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I nod against his embrace.
"Thank you." I pull back and look at him.
His lips tug up in a small grin as he releases me. "You're right, though, it's cold as shit in here. Why in the hell didn't you call someone sooner?"
I shrug, and start walking toward the basement. Reed follows closely behind, so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. I guess I’ve gotten used to the cold without realizing it.
"It's not that cold."
Except every step we take down into the basement, the colder it gets. By the time we've gotten to the last one, I can see my breath in front of me.
Maybe it's a tad bit colder than I realized.
"Holland," Reed says sternly, shaking his head.
"What? I've been using space heaters in the house."
He brushes past me toward the furnace, grabbing Dad's tool bag that's on the table. He shakes his head once more before he lowers himself beneath the furnace and starts working. I take the opportunity to hop onto the table and watch.
Every time he lifts the wrench, his white shirt pulls up slightly and shows the light scatter of hair above the waistband of his jeans.
Ugh. Out of all people to be obsessed with, why does it have to be my best friend's brother? The one person in the world I can't ever have.
After a few minutes of clanking and cursing, Reed sits up. The furnace is on now, but making god-awful noises. The wooden shelf above Reed vibrates every time the machine groans.
"This thing is fucked. And even if it didn't sound so damn horrible, I don’t think it would even pass inspection." Just as he says the words, the furnace grumbles and sputters, getting increasingly louder by the second.
"Uh, I think we might need to turn it off, Reed."
Before he can get off the floor, the shelf above the furnace, that is full to the brim with books that didn’t fit on my shelves upstairs, cracks, and almost in slow motion, it falls on top of Reed.
"Oh my god," I yell, hopping down from my perch on the table.
"Oof." Reed groans, pulling books off his face. "Goddamnit."
I make it over to him and start to pull the old, worn books off of him until I can see his face, and make sure he's not actually injured. "Holy shit, are you okay?" I screech, panicking.
My hands feel all over him to make sure there isn't anything broken or any sign of visible trauma. They slide down the hard planes of his pecs, down his rock-hard abs, and even down his thighs.
Great, that's all I need. To injure the best center in the entire NHL and have the sports world hate me for being responsible. It’s also impossible not to freak out that my hands are on him; I mean, he could be injured and I’m over here thinking about how hard his muscles are.
"Holland." He groans again, only this time, it sounds deeper, raspier. His eyes are squeezed shut tightly, and his breathing is labored.
"Did you break your leg, or your hands? Oh god, can you still walk?" I cry. My hands travel up and down his body again, feeling for any type of injury. I find nothing but hard, unwavering muscle.
"Stop."
I freeze, immediately.
Reed sits up on his elbows and looks down at me. "I'm not going to be okay if you keep touching me."
Holy shit.My eyes dart down to where he’s adjusting himself then back up to his face. Oh god, Reed was getting turned on frommyhands being on him.Jesus, Holland, your hands are practically on his dick.
I snatch them away quickly and mumble, "I'm sorry."
Except I'm not,at all. Well, maybe a little, because now I’m embarrassed. My cheeks are burning.
"I'm pretty sure that your preciousPride and Prejudicemissed my dick by half a centimeter." He lifts the book that was lying on his stomach.
