Page 66
Fuck me sideways.
My cheeks breezed past pink and settled on maroon, and my family’s teasing prods made me want to bury my face in Blackey’s fur like an ostrich seeking sand. The clock ticked down to the death of my dignity, the sound louder than it should have been.
Half of me prayed he wouldn’t see it today. Or ever.
Bzzt. I plucked the phone out of my pocket, nearly spilling my drink in my haste, and checked it with a sharp, stuttering breath.
He’d answered with a selfie of his own, snapped next to a giant snowman, which was bald, as warned. He had a cigar in his mouth and a funny, flirtatious expression with bushy eyebrows made of pine branches. His large, red button nose cut through some of the sex appeal, but even so, he was surrounded by what looked like snowwomen, judging by the curvaceous lines.
I squinted, zooming in on their faces.
Were those… looks of adoration?
Bloody Michelangelo, who would’ve thought?
A soft chuckle escaped me, eyes crinkling at the corners, before my breath punched out of me for an entirely different reason when I allowed myself to focus on Josh, who was wearing a Christmas sweater, holding a matching cigar between his hips, and making a similar expression to the snowman’s, down to the eyebrow waggle.
It was the most ridiculous I’d seen him.
The caption was the final nudge to my composure: “Who wore it better?”
I chortled the wine up my nose, sputtered and coughed for a full minute while my family teetered between worry and loud cackles.
My phone buzzed again with another text, dragging me out of it. I swatted at the notification and replied to the photo first.
M: The snowman, no contest. The ladies agree ;)
P.S.: The eyebrows… I laughed so hard, wine came up my nose!
There was no way to dodge my mom and grandma’s pointed, brazen peeks over my wrist, not after I’d laughed like that. Dad’s eyes lit up from the armchair where he pretended not to pay attention, but the corners of his mouth twitched. Though mirth still clung to me like smoke, my stomach flipped as I handed them the phone.
The deranged sounds my family made could scarcely be called “laughter”. The phone was passed around, the photo zoomed in on, and I hid my burning face in my hands and prayed for it to end.
When the glee died down, the prayers intensified—on my part—as I dodged questions like a freakin’ ninja about the “handsome guy” I was texting.
Hours later, as I padded to my room, hair a little damp from the shower, I still wasn’t sure how I’d survived the ordeal.
Christmas pyjamas whispered over scrubbed-pink skin, and I sighed contentedly as the warmth from the dying fire kissed my feet, which were dangling off the side of the bed.
I absentmindedly checked my phone and remembered I hadn’t read his other text.
J: Cute. Can’t tell who’s redder: the hat, or your cheeks.
If I were there, I’d definitely kiss you.
My heart, which had settled into a relaxed, sleepy rhythm, kicked up with a vengeance, bruising the inside of my ribs.
My soul left my body, until I was staring at my own slack mouth and unblinking eyes as if from above.
I read and reread, until I knew the words by heart.
My fingers rose unconsciously to brush my lips as I wondered what it would feel like.
My stomach gave a wholly illegal, excited little lurch, and I immediately wanted to throw myself off a cliff.
I dragged the quilted blanket up, over my chin, over my face, and let out a strangled little squeal.
But trying not to think about it was like trying to keep from being sucked into a tornado. My brain streamed that stormy day in HD, when he’d got so close, his breath had brushed over my lips. A faint tingle sparked over my mouth, like someone had lit a fuse and dragged it over the seam.
