Blizzards and Bastards, page 12
“Tina, I’m making something for our guest. Don’t be a bitch.” I reach past her and yank the steam wand down, pressing the button to froth the milk.
Vale is a welcome escape from pretty much everything. My family. My grief. Aspen and Frost.
If I have to kill Tina to make him his coffee, I’ll do it. Fortunately, both she and my mom lose interest in me quickly, and I’m able to make two drinks before escaping the kitchen.
“Thank you,” Vale tells me when I hand a full mug over to him, his words sincere. His smile is warm, and the way he lifts the cup in encouraging salute soothes all my frayed nerves.
Conversation flows easily between us, mostly because he doesn’t press for details about anything unless it seems like I want to talk about it.
I don’t. Not about my family. Not about my encounters with his band. Nothing serious.
I write with Vale for most of the day, trying not to feel excited by the sheer number of words I’ve managed to put on the page. I’m shaping up to have a story here, and it’s incredible. So rewarding.
It’s a mistake to return to the kitchen. It’s the one place in the house that I always seem to run into my family.
“How long are you planning to freeload off Mom and Dad?” my brother, Adam, asks. He and Atticus are twins, and they’re pricks. I hate them both. “At your age? It’s kind of sad, don’t you think.”
He makes it seem like I’m pushing fifty or something, taking advantage of my ‘elderly’ parents by moving back here.
“I’m twenty-two,” I reply, trying to find something in the regular fridge to eat. Digging into the perfect organization of the industrial fridge is a task I’m just not up for today. Too distracted. Too emotional. Aspen was great yesterday, but his attention is making me feel some type of way again.
I need to stop watching so many of those goddamn movies.
“Mooching off our parents. Somehow, I could’ve guessed that’s where you’d end up.” This is from Tina, wearing a beige turtleneck and matching slacks with a subtle red plaid pattern. Her version of Christmas is even less colorful than my dad’s. “We warned you about the bookstore thing, told you that it was a bad idea. In ten years, we’ll all have an app on our phones with an AI bot that can write us whatever book we want, whenever we want. Nobody needs or wants bookstores anymore. You might as well have opened up a Blockbuster.”
Both Tina and Adam laugh as I toss some bacon into the cast-iron pan that I brought from home. It belonged to our grandma, but nobody cares except me.
“Only somebody who never reads would say something like that.” I crack two eggs into the pan as well, using the grease to crisp the whites.
“Don’t think we all haven’t noticed how weird you’re being with the band. Don’t kid yourself, Cyan. They’re way out of your league. You pursuing them is just embarrassing.” Adam cuts a pomegranate in half, spattering crimson juice across the counter.
“You’re an easy lay, Cyan,” Tina whispers, getting way too close to me. “I heard you in your room yesterday. And with a different guy than the one whose crotch you grabbed? You’re jobless, with a failed business, failed relationships, no friends. Think about that before you make a fool of yourself.”
Her words are harsh enough that I take my food directly upstairs and lock myself inside.
Tina’s probably right.
Nobody comes knocking this time.
The house is quiet when I finally venture out in search of sweets, creeping down to the kitchen and piling up a dozen cookies on one of dad’s plates with the shiny gold rims. Sugar cookies, shortbread, chocolate chip, M&M, snickerdoodles. All of that and a huge glass of milk that I’m already sipping from when I hear an unmistakable sound.
A man moaning.
I stop in the hallway, turning and trying to pinpoint the source.
One of the guys must be staying in the downstairs guest room.
My dad rarely uses that room, since there are a dozen more upstairs, but we’ve got a full house at the moment. Another moan follows the first, piquing my interest. I come to a shuffling stop, turning my head to look in the direction of the closed door and the cranberry wreath that adorns it, complete with a green velvet bow.
No, Cyan. Don’t stop. Keep going. This is a personal moment, and not something for you to listen in on.
My hand tightens on the edge of the plate, the other curling firmly around the glass of milk. Those sounds seem familiar somehow. Aspen or Frost? I still can’t fucking believe that something happened with either of them let alone both. Aspen? I mean, Aspen? How did I manage to bag my bias—twice?
