Page 49 of My Rival for Christmas

“What are you doing?!” Paige’s eyes bug out in alarm as she frantically grabs my bicep, trying to pull me up.

Despite years of discipline and all the muscle tone built up, she’s still not strong enough to stop my proposal.

She is pretty cute, though, with the way she heaves and tugs at my arms. I’m thoroughly enjoying her hands wrapped around my bicep, giving them a tight squeeze.

“Stop it, Nate,” she commands through gritted teeth as she keeps pulling.

I sink a little closer to the ground.

Her nails dig into the sleeve of my shirt.

“Nathan,” she practically pleads.

Oh, all right.Taking pity on her, I stop my descent, rising back to my full height.

I grin down at her.

It takes Paige a couple of seconds to process I’m standing back up so now she’s basically just caressing my muscles. If I was a cat, I’d purr under her ministrations.

She lets go immediately, wiping her palms on the thighs of her leggings, like that’s enough to get the feel of me off her skin. I’d like to think she just feels me around her thighs now, too.

“What were you doing?” Her tone is sharp, cutting.

“I told you, I like it when you’re mean to me.” And I really like it when I get to watch a blush spread across her face, covering her freckles.

“Focus. Nathan.”She speaks through gritted teeth. “We have a serious problem.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I look back at the bed, the buffalo plaid comforter on top of it. “Are you a bed hog?”

“That’s not?—“

“Personally, Iam.Blanket hog, too, so if you want to stay warm tonight, you’re going to have to just accept cuddling with me now. Do you think we should practice?”

“Practice? You don’t practice cuddling you just— Oh my god, what am I saying?”

“So you like cuddling, then? Any preference on big or little spoon? I actually prefer being the little spoon?—”

“Stop talking,” Paige barks, running both hands through her shiny red hair before pulling at the ends. “We will not becuddling,Ford, because we will not be sleeping together in this bed.”

I lazily raise my hand in the air like we are back in class. “Will we be sleeping together outside of the bed? I’m a big fan of using the wall—” She smacks me across the shoulder, and I hold up my hands. “Kidding.”

…I’m not kidding.

But I’m pretty sure if I finish that sentence, the only kind of sleep I’ll be doing is the permanent kind. You know, tucked six feet under and everything.

MaybeI’mthe one trapped inside with a murderer.

I give Paige a measured look. She’s practically shaking with annoyance.

Eh, at least she’s a cute murderer.

“You’re not sleeping in this bed,” she all but growls at me. Her feral kitten tendencies are coming out to play.

“Oh, yeah?” I try to keep the humor out of my voice. She’s just so cute when she gets worked up. “Then where do you suggest I sleep?”

“You saw the couch in the living room.”

“You mean the couch my dad has had since the eighties and refuses to get rid of and feels like you’re sitting on plywood?” I shake my head. “That won’t work. I don’t fit.”

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