Blizzards and Bastards, page 15
“Women?” I ask, sinking just a bit lower, until the water touches my lips. “Or woman?”
“Look, we have a career that takes up a lot of time, and we all want someone, you know? But we don’t want to lose what we have together either, this dynamic we’ve spent so long building. We’re looking for a girl that understands us.” Aspen takes a deep breath, like saying that took a lot out of him.
“And we figured since you fucked me and Aspen that you might be interested,” Frost says, and I sit up suddenly, flicking water into his face. He just squints and lets it drip down the sculpted perfection of his cheekbones and jaw, off the tip of his perfect nose.
“So, let me get this straight,” I start as I scoot out of the hot tub and onto the edge, leaving my legs dangling in the water. “You four are occasional lovers who want to date the same girl because you’re all such good bros you can’t stand the thought of losing each other?”
“We’d rather put all our effort and love and focus into one woman together because none of us has the time to be a proper partner otherwise,” Aspen repeats, sighing deeply and looking me straight in the face. Between his winter-blue eyes, Frost’s holly green ones, Crispin’s dark chocolate gaze, and Vale’s golden stare, I’m completely lost. Sitting in a hot tub with three half-naked men … one naked man … and all of these hormones?
Not good.
My inner fangirl is high-key freaked out. Jumping up and down. Screaming in a terribly high pitch.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, and Aspen’s eyes lock on mine. His stare is … it’s uncomfortable. I feel like I’d need to be at peace with myself, inside and out, in order to meet that gaze and not want to run like Rudolph. “We met six days ago.”
“Yeah, but …” Aspen smiles, shrugs, lets his face get tainted with a bit of that cocky edge. “We like you, Cyan.”
“You want to date me?” I clarify, swinging my legs outside of the hot tub and tapping my feet around, searching frantically for my slippers. Must get space away from hot men in hot water and little to no clothing. Must think clearly.
“Is that so hard to believe?” Frost snaps as my toes finally find them and slip inside. I’m getting the expensive wool all wet, but screw it—I just need to get the hell out of here. “Or are you putting yourself down because you aren’t interested in us?”
“You’re the one that booted me out of your room last night!” I howl back at him, trying to escape while I have the chance. Vale lunges out of the water, snatching my wrist and forcing me to turn back.
He’s standing there, buck naked, erection exposed. His skin steams in the cool air, snowflakes swirling around his face as he pants, breath puffing like little clouds. The marker on his skin is fading from being in the chemically-treated water, and I can’t help but pray that he’s already written those lyrics down elsewhere.
“We’re not here to make fun of you. We’re not here to hurt you.” Vale releases my wrist, standing up straight and then nestling back in the scooped seat that takes up one corner of the tub. He runs his fingers through his hair, spilling half-melted snowflakes down the sides of his face. “You can tell us no, if you want, but what you can’t do is claim to know how we feel.”
I just stand there, unsure how I’m supposed to respond to that. I stare at him, and I think about how nice it’s been to sit and write with him for hours everyday. Mostly in silence, but with a few shared lines here and there. Some small talk. Laughter over my dad’s over-the-top decorating style and the weird TikTok videos he posts of our fireplaces (he got six million views on one from last week, the bastard). Just three minutes of a fire crackling, and the man goes viral.
“How you feel?” I repeat, because they can’t feel anything for me yet. Except for lust. We’re all feeling that, I think. My attention moves over to Crispin, but he isn’t smiling anymore.
“You’re so used to being put down that you can’t believe we’d be interested in you for more than your body. That it, Sugar Plum?” Crispin softens his voice for me, but all that does is make the situation worse.
Tina and Adam were right: I’m a jobless loner with a failed business and no talents of which to speak. My family would make the worst in-laws known to mankind, and I have no idea who I am or where I’m going with my life. My grandmother gave me purpose. My bookstore gave me purpose. Christmas gave me this stupid, arbitrary date to look forward to, something to be excited about, and then these guys picked me up at a rest stop and made me feel like I had friends in this world.
