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11
“It’s cold and I have snow in my buttcrack.”
All three men turn to give me a wicked smile, but it’s Dean who, predictably, says what they’re all likely thinking. “I can help with that.”
After calling my mom and delivering the bad news, the guys witnessed the telltale mark of depression on my face and suggested that we all bundle up and go out back to play in the snow. A sort of if-you-can’t-beat-‘em,-join-‘em scenario with the snow being “them.”
Once again, they’d each lent me articles of their clothing, enough to make me feel like Ralphie from “A Christmas Story.” Then we came outside into the winter wonderland of mini slopes consisting of theirs and a few neighbors’ backyards that all converge in the middle, creating a small valley about twenty feet below. They have the perfect setting for sledding, which they also came prepared for with plastic, circular discs that cut through the snow like a hot knife through butter.
Reaching behind my back, I use my cold, bare fingers to scoop the clump of wet snow from the gap at the top of my pants. “Thanks, guys, but I got it. Maybe next time you can try to keep to your own lane—Ooof!”
The cold burst from the snowball hitting the back of my head is unexpected, and I don’t even have time to fully process what just happened or who threw the first one when I’m blasted by another. Screaming, I crouch low and start running toward the shelter of the house, but it’s a pointless endeavor because they’re all so much faster than me.
I’m pelted with a barrage of snowballs that are, thankfully, loosely packed and don’t pack a painful punch. I know if they’d really tried, they could demolish me with their strength alone. This, however, is just pure, childlike fun, and I can’t recall the last time I engaged in anything so carefree.
I’m laughing like I haven’t laughed in ages as I scramble for cover behind a snow-covered patio set and scurry to gather enough snow between my hands to make a quick ball. My fingers are frozen and my skin is colored red from the cold, but I press on, determined to enjoy every ounce of this moment because I may never get another one.
“You’re dead meat, Prescott!” I shout as I jump to my feet and lob the ball in the direction of movement, a dark blur that dashes by and takes cover behind a covered grill, and then I duck down again, narrowly avoiding another onslaught.
“Is this any way to treat a lady?” I call out, scooping more snow into my palms.
“Lady? I don’t see any ladies here,” Dean bellows, “unless you count Niles.”
“What?” Niles sounds playfully outraged. “I hope you like snow, Dunberry, because you’re about to eat it for dinner!”
The snowballs stop coming my way, and I chance a peek out at the wintery landscape to see Niles standing behind a topiary lobbing one snowball after another from a stash he apparently made toward the grill.
I grin, a plan of attack having formed in my mind’s eye, but before I can carry it out, a cold, wet glob smacks me right in the face.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” Shane is laughing through his halfhearted apology and his voice grows closer, accompanied by the sound of snow crunching under his shoes as he abandons his hiding place and rushes to my side. “I was aiming for your arm.”
“That wasn’t it.” I chuckle as he clears the bits of snow from my face with his cold fingers. When I can see again, I look up, squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun, and straight into his humor-filled blue eyes. The way the light illuminates his fair complexion and highlights strands of copper in his dark hair momentarily stuns me, and before I know what I’m saying, I tell him, “You’re so handsome.”
Shane pauses his efforts to clear away the last of the snow and transfers his touch to cup my face between his hands. There’s warmth in his expression that is filled with tenderness and reverence. “And you’re stunning.”
We stand there, staring into one another’s eyes, soaking in the moment and the impression of warmth transferring between us…and then we’re both slammed with a snowball—Shane in the back of his head and me in my right thigh.
“Get a room!”
A jeering command issued by the most unexpected person: Niles. Shane and I turn, laughing, and break away from one another as we dart away and start gathering more snow, now a united front—us against them. It’s a game we continue playing until the sun starts to set, setting the sky off in a colorful splash of fiery oranges, reds, and purples amidst the light-gray curtain of falling snow. Our hands are red, our bodies numb, our noses are running, and we’re all wet from head to toe when Niles suggests we head back inside to warm up.
Thankfully, the heat is still working, but it’s anything but welcome when our skin begins to burn as it tries to warm back up.
“We should take a hot shower,” Shane suggests, and I both hear and see the devilish look in his eyes, but Niles says what I’m thinking.
“Man, we’re tired, and hot water is only going to burn like Hell itself.”
“True, man.” Dean is stripping down to his birthday suit right in front of the sliding glass doors. “I vote we get naked and cuddle under a pile of blankets in front of a fire.”
My gaze strays to the large fireplace sitting cattycorner to the living room outfit and in direct line of sight of the kitchen where we stand. “That sounds perfect to me.” If I can’t be with family on Christmas morning, then spending Christmas Eve with three of the city’s sexiest bachelors in front of a roaring fire is a close second that I would be an idiot to pass up.
“I’ll heat up some milk for hot chocolate.” Dean’s eyes dance with a childlike playfulness that reaches into my chest and squeezes, leaving me breathless. He’s not only hot, but he’s sweet too. It’s a deadly combination for any red-blooded woman. “Do you like mini marshmallows?”
I look at him like he’s a crazy person. “Uh…yeah! Who doesn’t?”
“That was a test.” He winks at me.
“What if I’d said no?”
