Page 62 of Reach Around

My head snaps up.

No. No fucking way.

Not again.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

I break the kiss, head whipping toward the top of the hill like a deer in the headlights of a damn Shep truck.

Joely groans. “Please tell me that was the wind.”

I narrow my eyes. “That wind just catcalled us.”

A figure crests the hill, silhouetted against the moonlight. Arms out, coat flapping like a superhero cape, and a voice that’s way too familiar for my sanity.

“Hey, Joely! Looking like a snow bunny. Come get some, girl!”

I drag a hand down my face. “No. Fuck no.”

Joely laughs, her breath puffing in white clouds. “Is that—”

“Shep,” I grit out, already pushing to my feet.

“Respect,” Shep calls as he starts sliding down the hill on his feet like some deranged penguin. If he lights a flare on the way down, I will lose my shit. “I have to say, BroFetti, you picked the right girl to share a sled and a moment under the stars with. Real Disney shit happening down here.”

Joely’s cracking up, doubled over. I’m torn between launching a snowball at his head and checking my blood pressure.

“You kiss your mom with that mouth?” I snap.

“Nope. I only reserve that for the ladies who say yes,” he fires back with zero shame.

Before I can open my mouth, Joely beats me to it, hands on her hips. “Are you here alone, Shep?”

He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, not technically…”

I follow his gesture to the top of the hill. Two more figures appear. One’s got a beanie pulled down so far over his eyes I know it’s Bennett before he even opens his mouth. The other’staller and doing that awkward wave like he’s unsure he’s invited—Heath.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I mutter.

Joely squints. “Is that...”

“Yep,” I say. “It’s the entire idiot brigade, less one brother.”

Shep grins as he flops down next to us. “We heard some of the local kids talking about convincing their moms to take them sledding tonight. And you know how I feel about single moms.”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” I groan.

“They love a strong hockey player who can carry a sled and a child,” Shep adds proudly. “It’s a service I’m happy to provide.”

As if on cue, headlights sweep across the hilltop, and the stillness shatters. A whole fleet of minivans pulls in, doors flying open, kids tumbling out in neon snowsuits, boots, and sleds spilling everywhere. It’s the Tuesday night Single Moms’ Sled Squad—fifteen kids shrieking like they’re shot out of cannons and a battalion of harried women corralling scarves, mittens, and runaway toddlers.

The hill, quiet seconds ago, suddenly feels like the inside of a Chuck E. Cheese. Joely’s eyes go wide as a pair of twin girls zip past us, giggling, and before I know it, the whole run is a free-for-all. So much for romantic moonlight and subtle flirting—now it’s survival of the fastest, and Shep’s already offering to “help” the moms carry their thermoses, grinning like a wolf who’s just found the world’s most chaotic buffet.

He waves over a kid. “Come here, little guy. You need help up the hill?”

The kid frowns. “I’m ten, not a baby.”

“My bad, little bro,” Shep says, unfazed.

---