“You know steam makes you lightheaded, right? What if you fall in my lap?”
“Wonder how long it’d take for the neighbors to call if you start screaming my name.”
Each one lands heavier than the last, heat curling in my gut. He does it casually, like it’s no effort, like teasing me is just as natural as breathing. And maybe it is.
By the time we’ve killed half the bottle, my face is hot, my muscles loose, and I’m too far gone to care that he’s watching me with that predator’s patience.
We clean up, bumping shoulders in the kitchen. His hand keeps finding my hip, tugging me out of the way, brushing lower than necessary. When he kisses my neck, I almost drop a plate.
“Hot tub,” he whispers, lips ghosting over my skin, hands tearing at my clothes.
The cold hits me first. Stepping onto the patio in just my briefs, snow crunching under my feet, makes every nerve in my body shriek. But then I sink into the bubbling water and it is heaven. Heat envelops me, steam curling around my face, snow falling so soft it looks unreal.
Phoenix follows, sliding in across from me. His shoulders gleam under the lights, muscles carved and sharp, his hair damp from the flakes landing in it. He looks like trouble personified. We pour more wine into plastic cups he found in the cabinet, and it doesn’t take long for the alcohol and heat to loosen my tongue.
The wine sneaks up on me.
I’m not drunk, not really. Just warm. Heavy. The kind of buzz that makes your limbs lazy and your mouth too quick.
I lean back against the ledge, staring up at the snow falling through the soft patio lights. “This is… surreal.”
Phoenix sprawls across from me in the hot tub, looking unfair in the steam—jaw sharp, shoulders broad, skin glowing where the water beads on it. His hand cradles his cup like he isn’t already five cups in. He doesn’t slur, doesn’t wobble. He just watches me, steady as ever, like he’s stone compared to me.
“What?”
“Us. Here. Cabin in the mountains, wine, hot tub. Feels like we stole it.”
He smirks. “We did. Well, rented it. Which is basically stealing for the weekend.”
I laugh, shaking my head. The steam curls around us, muffling the world. It feels private in a way I don’t usually trust things to feel. That’s what makes my tongue slip.
“You know I used to think… I’d never get out of my old house alive.”
His eyes sharpen immediately. He doesn’t move, doesn’t press, but I feel the shift like static.
“Your old man,” he says. Not a question.
“Yeah.” My chest aches saying it, but the wine and the water make it easier. “He’d lose it over nothing. Dishes not done. Game on too loud. Shit, me breathing wrong. Didn’t matter if I was a kid or not. He’d… you know.” My hand drifts to my ribs unconsciously, where a scar is carved deep.
Phoenix’s jaw locks as his eyes glance at my hand’s placement. “You’ll never have to see him again. And if he ever goes near you, I’ll kill him. No question.”
I swallow hard. I’ve never heard someone say that and mean it. A sort of elation rushes through me. Is that fucked up? To get turned on by the thought of your boyfriend killing your abusive father? It must be the wine.
I continue. “Silas… he’s the reason I ever got out. He pulled me out the day I turned eighteen. Said we were done being afraid. He worked doubles just to cover rent for a shitty one-bedroom place. We had nothing, but I’d never felt richer.”
The silence stretches, heavy but not cruel. Steam thickens between us. Finally, Phoenix nods once, deliberate. “Then I respect him. Whatever else, I respect him for that.”
It hits me harder than I expect. After everything—Silas punching him, hating him—Phoenix still says it.
“You do?” I ask, voice cracking.
“Yeah.” He leans closer, resting his elbows on his knees. “Doesn’t erase how he talks to you now. Doesn’t mean I won’tbreak his jaw if he keeps it up. But he saved you. I owe him for that.”
My throat burns. I mutter, “Thank you.”
Phoenix lets me sit in the softness for a while, letting the snow and soft music fill the air between us.
Then, he tips his cup back, sets it down, and smirks. “Now, let’s move on to some lighter conversation.”
