Page 63 of My Rival for Christmas

CHAPTER TWELVE

paige

If there isone thing about me, it’s that I’m going to overthink a situation until I’ve exhausted myself. And then I’m going to think about it some more. But as I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, phone propped under my chin after just getting off a call with my brother, updating him on the weather situation, I wait for the panic to set in.

I wait and I wait and I wait, but it never comes.

Which, obviously, can only mean one thing.

I’ve come down with cabin fever.

Yes.I watch my reflection nod along in the mirror. That’s the only explanation.

Someone call a doctor, I need them to prescribe me a cure for Nathan Ford’s mouth. And his tongue. And his expertly skilled use of them both when bringing me to orgasm. And if we could put a rush on that, I’d really appreciate it.

We’re a little time sensitive here.

Otherwise, when I leave this bathroom, I’m afraid of what I’ll do. Like jump his bones or attack his mouth again.

Both of which will only further confuse me about why I’m not actually confused.

Kissing Nathan Ford has to be the most absurd thing I’ve ever done. Letting him eat me out, giving me my first non-self-induced orgasm in I don’t even know how long, is definitely the most unhinged.

I should be freaking out. I should be packing my measly belongings and getting the hell out of this cabin, hazardous conditions be damned. I should be thinking of name changes and what colors I can actually stand to dye my virgin hair in an attempt to start fresh with a persona that doesn’t know who Nathan Ford is. Let alone what sounds he can wring out of me at an awfully early hour in the morning.

And yet, I stand in the bathroom, not plotting my escape or brainstorming names. Instead, I search for a lick of regret. A twinge of audacity.

Something,anythingother than this rooted contentedness that’s settled so deep inside me, it feels like a long-lost breath at last finding its way home.

Like I’m finally remembering what it’s like to breathe without a pinch in my chest, without having nausea wreck my stomach.

For once in my life, I’m not thinking about skating or my problems, or anything that drove me to this place to begin with. I’m not thinking about our past or the resentment I’ve hung on to for so long.

It’s like everything that has been plaguing me got put on pause, leaving me with a peace I’ve never met before.

I feel good. Better than good, actually. For the first time ever, I’d probably even say I feel amazing. Not even that deep tissue massage at the resort’s spa the other day could make me feel like I do now. So languid and satiated.

My racing brain has seemed to finally grasp the concept of a vacation. My worrying thoughts are nowhere near me—away on an overdue hiatus.

Wow. So this is what it feels like to not drown in anxiety.

It’s revolutionary.

As I continue to stare at my reflection in the mirror, at the flush on my cheeks and the wide, blown-out pupils in my eyes, I can’t help but sink into this weightless feeling.

All because of one infuriating, full of himself, cursed with the hottest genes man.

A man who is somewhere in this cabin, waiting for me.

And for the first time in two years, I’m not looking for ways to avoid him.

I need that cure stat, doctor!

With a final look in the mirror, I draw in a cool, sharp breath, and shuffle out of the bathroom and into the empty bedroom.

Staring at the now stripped bed, the ruined sheets no doubt in the wash, I can’t help but wonder what it’s going to be like to sleep there tonight.

The sleep barrier, while a valiant attempt, was no match for suppressed matters of the heart…and libido.

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