Page 2 of Their Little Snow Angel
Twenty minutes later, I pull up to his house, a duplex he rents in the Old Thirty-Three district with two other guys. I knock on the door and he ushers me inside, polite as always. His sandy-blond hair is slicked back like usual, and he’s wearing a loose Henley and jeans.
“You look nice.” I shift back and forth, feeling shy for some reason. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yep, all ready.” He takes in my coat. “What are you wearing the coat for? It’s not that cold.”
“Are your roommates home?”
“No.” He frowns. “Why?”
I unbutton the coat, revealing my carefully chosen outfit. “Because I have a surprise!”
I’m not sure what I expected. I thought maybe he would grab me, push me up against the door, and kiss me senseless. Although now that I think about it, “senseless” is impossible. Because we always have our senses and kissing wouldn’t make those senses go away. I would be tasting him and smelling him.
His frown deepens, and he doesn’t kiss me or touch me at all. Instead, he stares. “What the hell are you wearing, Violet?”
“Um.” I look down at myself. “A leather bustier, a mini-skirt, and?—”
“No, for fuck’s sake. Why are you wearing it?”
“To be sexy?” I’ve done something wrong, and I don’t like this feeling, not one bit.
“Yeah—no.” He shakes his head. “What is wrong with you, Violet? I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what, specifically?”
He rolls his eyes. “Can’t do—this.” He moves his hands in my direction. “This isn’t what I signed on for. I want a proper girlfriend, not some…whatever the fuck that is.”
“Oh. I can be a proper girlfriend, then.” Although it feels as if my heart shrinks when I say it. I want sex. I want fun, kinky sex. I want to feel hot and lose myself in all the feelings it can bring.
Perhaps it’s lucky, then, that Callum keeps shaking his head. “It’s over, Violet. I’m not going on the trip. I’m not going out with you.”
My brain rushes through different interpretations. He can’t mean what I think he means. “You’re not going out with me, like, we’re staying in forever, or?—”
“I’m breaking up with you. You are not my girlfriend. I’m not your boyfriend. Fucking hell, how much clearer do I have to spell it out?”
“I understand now. That was very clear.” I don’t cry, although I want to. I thought that Callum would like all the effort I’ve gone to. I know I like all the effort I’ve gone to. I felt like something was missing in our sex life.
All he does is give me the same disgusted look as I button up my coat and let myself out of his house.
I am, objectively, smart. I graduated top of my class in both high school and college. Even though I’m only a year out of college, I am one of the best accountants at my firm, consistently given bonuses each quarter for overshooting expectations. I can memorize letters, numbers, and all sorts of codes without even trying.
And I have never felt stupider than I feel now.
I get in my car and start back toward home. At a stoplight, I remember—Mikayla has her own sexy plans for the week, with her boyfriend. If I go home, she won’t be able to do the things she’s been looking forward to.
A quick U-turn and I’m getting on the highway that will bring me to the mountains.
I’ll take my week-long sexy Christmas retreat. Only I’ll be taking it alone.
2
Heath
Brody follows me into the kitchen, talking even though I try to drown him out by rummaging through the cabinets in search of nonperishables.
“Or”—his voice gets louder—“we could stay here and go to Low Vice every night for a week of debauchery.”
“Photos.” I emerge from the cupboard with an unopened box of granola bars. “We’ve been planning a photo trip for weeks. Mason said we can use his cabin. It’s remote, it’s quiet. I don’t need to go to Low Vice. We do that all the time. How often do we get to go up to the mountains and take photos like we used to? We might even do a little bouldering?—”