I find myself standing in front of the door, debating the merits of knocking.
Frost or Aspen, I … I’m curious.
Screw it. I turn, getting ready to put the milk and cookies on a side table so I can knock. The door opens, a square of gold light spilling out into the hallway. Frost is standing there, damp with sweat, hair stuck to his forehead. He’s panting as he stares at me, one green eye squinted like he’s trying to make sense of something confusing.
“Were you spying on me?” he whispers as I spin, a single M&M cookie flying off the plate and exploding. Red and green candies bounce across the floor and land in the space between my toes and his.
“No, no, not at all. I was getting a snack.” I lift the plate as proof, choking on the words. Caught in the act. Caught red-fucking-handed. I feel like I have to explain. “You were sort of … loud. Really loud, actually. I came over here to knock and see if—”
That’s where I stop.
Frost leans his shoulder against the doorjamb and folds his arms, frowning at me.
“You were going to ask to join me? As if that isn’t more intrusive than eavesdropping.” He’s frowning, but there’s the tiniest, ittiest bittiest little smile on his pretty mouth. “What the hell is wrong with you? Didn’t I say that you were a parasocial stalker?”
“I am not a stalker,” I growl out, gesturing with the cookies again and losing a snickerdoodle in battle. RIP. I’ll have to clean all of that up before my dad finds out.
“Stop wasting perfectly good Christmas cookies.” Frost stands up straight and then bends in half at the waist, his eyes on mine. He nips a chocolate chip and rises to his full height, cookie held between his teeth. Frost steps back, holding out his right hand to invite me in.
Before I do …
“I had sex with Aspen yesterday.” I’m not sure if I’m actively attempting to ruin a good thing, or if I just like Frost so much that honesty is absolutely necessary between us. “Sort of. We were both wearing our clothes, but we also both came so … however that stacks up for you.”
Frost’s eyes narrow, and he gestures with his hand again, refusing to put the cookie down and talk with me.
I scamper into the room, and he slams the door shut with his palm. Flicks the lock.
Heat suffuses my entire body, forcing me to take a sip of the milk to cool down.
The bed is rumpled, the green sheets with their adorable yule log pattern tossed and suggestive. Frost sees me looking at them, walking over and taking a seat. He pats the mattress next to him with one hand and takes the cookie from his mouth with the other. Steals a bite.
I join him, picking up my own dessert and taking a bite of a no-bake wreath cookie. It looks better than it tastes. I should make the ugly ginger cookies that my family hates. I put the wreath down without finishing it. Frost seems to feel differently about his cookie of choice, nibbling it slowly while staring at the advent calendar on the back of his door.
“You both came with all your clothes on?” is somehow what Frost took out of everything I said. “How? Dry humping?”
I think about the stain on Aspen’s sweatpants. No, it wasn’t dry at all.
“You’re seriously asking me that?” I’m so shocked that when Frost reaches out for the glass of milk, I let him take it. He drinks it, eyes widening when the ice cubes hit his teeth.
“You like ice in your milk?” he asks, and I shrug.
“My brothers say it makes milk watery, but I like it extra cold.” I try a different cookie. The shortbread is far superior to the green-dyed-marshmallow wreath.
“Same.” Frost chugs half the glass and hands it back to me. I hesitate, but ultimately end up accepting it. I don’t usually share drinks with people I just met. Don’t usually have sex with people I’ve just met either. He puts his hands on his naked thighs (I seem to have a thigh fetish), working his fingertips against his skin as he thinks something over. “You can fuck Aspen and not tell me about it.”
“It wouldn’t be right for us to …” I gesture at his sheets and then look down at my plate. The tree in the corner provides plenty of light, but it’s this dull, lazy light that makes everything seem more personal than it should be. “Without me telling you.”
“Right for us to what?” Frost asks, indignant. “I didn’t invite you in here for sex.”
My mouth drops open.
“Oh?” I slam my cookie back down on the plate, cracking the tasty dough in half. “That’s exactly what Aspen said when he came to my room yesterday, right before he grabbed my face and kissed me. Guess you’re all full of shit.”
