Page 45 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
I watched him.
The way Eli laughed before the punchline even landed, because he knew it by heart. The way his shoulders shook when he tried—and failed—not to snort at the stupidest jokes. The way his whole face lit up, unguarded and bright, as if the world outside his snow globe of a bedroom didn’t exist.
I sat there, pretending to be unimpressed, while my chest pulled tighter with every glance. It was the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen. And maybe that’s the problem.
Because I can’t find my reason. The one I’ve been holding on to—why this can’t last beyond a snowstorm, why it can’t matter. But it does matter. Too much. And if I look at it too closely, if I admit what’s starting to root itself inside me, I don’t know if I’ll be able to bury it again.
I snap the laptop shut before I think too hard, sliding it to the side. “So,” I mutter, dragging myself up off the bed, “you feeding me, or do I have to scavenge?”
Eli stretches, arms above his head, his toned muscles flexing in a distracting way that makes me think about things other than my growling stomach. He grins at me as if I just said something funny. “Lunch. Definitely lunch.”
His hair is a mess, sticking up from where I’ve run my fingers through it one too many times, and his cheeks are still flushed from laughing. He looks like trouble wrapped in sunshine, and I know if I’m not careful, I’m going to let myself burn in it.
I shove the thought down, reaching for the joggers I left draped over the chair to sorta dry. “Then let’s go before I change my mind.”
I tug my legs into my still-damp pants and grimace, already making a mental note that I need dry clothes from my dorm before we go back out into the snow.
When I glance up, he’s still naked. Completely, utterly, unbotheredly naked.
Eli runs his palm over his hip, slow and lazy, then drags it up across his abs to the hollow of his marked throat as if he’s on a stage he knows I can’t look away from. My mouth goes dry. For a second, all I can do is watch the way his skin shifts under his touch, golden in the dim light.
I cross the distance before I can stop myself, catching his mouth in a kiss that’s hot and hungry, teeth scraping, tongue claiming. He laughs into it, the sound bubbling up between us before he breaks away, breathless and grinning.
“God, I love the way you kiss. But,” he says, gesturing down at the half-hard length hanging between us, “I’m gonna have a whole new problem that needs solving before lunch. If you keep doing it.”
My gaze flicks down, then back up, and my cock twitches in agreement. “Then get dressed,” I growl.
His grin only widens as he reaches for his clothes, unhurried and smug. He knows exactly how close I am to throwing lunchout the window entirely and opting for the protein he can provide.
Eli takes his time pulling on a clean pair of joggers and a fitted thermal, the kind that clings to every line of his torso. He’s humming under his breath, completely unbothered, as if he didn’t just spend the morning begging me to fuck him into the mattress and giggling at corny jokes in that movie.
I sit on the edge of his bed, lacing up my boots, but my gaze keeps dragging back to him, no matter how hard I try to focus on anything else. The smooth pull of fabric over his body, the way he runs a hand through his hair, leaving it mussed and boyish—it all needles under my skin, simmering low and hot.
When he turns to me, grin wide and cheeks pink from the growing chill in his room, it knocks something loose in my chest that I don’t want to name.
“See?” he says, tugging the hem of his shirt down. “Good as new. Ready for round two in the snow.”
I grunt, standing and grabbing my hoodie, trying not to let my stare linger. “You’re exhausting.”
I don’t mean it, not really. My slightly barbed words are the only defense I have left with him. But he doesn’t seem to take them to heart.
He only beams wider. “And yet you keep sticking around.”
I shove my arms into my sleeves and glance away before I can say something I’ll regret on Monday. Doesn’t matter how much he glows, how much he shines—it’s temporary. It has to be.
But my pulse is still hammering when he steps closer, tugging on his own coat, his scent wrapping around me, attempting to prove I’m lying to myself.
The short walk to my dorm room, I’m quiet, but Eli talks enough for both of us—something about the best place to grab sandwiches once we make it out—but my head’s elsewhere. Ikeep cataloging every grin, every brush of his shoulder against mine, until we’re standing in front of my door.
Inside, the air is colder than before, no body heat in here to help ward off the chill, the faint draft from the old windows gnawing at the heat that had been in the room. I drop my coat on top of my dresser and peel off my hoodie and shirt, reaching for the pants clinging damp to my thighs.
Eli leans against the door at his back, arms folded, eyes bright. He doesn’t even pretend not to stare.
“Keep looking,” I mutter, pushing my pants down.
“Oh, I am.” His grin is wicked and soft all at once.
I mean to tell him to stop gawking, but then I’m standing there naked, reaching for fresh clothes, and he’s already moving. Crossing the room.
