Page 38 of Catered All the Way


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“It’s on.” He launched his missile, snow hitting me square in the chest, exactly like those pesky feelings Zeb kept inspiring in me.

And since I couldn’t think about that, I threw my snowball next, over-judging how far my loosely packed ball could go. It landed with a sad little plop at Zeb’s feet.

“Is that all you got?” He danced around like a boxer preparing for a title bout.

“Now you’re asking for it.” I packed my next snowball much firmer and put more oomph into my toss, only to be hit in the face by Zeb’s throw. We played like that, right in the middle of Main Street, ducking behind concrete planters and candy cane-wrapped light poles, scampering over benches and under awnings, and laughing harder than I had in thirty years. We undoubtedly looked ridiculous. Grown men playing like little kids at an hour most people were fast asleep.

And maybe that was part of the appeal, the feeling of the universe being reduced to only the two of us. Breathing hard, I ambushed him when he bent to collect more snow, flattening him into the snow-covered grass near the hardware store. Of course, it wasn’t much of an ambush when he went happily and pulled me down for a kiss hot enough to melt an iceberg.

“I win,” Zeb exclaimed right before he swept his tongue into my mouth and stole the last of my common sense.

“You did.” Holding his face in my hands, I returned the kiss with one of my own, hotter and deeper until he shuddered under me.

“Brrr.”

Oh wait. That was a shiver.

“Sorry.” I rolled off him and gave him a hand up. “Now we’re all cold.”

“And wet.” He grinned broadly at me, with no trace of regret. “Only one thing left to do.”

After collecting our loot, we raced the remaining blocks to his apartment, pounding up the stairs, not slowing until we were crammed together in his tiny shower, hot water blasting our chilled skin.

The shower was a practical necessity to warm up, nothing sexual or even particularly sensual. And yet, we shared a closeness that went far beyond the close quarters of Zeb’s bathroom. Even if I wanted to get sexy, there simply wasn’t room, but there was unexpected joy in holding Zeb close, lathering up his mop of hair, kissing his neck.

“Better than the barracks?” He smiled like he already knew the answer.

“Light years.” I groaned as he managed to soap up my chest, paying particular attention to my tats. “Trying to scrub my ink off?”

“Nah.” His smile turned wistful. “Trying to memorize their colors and designs.”

“Zeb—”

He cut off my protest with a blistering kiss, one that made me forget whatever I’d been about to say.

“Eeeee!” He made a high-pitched squeal as the hot water ran out.

“Bed.” I’d never delivered an order while laughing so hard, but like everything else with Zeb, it felt new and wonderful. As did being snuggled under his stack of covers, naked and surrounded by plates of snacks while drinking champagne from mismatched cups.

“This is the life.” Zeb stretched against me, rubbing up on my shoulder.

“It really is.” I bumped back against him, an easy familiarity between us. Had it really been only a few short weeks that we’d been doing this? My leave was speeding away from me at a breakneck pace that left me wishing for the power to freeze time. Funny how I’d worried about being antsy to get back, and now part of me didn’t want to leave. “I could get used to this.”

“You ever think about putting down roots?” Zeb asked cautiously. “Finding a place like Kringle’s Crossing, making a home? Maybe after the navy?”

“Sure, I’ve thought about it.” I’d meant I could get used to laughing and champagne picnics and Zeb in my bed, but I also couldn’t deny the appeal of more midnight snowball fights. “But I’m not sure I’m built for the settling down thing. Wouldn’t know where to start with the whole home and family thing. Not like I had stellar role models in that department.”

“I don’t think that’s a requirement.” Zeb pursed his lips before snagging another spinach artichoke bite from a plastic Captain Marvel plate.

“Says the guy with the idyllic childhood.”

“Yeah, and I still had to figure out adulting the hard way.” Zeb’s chin took on a stubborn tilt. And he didn’t say it, but the pain in his eyes said he was thinking about losing his parents early. “I never really fit in at school. And after my folks died, I floundered from college to college and thing to thing. And here I am, almost thirty, living in my brother’s old apartment, with an obscene investment in computer equipment and almost nothing else.”

“Hey now. You’ve pulled it together pretty darn admirably. You’ve got your gamer career. Tons of kids want to be you when they grow up.”

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