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My stomach flips at the mention of bed, but I want to have a bit of fun first. It’s snowing, that’s prime snow angel time. I tell Wesley this as I grab my jacket from where he’d laid it out in front of the fire to dry and put it on.
His sigh is audible across the cabin, but he puts on his outside gear. I stand by the front door and watch him, almost vibrating with excitement.
“One snow angel,” he says, his voice stern.
I throw open the door and step outside, smiling cheekily at him over my shoulder. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
The snowfall is worse than it looks from the inside. White blankets both the ground and the sky, but it’s not so bad that we can’t see where we’re going. It’s freezing, cold air biting the exposed skin of my cheeks and ears.
We stop a few yards away from the cabin and I flop backward onto the ground, a noise escaping from my lips as the air is knocked out of my lungs. I lie there, breathless, staring up at the sky.
“Ow,” I bite out.
Wesley stands above me, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I just didn’t expect it to be that deep.”
It’s not fair, even from the most unflattering angle he looks good enough to model.
“Indicative of a brewing storm,” he says. “We’ll be stuck inside for at least a day before it clears up.”
I exclaim triumphantly and point a finger up at him. “Exactly why we need to make our snow angels while we still can.”
He rolls his eyes but lies down beside me in the snow. We wave our arms and legs back and forth for a bit, making perfect angel indents in the powder.
When I think it’s perfect, I scramble to my feet to see the results. But my foot must get caught in the snow because I go flying forward, my arms pinwheeling at my sides.
I close my eyes, bracing for the impact and a broken nose. But it never comes. A strong hand grabs the back of my jacket and pulls me upright. I stumble and knock into Wesley, wrapping my arms around his waist to keep both of us from falling over.
We stand there for a moment, catching our breath as snowflakes settle around us.
“That was close,” I say, squinting up at him. He really is so tall. I like it, it makes me feel safe when I’m near him. “Sorry.”
Wesley stares at me, licking his lips. His breath comes out in fine puffs of white that billow and fade into the air. Our faces are so close that if I leaned forward my nose would brush against his. My head feels full of static, and I can’t think of anything else as I stand there, his gaze capturing mine.
I open my mouth to say something else but before I can get the words out something cold drips down my back. It feels like snow.
“You asshole!” I push Wesley away, laughing. “What was that for?”
“Revenge,” he says simply. He’s smirking, satisfied with himself. “Snow angels, really? Have some decorum, Ollie.”
He’s picked the wrong guy to mess with. I gather snowballs in my hands, and Wesley does the same, and soon we’ve devolved into a full snowball fight. My aim is terrible but I’m good at dodging out of the way of his throws, until I accidentally move to the right at the same time he does, and I get a face full of snow.
Wesley’s answering laugh is like music to my ears. But I can’t let him win that easily. Without thinking, I rush at him, colliding hard enough to send both of us to the ground yet again.
“Aha!” I yell triumphantly, gripping his hips with my thighs to stop him from bucking me off. “Admit it, I won fair and square.”
He snorts. “You won by cheating.”
My next words are swept from my mouth when Wesley grabs my waist and effortlessly flips us over until my back is pressed into the snow. One knee slightly grazes my thigh, and I can’t help it, I widen my legs to give him a place to put his. He glances down, then back up to me, his expression shifting.
“A good competitor can admit when he’s been defeated,” I say, sighing dramatically. “I guess you won.”
One of his knees is slotted between my legs like a jigsaw, the other placed on the outside of my left hip. For the second time in half an hour, our faces are pressed so close I can count his eyelashes. They’re pretty, dark and sweeping. Something stirs in my groin, and I recognize the beginnings of my own arousal.
Calm down, Oliver.
“Ollie.”
