Page 40 of Perfectly Complicated
“Here, wrap this around you,” I instruct, trying to focus on the practical.
She takes it quickly, layering it over the towel, covering her shoulders and legs to the knees, but she’s still shaking.
“Sit,” I tell her, gesturing to the spot on the floor closest to the fireplace. She sinks down onto the blankets I’d laid out for myself, and I add another log onto the fire.
“Better?” I ask, still not quite looking at her directly. Instead, I focus on the crackling flames, the way the logs are turning that sooty shade of blackish gray.
“A little.” She’s still shivering, but less than before.
“We probably ran out of hot water,” I say, settling down beside her, careful to keep a respectable distance and my eyes on the fire.
“So much for finishing my shower.” She pulls the blanket tighter around herself. “I probably still smell like gingerbread and overpriced hot chocolate.”
“So you admit I’m right about the hot chocolate?”
“Well, yes,” she says. “It was way too expensive. And I stupidly fell for it.”
“You didn’t fall for it. You just have a soft heart. You’d probably pay ten bucks even if it was a kid selling lukewarm Swiss Miss on the sidewalk.”
“You’re not wrong.” She gives me a guilty smile. “I’m a sucker for kids.”
Right now, I’m trying very hard not to notice how the firelight is catching the water droplets rolling down her neck. “For the record, you smell like…Christmas.”
She gives me a side-eye. “You think Christmas smells good?”
“Like something sweet. And minty. And suspiciously cinnamon-adjacent. Nothing terrible.”
Her eyes narrow. “You realize you just admitted youlikesomething about Christmas.”
“No, I didn’t. I said it wasn’tterrible. That’s neutral.”
“Oh no. You said ‘sweet.’ That’s basically acompliment.”
“I take it back,” I deadpan. “Christmas smells like the inside of a gym bag. Or Jaxon’s socks. Something truly awful.”
She laughs. “Too late. I heard it.”
“I think the cold water has affected your brain,” I say. “Maybe you should get dressed.”
“Yeah, I should, but I don’t even have pajamas. Just my clothes from today.”
I glance at my Crushers bag, the one I always keep in my car with spare clothes. “Here,” I say, getting up and pulling out my #18 jersey and joggers. “These should work.” I toss them her way.
“Oh, no, I’m not wearing your jersey.” She returns the jersey with a quick toss. “Because that would admit defeat.”
“It’s just for tonight, Janie,” I say. “It has nothing to do with the bet.”
She crosses her arms. “I’d rather freeze.”
“I’m about to let you test that theory.”
“You’d probably enjoy seeing me suffer.”
“Maybe, but there’s always my Crushers sweatshirt.” I root around in my bag until I find it. “Unless that’s in the same category as the jersey?” I toss the sweatshirt at her.
She unfolds it, holding it up to her body. “This is going to be huge on me.”
“Better baggy and warm than cold and miserable.”
