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

  The knock on the door saves him from answering and I exhale a shaky breath. Tonight will prove interesting.

  True to his word Anders let me have his bed, which, if I’m being honest, is as close to heaven as I’ve ever been. The soft mattress, the satiny Egyptian cotton sheets—it is an unparalleled luxury that I want to soak up before I’m demoted back to the couch.

  Not to mention the smell. His smell.

  Trying my best to be discreet I bury my face in the blankets and inhale deeply. Pine and mint flood my nostrils and I smile into the covers.

  Safety. Comfort. Peace. I feel like Anders is wrapped all around me.

  He drops his pillow on the floor and takes my green Snuggie off the foot of the bed where it’s resting. “Can I use this?”

  “Of course.” I stretch, and a contented sigh escapes my lips.

  “Comfy?” One eyebrow rises in question.

  I can’t help the smile. “Very.” I burrow further into the covers.

  He laughs. “Good night, Gigs.” As he settles on the floor I watch him roll over, effectively turning his back to me. My Snuggie barely covers his large form—his feet poke out the bottom and his shoulders remain uncovered. His strong shoulder blades expand and contract with each breath beneath his cotton shirt. God, that should not turn me on.

  I stare mesmerized for a few more moments before the guilt kicks in. He looks stiff and uncomfortable, while I float in blissed-out nirvana in the fluffy cloud that he calls a bed. I hesitate. He’s already done enough, has been more than generous letting me live here. For free. But I know if I offer to sleep on the floor, he’ll refuse. Should I offer the alternative—for him to share the bed with me? Yes. Would it be weird? Maybe. More importantly, can I behave myself? Most definitely not.

  “Anders,” I whisper. When he doesn’t respond I whisper again, louder, “Anders.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you wanna sleep in the bed with me?” The words are fast, jumbled. “I mean, if you’re okay with it. It’s big enough for both of us.”

  Faster than I can blink, he jumps up and nudges me with his hand. “Move over.”

  I giggle. “Not too fond of the floor?”

  He quirks a brow. “What do you think?”

  I move to the far left corner of the bed, giving him plenty of room, and trying not to inadvertently touch him.

  “Gigs, I don’t bite.”

  “What?” I try to keep my voice innocent.

  “You’re going to fall off the damn bed. Come here.” His arm reaches over me and pulls me closer to him. The weight of his strong forearm rests across my ribs for a few moments, and I wonder if he’ll hold me all night. Please. But all too soon his fingers slide down my arm and he releases me. “Okay?” he asks.

  “Yes.” My voice is breathy, husky. He had to have heard it.

  But if he notices a difference he doesn’t say anything. We both lie still and all I can hear are his soft breaths in and out.

  “Sorry about Brit,” his voice cuts through the quiet. “She’s a bit intense.”

  “It’s fine.” I turn on my side to face him. His eyes follow the movement and land on my chest. I glance down at the gaping fabric of my shirt. My breasts are squished together on full display. I shift uncomfortably, wondering if I should call him on it and then I say, “My eyes are up here.”

  He clears his throat and drags his eyes up to meet mine. “Sorry.” His voice sounds apologetic, but his eyes tell me he is anything but. His face is flushed a warm shade of pink.

  I giggle, despite my effort to keep my expression neutral. Whatever. “Grab my Snuggie,” I tip my head in the direction of my blanket lying uselessly on the floor.

  “Cold?” He rolls over and reaches down to pick it up.

  “Yeah.” I smile. “Are you surprised?”

  “Not really.” He smiles. “Miss ‘Twenty Pairs of Gloves’.”

  “Stop.” I swat at him playfully. “Feel.”

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I rest my palms flat on his bare stomach. The contact sizzles, warming me instantly and I allow my hands mold to the rippled contours of his abs. The moment is gone way too soon when he jerks back.

  “Jesus, you are cold.”

  “Told ya,” Finding my bravery, I graze my fingers against his taut flesh again. “Warm me up.” Whoa. Where did that come from?

  His eyes widen, flash with heat, and I realize how my comment sounded. I backpedal. “Come on, guys love when girls do this.”

  “Do what exactly?” />
  “You know, put their cold hands on them to warm them up.”

  He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, they don’t.”

  “Yes, they do. It makes them feel manly.”

  He shakes his head in disagreement.

  “I read it in Cosmo.”

  Another soft chuckle escapes his lips. “Then it absolutely must be true.”

  “I can hear you, friends.” Brit’s voice calls up to us, breaking the moment.

