Page 75 of Snowed In
I shrug, checking his nose before pressing the tissue to it again. “They were Isaac’s,” I explain. “They always were. He was the popular one. I was just the girlfriend.”
His brow furrows. “I don’t know if you’re being humble,” he says. “Or just looking for compliments, but if it’s the latter, you just have to ask, Megan. No need to put yourself down.”
“I’m just realistic.” But even as I say the words, I know they’re not wholly true. There was a time when I was friends with the people on the other side of the door. But that just makes me want to deny it all the more.
“I think the bleeding’s stopped,” I say, changing the subject.
“Oh yeah?” He takes the tissue away, showing me his bloody, messy face. “How do I look?”
“Terrible.”
He chokes out a laugh. Or he does for precisely half a second before his face contorts with pain. “Don’t make jokes.”
He leans his head down again, and I run my hands through his hair, an apologetic, instinctive act of comfort that I do over and over again until I realize I am.
“That feels nice,” he murmurs when I stop, and when I don’t continue, he lifts his head, his gaze catching on mine.
He has the tiniest white scar near his hairline.
I’ve never noticed it before. Because I’ve never really looked at him before. But now I am, and now I see. The scar right there and the random freckle near his temple, and the faint line across the middle of his forehead, one that I’m itching to smooth out.
“I think this is going really, really well,” he deadpans, and my laugh comes out like a snort. “You don’t think it’s going well?”
“I think you got hit in the face with a pool stick,” I tell him. “I think everyone is suspicious as hell, and I think we still have to get through Christmas.”
“We can do it.”
“I told you this was a dumb idea.”
“You still said yes,” he murmurs, and how does he look so sure of himself, so damn charming, when he’s got drying blood all around his nose?
“Yeah,” I say, letting myself comb his hair one final time. “I did.”
His eyes flutter closed, the line on his forehead disappearing. “You did good back there. Standing up for yourself like that. Sophie was way out of line.”
“She wasn’t really.” Now I’m no longer being stared at, I’m feeling a lot more charitable toward her. “I understand it. Leaving like I did.”
“You had your reasons,” he says. “Though I guess I never asked you what those reasons were.” His eyes open, and I find myself unable to look away.
“Did he cheat?” he asks.
“No.”
“Did you?”
I shake my head.Just tell him, a little voice says.It doesn’t matter anymore. But it does. And my mouth runs dry as nerves curdle, an echo of an old embarrassment I thought I’d dealt with. It must be clear on my face because Christian’s gaze gentles until he’s the one comforting me.
“I still think about it sometimes, you know.”
“About what?”
“You. The hotel.” His mouth curves and I realize I’m holding my breath. “When you—”
But whatever he’s going to say is lost as the door opens with a bang behind us, and I spring back so fast my ass hits the floor in a way I know is going to bruise.
“Shit!” A voice exclaims behind me. “Are you okay?”
“Hannah, what the hell?” Christian reaches for me, but that just makes the bleeding start again, which makes me start to get up, which makes our heads bump together, making this the most ridiculous moment of my life.
