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“But work—”
“I’m the boss,” I remind her.
She runs a hand through her hair. Her curls are absolutely wild from my hands. It gives me a possessive thrill.
“But what will people think? If we’re both late to work?” she asks.
“They’ll think I’m a lucky bastard.”
“Cole,” she scolds, but she’s smiling.
I shrug. “We’ll lie and say our flight was delayed. Now come kiss me.”
She does, and for a few heartbeats I lose myself in the sweet heat of her kiss. But when I start to tug at the robe she’s wearing, she pulls away.
I groan.
“I’m serious, Cole.”
“Fine. Use my shower.”
“Why?”
Because I feel better when you’re close, I think.
But that’s far too personal to admit. She’d get the wrong idea. Think I’m looking for something serious when I’m definitely not. Think I’m the kind of guy she should fall in love with, when I’m the worst possible kind of man for someone as sweet as Amelia.
So instead I grin wolfishly and say, “So I can watch.”
She throws a pillow at my head.
But she also leaves the bathroom door open when she goes into shower.
I don’t need to be invited twice.
A half hourlater we both step back into my bedroom freshly showered (her idea) and freshly fucked (mine). It takes me a moment to realize why the lighting in the room feels different.
Amelia gasps. “It’s snowing.”
She’s right. One side of my bedroom walls is covered in large, antique windows and outside, fat white snowflakes fall softly.The snow turns the other apartment buildings and skyscrapers into a beautiful mirage.
It’s pretty, but nothing I haven’t seen before. If I’m honest, snow days are kind of a headache. No one at work ever focuses. And everyone always uses it as an excuse to come in late and leave early. Which would make sense, if a single one of them wasdriving.But this is New York. Everyone’s taking the subway anyway.
I head to my closet and get dressed.
“When I was a kid, I always dreamed of snow days.” Amelia goes to stand in front of the window. Her face is turned up to the sky, full of wonder. “But, you know, not a ton of snow in Texas.”
“Yeah.” My phone buzzes with a work email. It’s Linda from HR, asking me and my dad if we want her to send out our standard snow day email. It's a longer, polite version of,Yes, the office is fucking open please come into work like we pay you to.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard as I quickly type out my normal response.
“But you got snow days at one of your last jobs, right?” I ask Amelia, distracted.
“Not really,” she says, a little wistful. “People could work from home. But that’s not the same as making hot chocolate. Tromping through the snow.”
I look up at Amelia. She’s so beautiful, standing there in the pearly light of the snow. Wrapped in my bathrobe, her still-drying hair hanging loose down her back.
How many more opportunities will I have to see her like this? Before she grows bored with the sex and withdraws to her own rooms?