  Instinctively I pull my hands back, drop them to the blanket and tuck it under my chin. Anders sighs and rolls to his back.

  Although I could barely keep my eyes open earlier on the couch, I’m no longer sleepy. I feel wired. Every nerve thrums, attunes to Anders’s presence. His nearness. His solid body radiates heat. The words tumble out in a nervous flurry. “So, do you wanna go to Rick’s party tomorrow?” When he doesn’t respond, I clarify. “The one Brit was talking about?”

  A hand scrubs over his face before coming to rest over his eyes. “Not really.” My heart deflates. Breathe. It’s not like I was asking him out or anything. He continues, oblivious to my unease. “Brit and I usually don’t hang with the same crowds.”

  “I think it’ll be fun. I can meet some new people.” I force my voice to remain cheerful, to remain as unaffected as possible.

  He turns his head to face me, mouth slightly parted. “You want to go?”

  Yes. “Maybe? Could be interesting.”

  “I don’t know…” His voice trails off, face conveying about as much excitement as if we were discussing an upcoming root canal.

  “Please?” I give him my best puppy dog eyes. I tell myself that I’m not begging. That I don’t sound desperate.

  His cool breath whispers across my skin. “Sure.”

  “Really?” My voice jumps in excitement.

  He smiles. “Sure.”

  “Thanks.” I graze my lips against his cheek in what I meant to be a platonic, friendly gesture. I realize my mistake when his eyes widen in confusion.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, as my hands grip the blanket tighter. I barely resist the urge to tug it up over my face. “Well, good night.” Stop talking. I roll away from him and squeeze my eyes shut.

  My skin prickles in awareness, even before I feel the feather light caress of his fingers on my arm. “Good night.”

  One touch, one gentle stroke of his fingers sets my heart into a tailspin. I lie still, very still, as his body relaxes alongside me. The minutes tick by and I listen as his breathing becomes even and shallow. I want to savor every moment of this experience, but all too soon my eyes grow heavy. Smiling, I drift away.

  “Sure.” That one word, one fucking word, got me into this situation. I didn’t want to come. I’d rather watch paint dry than hang with Rick and the rest of his buddies, but the thought of Gigs alone at this party, or any party, had me saying yes. Not to mention her eyes. When she looked at me like that, eyes big and hopeful, I couldn’t deny her anything.

  The party is everything I expected it to be. Cheap beer. Bad music. Slutty girls. Why Gigs even wanted to come is beyond me, but I remind myself that she’s trying to fit in and make new friends. I keep my distance—this is not a date—but it’s incredibly difficult when guys keep hitting on her. She’s completely oblivious. She honestly doesn’t know how beautiful she is.

  I’ll give it another hour, but that’s it. Then I’m taking her home. I want to be alone with her. I’m desperate to get her back into those boy shorts and cami she wore last night that were hot as shit. Maybe she’ll lie on her side again and I’ll get another glimpse of her full breasts. Maybe her shirt will slip down even further and I’ll see her pale, pink nipples. Maybe she’ll let my tongue sweep across the stiff bud before I tug it between my teeth. Fuck.

  “Hi Vik.” A girl sidles up to me, her words slightly slurred, and she startles me from my Gigs fantasy.

  “Hey,” I say, keeping my eyes on Gigs. She’s laughing with Rick, although I don’t know what about.

  Drunk girl puts her hands on me, leaning into me in a way that I’m sure she thinks is sexy. “Are you here alone?”

  At her question I finally turn my head and look at her. She’s cute: brown hair, green eyes, nice body. But I’m not feeling it. In truth, I’m disgusted. I want Gigs. Fuck. The one girl I know I can’t have.

  One more glance at Gigs laughing with Rick and I decide fuck it; she’s enjoying herself, so I might as well too.

  “Maybe.” I smile my most charming smile. “What’s your name?” I find myself asking, although I could care less.

  “Melanie.” She giggles and I snap my eyes back to Gigs. Christ. Everything fucking reminds me of her. In that instant her eyes meet mine and I see something flash before it’s gone. Hurt? Jealousy? She quickly glances away, turning her attention back to Rick.

  “Wanna get out of here?” Melanie slurs, petting my arm.

  I don’t answer at first, my eyes still glued to Gigs and Rick. She’s laughing again. And he’s touching her arm, and leading her into another room.

  “Sure,” I hear myself saying without thought.

  That word always gets me in trouble.

