Page 70 of Hostile for the Holidays

Fuck.I have to fix this.

Grabbing my jeans off the floor, I hop on one foot, then the other, trying to pull them on as fast as I can without tripping. With no time to waste, I rush down the stairs to see if I can catch her, but the house is empty. She’s already gone.

I don’t bother with shoes. I throw open the front door and run after her.

Shirtless, with my jeans unbuttoned and bare feet, I run out into the cold evening air.

“Stella!” I yell, like the lovesick fool I am.

She turns around, fury in her eyes that I haven’t done what she asked.

“Leave me alone, Jasper.”

I’m halfway across the street when my feet go numb from the snow underfoot, but I keep moving.

“I’m not done talking, Stell.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. Ever again!” she screams. I’m sure the neighbors are all peeking out their windows right now. I don’t care. What we found these past ten days, the chemistry, the passion, the tenderness, is something I’m not willing to give up on no matter how hard Stella pushes back.

“That’s too bad, because I need to tell you something,” I say, continuing my charge across the street and onto her lawn.

“Jasper,” Stella warns.

“Stella,” I counter with the same obstinacy. “This hasn’t been one-sided. You’ve slung plenty of mud yourself. And I think you like to fight with me because it allows you to bury how you truly feel.”

“And how is that?” she asks in a mocking tone.

“I love you, Stella. And if you look past all the petty bullshit that’s happened between us, you’d realize that you love me, too.”

She sets the frame down carefully on one of the porch chairs, then drops her clothes on top of it. She’s wearing only her fuzzy pull-on snow boots and my t-shirt.

At first, I think she’s rushing toward me, but she stops short on the sidewalk and bends down to the snow-covered lawn. Scooping snow into her hand, she forms a ball and sends it flying toward my head.

At the last second, I duck.

I don’t know what I expected, but an impromptu snowball fight wasn’t it.

“You missed,” I call. Should I be engaging her this way? Probably not. But what I’ve learned about Stella is as long as she’s willing to stay and fight, there’s still hope. It’s when she shuts down and disengages that I’m at a loss.

I’m too busy gloating about her miss that I don’t see the next one coming. It hits me right in my chest. My bare chest.

Not only is the snowball perfectly packed so it doesn’t completely break when it hits me, but my lack of clothing has my bare skin absorbing every icy edge of it.

“God damn it, Stella.” I rub my aching chest. “That hurt.”

“Good,” she retorts, reaching for more snow.

She launches another snowball in my direction, but this time I’m ready for it and duck.

Shielding my face with my hands, I inch closer to her.

“Can you stop throwing snowballs so we can talk?”

“No.” She reaches toward the ground to reload but knowing she’s not armed yet, I make my move.

Rushing toward her, I scoop her up into my arms. She kicks and flails like a greased eel, trying to squirm out of my grip.

She slams her boot into my shin and I release her as I start to fall forward. If I had ever been concerned about Stella living in the city by herself, it’s clear from her self-defense moves I’ve got nothing to worry about.

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