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“You are such a sore loser, Stas.”
“You’re literally a division one hockey player! And you’re fucking huge, you take up the whole goal!” I shout over the sound of his laughter.
He skates out to me and plants his front to my back, reaching around me to grip my hands on the stick, cheek flush against mine. “Practice makes perfect, Anastasia,” he whispers, hitting the puck straight into the back of the net.
Okay, that was hot.
“Let’s go inside, it’ll be dark soon and I can sense that you’re getting hangry.” He pecks a kiss against my temple and takes the stick out of my hand.
“I’m beginning to think you know me really well, Hawkins.” I sigh, spinning to wrap my arms around his waist. “I think I’ll stick to figure skating.”
His cheeks are flushed with the cold, the tip of his nose bright red, eyes glossy. I love seeing him at his childhood home, smiling, teaching me something he loves.
He reaches down to kiss the top of my woolly hat–covered head. “Of course, I know you really well, Anastasia. You’re my favorite subject.”
* * *
Nate insisted on cooking dinner,which gave me nothing to do other than sit in front of the fire in my snowman onesie, drinking a fancy wine from the wine cellar.
By the time dinner is over and we’re sitting on the couch in front ofHome Alone 2, I’m a little bit tipsy. Tipsy is fine, tipsy is fun, tipsy means that my camera roll is full of candid pictures of Nathan strutting around in his reindeer onesie and I can’t stop giggling.
When I reach drunk, that’s when we’re going to have a problem, because I’m feeling exceptionally mushy, and there is a real risk that drunk Stassie is going to confess all her feelings.The irony that I encourage people to communicate and share, but I can’t tell my own boyfriend I love him, isn’t lost on me.
Nathan brings his beer to his lips, tilting the bottle up slightly, and I watch him like a creep. He must feel my eyes on him because he looks over, eyebrow raised slightly, then goes back to watching the movie. His hair is a little long right now, and he’s got the start of little brown ringlets at the nape of his neck. It’s so cu—
“Why are you staring at me?” he grumbles, tugging me closer.
The proximity to him is more intoxicating than the wine. He smells great. Exceptionally and overwhelmingly great.
“Anastasia?”
I sigh and take a glug of my wine, prolonging the silence. How do I say what’s in my head without sounding obsessed? I’m a bit obsessed, but I can’t let him know that.
“You’re just really fucking pretty, Nathan. It’s super hard to concentrate sometimes, do you know that? Do you understand how difficult it is sometimes to focus on literallyanythingwhen you’re around me looking effortlessly beautiful?”
His eyes widen at my confession, and his cheeks blush a little.Oh my God, I think I’ve embarrassed him. I should probably feel more embarrassed than I do but watching the blood rush to his cheeks and him avoiding eye contact, scratching nervously at his jaw is too good.
“Uh,” he mumbles, threading his fingers through the hand not clinging to my wine glass, bringing the back of it to his lips. “Right back atcha, Allen.”
The movie finishes and he changes the channel to sports highlights, stretching out on the couch until he’s horizontal, holding out his arm for me to curl up beside him. Butterflies flutter around in my stomach as I look down at him, so relaxed and settled. This feels like a sneak peek at my future, cuddling in front of a hockey game, drinking wine in a house surrounded by snow.
“Would you ever want to move back to Colorado?”
“Christ, no.”
“Why do you hate your dad so much?”God, I’m unstoppable this evening, what is wrong with me?“I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I know you’ve told me some stuff, it just feels like there’s more to it.”
His arm reaches out and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, pausing to cup my cheek. “You can ask me anything, Stas. I’m not surehateis the right word,” he explains. “My mom was sick for a long time before she died, and he hired all these private nurses to look after her so she was very comfortable, but he hardly saw her. He buried himself in work, Betty made dinner and he’d show up to eat then disappear again. He saw Sasha on the slopes but other than that, it was like he was a ghost.”
I put my hand over his and give it a squeeze. I already know that Nathan’s mom, Mila, died of a rare blood disorder when he was in eighth grade.
“Long story short, he was cheating on his dying wife with a twenty-five-year-old ski instructor from the resort.” I feel sick as I absorb his words, my heart instantly breaking for teenage Nate. “I suspect it’d been going on long before she got sick. Then a few years later, when Robbie had his accident, it was at the resort. His medical bills were astronomical, and the Hamlets are wealthy, with good insurance, but Dad wouldn’t help, even though that’s what the company insurance is for.”
I already knew that Robbie was injured in a skiing accident, but it never occurred to me that it might be here. How do you even navigate that as a teenager?
“He was convinced they were going to sue and bankrupt him; he was acting so strange. He buried his head in the sand over it for weeks until Mr. H had no choice but to get a lawyer involved, which he’d never wanted to do. The Hamlets loved my mom, and they’ve always treated me like a son.”
“That’s so awful,” I whisper, squeezing his hand even tighter.