  I grab beers for myself and Melanie from the kitchen before following her out of the room. I don’t know what she has in my mind, but I’m down. This obsession with Gigs has to stop.

  Ironically, she leads me in the same direction that Rick took Gigs and I hold my breath, praying that they aren’t making out or some shit. I don’t think I could handle that.

  Melanie holds my hand as she leads me through the living room toward the stairs. I keep my eyes down, not allowing myself to seek out Gigs. I pause though when I hear, “Elena, truth or dare?”

  I don’t know the name of the person who asked her this question but I do know it’s one of Rick’s buddies. Seriously, are we in junior high? Does anyone older than thirteen play Truth or Dare? His eyes light up with interest as he awaits her response.

  “Truth,” she whispers quietly. She clasps and unclasps her hands in her lap. An intense urge to protect her surges through me.

  Douchebag, aka Rick’s buddy, pauses a moment in consideration before asking, “What’s your number?”

  She screws up her face at the question, repeating his words. “My number… oh.” Her face flames bright red.

  “Don’t…” I silently beg. I drop Melanie’s hand and turn toward Gigs. Melanie remains beside me, hovering like a lovesick puppy.

  “Ummm…” Gigs says.

  And this is the thing about her, the thing that is special. Whereas any other person would lie or tell this douchebag to mind his fucking business, Gigs does neither of those. She is seriously going to answer him. She is so honest.

  I can’t bear her to share something so private, so I cut in. “Seriously, dude. What the fuck?”

  Everyone’s eyes turn toward me, but I don’t care. Gigs looks at me, her eyes big and round. She looks part stunned, part relieved.

  “Vik, you aint even playin’,” Douchebag says.

  “That’s because I’m not thirteen.” Everyone sniggers.

  “Tough guy.” Rick chimes in. “Thinks he has so much game.”

  I know this asshole has to be drunk for two reasons: I have more game than all of these guys combined, and no one questions me. Ever.

  I should do the mature thing and walk away, but of course I don’t. It’s a cockfight and I’m not backing down. I will clean the floor with this asshole.

  I square my shoulders and face Rick dead on. “What did you say?” My voice is quiet, but deadly serious.

  “I said,”—he makes a show of waving his arms around—“no game.”

  “Are you sure you wanna go down this road?” I ask one last time before I truly lose it.

  “Prove it.” He spits. “Hook up with a girl here. I dare you.”

  My gaze locks with Gigs’s. Rick follows the movement and his eyes shift between us. “Her,” he says, pointing to Gigs. “Hook up with her.”


  Her round eyes widen even more, and part of me wants nothing more than to rush over to her and kiss her. Run my fingers through her hair. Rub her body against mine. This is the excuse that I’ve been looking for. But I don’t. I’m not sure if I start that I’ll be able to stop. And I certainly don’t want it to do it, kiss her, in front of a room full of strangers.

  “No.” I spit out the word, keeping my eyes on Gigs. She doesn’t even try to mask her hurt.

  At that Rick laughs. “Pussy.”

  I try to use the techniques that Coach has talked me through numerous times. Take a deep breath before I react. Roll my shoulders to release tension. Count backward from ten.

  I make it to eight before I snap. I swing at Rick and hit him in square on the nose. A sharp crack reverberates through the quiet room. There’s a moment suspended in time before all hell breaks loose. Rick lunges at me, and soon after, his friend follows.

  We grapple on the floor for a few minutes, each of us getting a few good punches in before we’re torn apart. When it’s all said and done, I have a bruised hand, knuckles cut and bleeding. Not too bad. The other guys look much worse.

  I’m on the way to the kitchen to grab a water so I can rinse my mouth out when Gigs finds me.

  “I think it’s time to leave.”

  She doesn’t look happy.

  We walk back to the loft in silence. It’s awkward and strange, and I thank God it’s only a ten-minute walk. I don’t know what to say. I’m hurt, confused, and frustrated about what happened tonight. Anders has been so hot and cold lately. It’s like one minute he wants nothing to do with me, but the next he’s acting like a jealous boyfriend. He doesn’t want me, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have me either. I don’t get it. And after tonight—after his refusal to even give me a kiss—it’s more embarrassment than I can take.

  The closer we get to the loft, the angrier I become. I’m such a fool, pining away for him, harboring hopes that maybe, just maybe, he might feel some sort of attraction to me. Couldn’t he just suck it up and kiss me for ten seconds? Is that too much to ask? Now not only do I know how he feels about me, but so does everyone else. Lovely.