I stand up and step in front of Frost, putting the dishes on his nightstand and turning to face him.
“Tell me to leave, and I will,” I declare, folding my arms.
He looks up at me with absolutely zero expression then stands and scoots around me, heading for the door and opening it.
“Out,” he growls at me. “Get out.”
I’m shocked. I thought he was playing a game the way Aspen was. Or Vale. I gather up my dishes as quickly as I can and sprint out of his room and into the hallway, beyond mortified.
Maybe Adam and Tina were right? I am embarrassing myself.
I throw the rest of the cookies away, put the plate and glass in the dishwasher, and tiptoe back down the hall to clean up the mess of crumbs on the floor.
After this, I’ll leave Frost alone. He’s made it pretty clear what he wants, and if I can’t listen to him then what hope do I ever have of getting my family to listen to me?
FROST
On the fifth day of Christmas, a creature was stirring
I’m lying on my back, eyes closed, pretending not to hear Cyan outside my door. I should help her clean up. The thought occurs to me, but I’m struggling with a dozen others. See, she’s right. I did invite her in to have sex with me, then I panicked because she isn’t acting like she’s looking for a casual fling. She’s acting like a potential girlfriend.
I sigh and roll onto my side, pillowing my hands under my head and shifting against the discomfort in my boxers. Cyan was in my room. On my bed. Wearing a too-short navy nightgown with churches all over it. Slippers. A look of disgust when she bit into a green cookie and quickly put it back on the plate.
I’ve never been the type to pick up girls. The other guys do and eh. I don’t usually like any of them. This is my first time picking somebody up on my own.
But Cyan can’t be my girlfriend.
She curses outside my door, something about the abominable snowman’s frozen dick.
My eyes narrow, and I shove up to my feet, yanking on a pair of pants before stomping over to the door and flinging it open …
… to find Cyan on her hands and knees, ass facing toward me. Nightgown pooling on the floor to either side of her hips. Bright red satin panties with green lace impossible to miss. A tree with presents frames her on one side, a giant wooden nutcracker on the other.
She sits back on her calves, nightgown caught above her ass cheeks and doing nothing to hide her panties. Cyan throws a look over her shoulder, surprise apparent in her face. She drops the paper towel with all the broken cookies onto the floor, making a new mess.
“Do you need something?” She yanks her nightgown down, cheeks heating. “I’m not trying to bother you. I just have to get this cleaned up.” Cyan pushes up to her feet, a bit of her nightgown caught on the bow of her panties, leaving them exposed in the front.
I’m not sure she’s aware.
But I am.
I exhale, reaching up a hand and curling my fingers around the edge of the doorjamb to keep them from snatching Cyan by the bow of her panties and dragging her to me.
“You were right.” It’s not easy to say it. I have to swallow after, licking the taste of chocolate and sugar from my lips. “I am a liar. Just like Vale. Like Aspen.”
“Crispin, too, I assume?” Cyan’s eyes are narrowed in dry bemusement.
“No. He’ll admit his intentions from the get-go. I’m not like that.” I step to the side again, waiting to see if she’ll accept my offer a second time.
Cyan realizes her nightgown is caught, reaching down to drag it into place.
“I appreciate you admitting that.” She looks up and smiles at me, backlit with a warm glow, the air perfumed with the scent of cookies. Somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock chimes happily. “But I think I’ll go upstairs now.”
I take a step out of the room, and she hesitates.
“Are you sure? Because you’re right: I wouldn’t have given my number to just anyone.” I tug my phone from the back pocket of my pants, tapping out a text and sending it to her phone. It pings in her pocket, but she doesn’t take it out.
Cyan moves a few, slow steps forward, pausing just outside of my reach.
“You’re not going to kick me out again?” she asks suspiciously, but I don’t answer. I reach out and grab her by the arm, tugging her into the room and pushing her up against the wall. My hands snag her wrists and pin them above her head.
Cyan’s breath catches, eyes wide.