These complete goddamn fucking strangers treat me better than my family ever has.
But how am I supposed to believe that one of the most famous bands in the entire world is interested in someone like me?
“Why?” I whisper back, and I think that surprises all four of them. They exchange looks, but it takes a hot minute for anyone to respond. “Why are you interested in dating me? And … what does that even mean?”
“It means getting to know each other,” Aspen supplies with a private smile, sliding his arms across the edge of the hot tub on either side. He takes up enough space for three people with those long limbs. “Sexually and chastely. You’re cute and fun. Where’s the harm in exploring that?”
I exhale, my own skin steaming, my breath puffing like fog in the frigid air.
“You don’t have to make a decision now,” Crispin adds, inclining his chin and then sweeping his hand across the hot tub in invitation. “You can soak with us, honey. We won’t touch you if you don’t want us to. We won’t mention the dating thing again if it makes you uncomfortable.”
I open and close my mouth, lost for words.
Frost is staring at me, his cheeks red from either the heat of the tub or the memory of last night.
“I only kicked you out because I didn’t want you to get made fun of by your family,” he growls out, turning away from me like he’s mad at me for not explicitly understanding that. “And because I’m into you. If I let you stay the night, I might not have let you leave—period.”
“Frost, fucking seriously?” Vale grinds out, giving him a look, as if he didn’t stroll out here naked like it was no big thing. Did I see lyrics written on his lower belly? How? Why? This man is a unique character, that’s for damn sure. “You’re either treating Cyan like shit or trying to marry her over the holidays. Can we try for some middle ground here?”
“Can you put some fucking pants on?” Frost snaps back, turning to look at his friend. They both stare at each other, and then they burst out laughing, and I find myself wanting to smile, too. Shit.
I’m pretty sure I’m about to get hypothermia from standing out here, so I kick my slippers off and climb back in. My skin burns at the rush of fresh heat, goose bumps springing up over every part of me, but damn it feels good. Vale smiles at me and Frost turns away again, swiping a hand down his face.
“Would you like me to put some pants on?” Vale inquires gently. “I’m sorry. I forget sometimes that other people aren’t as comfortable with nudity. That’s on me.”
“No, ah, I’m good. You, um, have a nice dick.” I gesture at him, trying to offer a genuine compliment. Aspen and Crispin both find that hilarious, and Frost’s mean mouth twitches like he’s fighting off his own amusement. Stubborn prick.
I can’t help but sneak another look at Crispin. He’s studying me with his head canted slightly to one side, perfectly polite, eyes on my face. But there’s a heat to him, one that I felt when he was lying on the bed beside me.
If I say yes to this, do I get to have sex with him? With Vale? More sex with Frost? Sex with Aspen that involves taking all our clothes off?
“I’ll think about it,” I whisper, and then I duck under the water to block out their expressions and whatever sounds they might make, whatever things they might say.
Inked Pages wants to date me? I can’t entirely block out what my brother and sister said to me, how I’m just an easy lay. How I’m worthless. How I’m pathetic for chasing after men who are clearly too good for me.
Then I remind myself all over again: you’re being treated better by strangers than your own blood.
I pop out of the water enough to breathe, snow swirling across the pure white landscape, blocking out everything but this deck, this tub, and the four men inside of it.
All of whom are looking at me.
They’re good to their word and they don’t bring it up again for the rest of the day.
But I can tell they’re thinking about it, and so am I.
I’m thinking about how I’m going to tell them hell yes.
CYAN
On the seventh day of Christmas, I bite into sexy gingerbread men
The internet is down. More than that, something about the weather is messing with the cell towers. We have zero access to the outside world. You would not believe the chaos this incites in the family.
“How am I supposed to send Snaps to my friends?” my twelve-year old niece screams at her mom—my older sister, Helen—throwing her phone at the tree and knocking off one of the clay ornaments I made when I was a kid.
