Page 36 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
“Race you,” I say, and bolt forward before he has the chance to argue.
The cold air tears at my lungs as I sprint, boots crunching and sliding over the snow, but the sound of Max’s heavier footsteps pounding right behind me makes it worth it. He catches up in three strides, and I yelp when his hand closes briefly around the back of my jacket, tugging as if he might pull me down.
“Cheater!” I gasp, laughing so hard I nearly trip.
“You started it,” he fires back, breath clouding white in the air.
We skid up to the coffee shop door, both of us panting, cheeks raw from the wind. I fumble the handle open, and a blast of warmth engulfs us, rich with the scent of espresso and peppermint. It’s like heaven.
“Holy—” I tug my beanie off and sigh, feeling my bones melt as the heat sinks in. “This is heaven. Actual heaven.”
Max mutters something that might be agreement as he stomps snow from his boots, already tugging his gloves off. His cheeks are pink, hair dusted with flakes, and I hate how unfairly good he looks like that.
We peel off layers the same way we would shed armor—me shrugging out of my scarf and tugging at my jacket, him shrugging off his coat and dragging his hoodie up over his head, mussing up his wet hair. He shakes it out, and my fingers itch stupidly to smooth it down for him.
I grab a small table near the window, my legs still buzzing from the run, and drop into the chair with a sigh of pure contentment. “Best. Idea. Ever.”
Max snorts, tossing his gloves onto the tabletop before sinking into the seat across from me. He stretches his legs out, long enough to brush mine under the table, and doesn’t bother moving them.
“So…I’m buying the first round, and I’m thinking peppermint mocha. With extra whipped cream, obviously. How about you?”
Max leans back in his chair as if he’s already made up his mind. “I’m paying.”
I sit up straighter, scandalized. “Excuse me? Absolutely not. You already paid last night.”
“Exactly.” His mouth curves, smug. “Which means I’m on a streak.”
“That’s not a streak, Calder, that’s robbery. I am perfectly capable of buying my own peppermint mocha, thank you very much.”
He arches a brow, unconcerned. “You can buy your next Hobby Lobby haul. I’ve got this.”
I narrow my eyes at him, folding my arms across my chest as though that’ll make me look tough. “You realize if you keep this up, people are going to start getting ideas.”
He doesn’t even blink. “What kind of ideas?”
Heat prickles up my neck. He knows exactly what kind of ideas. I wave a hand, grasping for my dignity. “The kind where you look like some chivalrous sugar daddy, and I’m not sure I can live with that rumor following me into the winter semester.”
Max smirks, leaning forward just enough that his voice dips low, conspiratorial. “Pretty sure it’s too late for that rumor. But I’m sure you can keep it under wraps, no one will know unless you tell them. Right?”
My mouth opens. Closes. I sputter, half-flustered, half-delighted. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re not getting your wallet out,” he says, already standing and snagging his own from his back pocket.
I groan dramatically, dropping my head into my hands as he strides toward the counter as if he didn’t just casually destroy me with one smirk and a couple of words.
Max comes back balancing two steaming cups and a paper bag, setting them down like some kind of smug barista. “They had fresh pastries. Figured you’d want one.”
My brows shoot up. “Figured, huh? Calder, this is dangerously close to thoughtful.”
He just shrugs, sliding the bag toward me like it’s no big deal. But itisa big deal.
“I’m thoughtful.”
I tear into the bag, pulling out a croissant dusted with sugar and a drizzle of chocolate, and glance at him over the rim of my cup. “So tell me…” I lean back, all fake casual. “Is this because I let you fuck me last night?”
His eyes snap to mine, sharp as a blade, and his glower could melt the snow right off the sidewalks. I love his grumpiness. Strange thing to realize, but pressing his buttons and seeing that glare on his face does things to my stomach, turning it into an acrobat.
I bite into the pastry, grin widening around a mouthful of buttery, chocolatey flakes. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