“I thought you weren’t the playboy of the group?” she teases, but it doesn’t work because I’m not.
“Vale is the playboy. Didn’t he make that obvious? The one that’s the most difficult to catch, the one who doesn’t sleep around, that person is me.” I tug on Cyan’s wrists just a little to get her up on her tiptoes. And then I kiss her throat. She relaxes and her entire body sags, leaving me to add a firmer pressure on her wrists to keep her upright.
I nudge my knee between her legs, thinking about Aspen touching her like this. I shouldn’t have walked away yesterday. That was my mistake. I won’t walk away again.
Tomorrow, we can do it. Tell her.
“Why are you wearing these panties?” I ask, using my free hand to push her nightgown over her hips. Cyan chokes on her next breath, eyes shining as she stares back at me. My throat tightens, and my voice drops an octave. “For Aspen?”
“Maybe they’re for Vale?” Cyan whispers, lips hitching up on one side. “Or Crispin. He does have the mistletoe thing going on.”
I let Cyan’s body down the wall a few inches, enough to settle her pussy fully on my leg. She’s straddling me, toes barely touching the ground. All of her body weight is on the most sensitive part of her. I almost smile at that, but it’s better if I don’t. I’m moving too fast.
What am I thinking? We can’t fucking tell her tomorrow. But we should, because I have no idea when the blizzard will slow down enough for us to leave.
She rocks her hips for me, which I fucking love, letting me suck on her neck. Letting me nip her skin. Bite her nipples through her nightgown.
“Who are these panties for?” I ask again, lifting my head and feeling goose bumps spread down both arms when she threads her fingers in my hair. It feels so goddamn good when she’s touching me. I don’t particularly care about Christmas, but I wanted to wrap those presents with her.
I should’ve offered.
“Aspen.” Cyan’s face is dead serious, and envy spikes inside of me, garland green and wrapped around my heart. “I thought he might come up to see me, but he didn’t.”
Shit, I thought she was joking. She’s actually serious.
She’s being honest with me again. Honesty that should (maybe rightfully) get her a quick ejection from my room.
“I didn’t think you were going to seek me out again after what you said in the garage.” Cyan lets out a small squeak when I release her wrists, wrapping my arm around her waist and lifting her against my chest. She makes another crazy sound at that, spreading her knees around me and locking me in between her thighs. Her hands find my face, fingers bare but palms obscured by the too-long sleeves of her chaste pajamas. “But they’re wet right now because of you.”
I throw her down on the bed, and she makes another cute noise, laughing as I cover her with my body and take her mouth as hard as I want. Cyan loves that, too, opening her legs for me, sighing softly against my ear when I turn my head.
I go completely stiff. Not my cock, but everything else.
Cyan notices and leans back, blinking up at me like she’s worried I’m going to kick her out again. I look down at her and break the bad news.
“I don’t have a condom. They’re all on the bus.”
We just stare at each other, her breath huffing in frustration and mine panting like I’m in heat.
“Ask Vale for one,” she suggests, and I widen my eyes at her, trying not to be mesmerized by the sight of her on my tangled sheets. “He’s the playboy, like you said. He’ll have some.”
“Either he has some or I’m going out in the storm.” I shove up to my feet and take off, practically jogging my way up the stairs to Vale’s room. I rap my knuckles on his door a few times, crossing my arms and trying to ignore the painful throb of my erection.
He opens it slowly, sleepy and draped in a white blanket that looks like a robe.
“Frost?” Vale seems surprised to see me here, and then something occurs to him. He takes a step back and holds out a hand similarly to the way I did with Cyan. “Did you want to come in?”
“I just need a condom,” I tell him, still breathing hard. Why didn’t I grab some on my way off the bus? My first thought when I found out we were going to be stuck was Merry Christmas to me, I get to fuck Cyan again. Then I forgot the condoms.
Vale’s lips part, but he doesn’t say anything, taking out his Sharpie and disappearing into the shadows of the room. He comes back with a handful of condoms, passing them over to me before snatching my wrist and writing something down on the inside of my forearm.
