Page 63 of The Snowflake Effect

Her hands curl into my hips, and I’m done for. I press my lips to hers before she can take the admission back, before we’re back to walls between us. Her tongue slides against mine, both of us groaning at the contact. She grips me tighter, and I thread my fingers through her hair.

Bodies flush, we move against each other, hungry hands searching for more. Her warmth bleeds into me, through me, until I have to push away, panting. “Fuck.”

She blinks repeatedly. “Yeah.”

Behind me, boots smack the pavement, voices rise and fall—the sounds of the city rushing back. I can barely look at her swollen lips. Barely maintain the small distance between us in this very public place. If we were back in Aspen, I’d yank her into the nearest public bathroom or dark alley, unable to wait a second longer to be inside her.

But this isn’t Aspen. Not even close.

The next time I have Shay it will be slow. Deliberate. Not an inch of her left unexplored or unseen. “Come to my place so we can talk this out,” I ask, gruff.

Dazed, she nods. “Give me your address. I’ll go home and change, then I’ll meet you there.” Her fingers float to her mouth, as if checking it’s still intact.

Following the line of her finger, I drag my thumb across her bottom lip. Because I can. Because, finally, she won’t push me away.

I kiss her once, softly, then text her my address and walk away before I pin her back against that wall.

CHAPTER 27

SHAY

Aside from the drumming of my thumb on my car’s steering wheel—a relentless tat tat tat—my body seems to have disconnected from my brain. Move, I think, but my legs don’t twitch.

Kolton’s rental house is huge, the circular driveway I’m parked on something you’d find at a castle. The landscaping alone belongs in a botanical garden.

One minute passes.

Two minutes.

Five.

Ten.

The massive front door opens, the dark wood pulling back under soft lights that illuminate the wall’s detailed stonework. And Kolton. He leans his shoulder into the doorframe and crosses his arms. His hair hangs loose, brushing his shoulders.

He doesn’t move, and I still can’t move.

Earlier today, after Kolton had his kid shouting in front of the world about my G-spot (which, dear Lord, the man found), and before my life imploded at Sass and Style, I couldn’t wait for this moment. Finally, I’d put aside my bullshit and go out with Kolton. Have him for the summer.

This isn’t a date, though. He already offered me money to help me out. I’m pretty sure he’ll try that angle again, and shame has me frozen in place. But looking at him has my body on fire. Now he’s there and I’m here, but I continue gripping the steering wheel.

Who will I become if I let Kolton bail me out? Will I lose myself again, dependent on another man? Get snowballed into his life? His world?

Or will I stay a snowflake?

Probably tired of waiting, he pushes off the doorframe and takes long strides toward me. His jeans hug his hips, his bare feet sure on the interlocked stone. When he gets to my car, he leans his elbows on the open window. I barely refrain from touching his toned arms.

“Hey.” He brushes a loose curl from my forehead.

“Hey,” I say. One breathy syllable.

“When I said I wanted to talk, I didn’t mean in your car.”

“Thanks, Fabio. I’m just using my GPS to figure out how to find the front door amid all the elaborate shrubbery.”

He hums to himself. “If you don’t come out, I’m coming in.”

I release the steering wheel in defeat. “Back away, then. Wouldn’t want your hair to get caught in the door when I close it.”