Page 85 of Falling Like Snow

“Do you guys want a drink?” Daphne asks. “I was going to run into the Caffeinated Cat real quick.”

“Yes! A green tea to wrap my frostbitten hands around, please!” I say.

“No thanks,” Micah answers.

Daphne dashes toward the café, and my gaze meets Asher’s for the briefest moment before he looks away.

I have never been so furious with myself. But then again, I’ve never done anything as stupid as kiss my best friend.

Micah lets me go, and we all turn our attention to Mom, who thanks everyone for coming and announces that Home Alone will begin playing in five minutes.

Daphne is on her way back with a cardboard cupholder of drinks when Micah narrows his eyes at Asher.

“Dude,” he says, pointing to Asher’s neck, where a sliver of skin is barely visible above his coat, “nice love bite you got there.”

My head whips to Asher, whose face is practically glowing red in the glittering Christmas lights. Nausea rolls through me, thinking of him and Daphne making out in his car before coming here, but when I see what Micah’s talking about, I realize I did that.

Oh. My. God. It’s faint, but I gave him a hickey.

The Connecticut winter suddenly feels like being in a sauna. Alert the EPA because my mortification is the new cause of global warming.

Asher shifts his coat to cover his neck, not looking at me. And I don’t blame him—I can’t look him in the eye either.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Micah says to him. “Daphne’s hot.” I’m standing there, hoping a deadly icicle will fall from one of the surrounding trees and take me out, when he turns to me. “Not as hot as you, though.”

I can’t find words to respond. My eyes are trained on Asher’s neck. It may be hidden under a coat, but I can’t get the image out of my head.

How did I do that? Surely, it takes more than what happened the other night to leave marks on someone. It wasn’t that intense… was it?

No wonder he’s been avoiding me. I maimed him! At the very least branded him. The red mark screams, Mine, mine, mine.

And the worst part is that somewhere deep beneath the embarrassment, I sort of don’t hate it. But I don’t want him to know that. And I don’t want him thinking I’m purposely trying to claim him or something.

“Here, Sloane,” Daphne says, nudging me with my tea. Apparently it’s not the first time she’s said it.

“Sorry.” I take it. “Thanks.”

“You okay?” Micah asks, watching me stare at Asher.

I shoot him the most maniacal smile. “Yes, I’m great. Let’s go watch the movie.”

“All right…”

I drag him over to the back row of chairs, and we sit in the last two on the end. I place my drink on the ground beside me, and Daphne squeezes in front of us, sidestepping down the row, leaving the seat next to me open for Asher.

Great.

His arm bumps mine as he sits. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“You should be. That hurt,” I joke, rubbing my arm like it’s sore.

“What?” he says, the words going right over his head.

“Nothing. Bad joke.” My eyes dip to his neck, and he shifts his shoulder, making sure it’s still covered.

“Who picked Home Alone?” Micah asks on my right.

“We all gave our top choices to my mom, and she ultimately decided that our ideas all sucked, so she chose Home Alone.”