It breaks, and I sigh, putting my fingers up to my temple and trying to focus on the book I have open on the table in front of me. It’s Lovelight Farms by B.K. Borison. Totally brilliant. So good. I was always jealous of the main character’s relationship with her childhood friend, always wished I’d grown up with some nice guy who was also hot and who also was in love with me.
Alas, all I have are—
Four rockstars walking into my dining room, dressed in hats and scarves and boots, their shoulders decorated with bits of snow.
“We were filming some shots for later, but it’s too damn cold out.” Aspen flops into the seat on my right. Crispin takes the one on my left, tugging his hat off and leaning in to peer at my book. There’s a sex scene on the page that I rapidly try to hide by slamming the pages shut. “Poor Kristy is freaking out.”
“Seems like you guys might miss the Heat the Frost concert?” I say, cringing as I turn to Crispin. Vale sits on his left and Frost takes up the seat across from him. I might be the only person in this house who isn’t losing their shit over the inability to doom scroll TikTok.
Helen is desperately trying to wrangle her daughter, appeasing her by offering a brand-new Stanley cup early. It was supposed to be a stocking stuffer. I sigh. At the bookstore, I had way better uses for stockings. Grandma and I used to wrap books up and slip them into stockings. We’d hang them from the shelves with little tags, advertising the genre. Delicious fairy porn or spicy pirate romance or weird alien smut book with tentacles. Blind date with a book, holiday style.
“Whatever is going to happen will happen.” Vale rolls his head on his shoulders, leaning back to rest against the chair while my sister goes ten rounds with her son over the loss of the internet. My mom and Atticus have spent all morning taking turns on the upper deck, trying to find a signal in the storm. “There’s no point in worrying about it.”
“We haven’t had a Christmas off in ten years. I don’t give a fuck about the concert.” Frost has his arms crossed, mittens hanging from a string draped over his wrist. He notices me looking and stares right back, unashamed.
Tina passes by, pausing when she notices the tension between us. She has the audacity to laugh at me and then takes off to corral her own brats, having their particular internet-related meltdowns in the den.
“You don’t seem upset about the lack of phone service.” Crispin puts his elbow on the table, his jacket unbuttoned to reveal a blue henley underneath. The look suits him, making me remember my initial impression of him, how I’d like for him to pull my hair and fuck me hard on flannel sheets.
I could have that, couldn’t I? I bite my lip and somehow I can tell that Crispin knows my mind’s in the frozen, icicle-strewn gutter (like the one that fell off the corner of the house this morning and sent my dad into a fit).
“Nope.” I drum my fingers on the back of the book, locking down on it when Aspen tries to steal it from me. He gives me this cocky, little look, flicking his tongue against the corner of his mouth. I release the book to his charms with a sigh, letting him read the blurb. What right do I have to prevent him from discovering a Christmas classic? “There’s nobody I want to talk to. No movies I want to watch that I haven’t already downloaded. No ten-second reel that’s more entertaining than a good book or building a gingerbread house.”
“Oh.” Aspen looks up from the book, blue eyes shining. “I’ve always wanted to make a gingerbread house. It’s been on my bucket list for years. I’ve got a bunch of kits in my duffel bag. Should we break them out?”
He shapeshifts from frontman flirt to adorable puppy in an instant, and I’m here for it.
They want to date me? I made Aspen Carver come in his pants? Getting my ass stuck to that toilet seat could be the best thing that ever happened to me.
“You were only able to bring one bag in through the storm, and you packed it full of gingerbread kits?” Frost sounds appalled, but maybe a little bit charmed, too. The guys did admit that they were occasional lovers, whatever that means. I imagine what it’d be like to see them touch each other, and my skin goes cranberry sauce red in response.
“Grab ‘em.” Vale gestures with his head in the direction of the stairs, using a red marker today to scribble something on his wrist. He runs out of space and frowns, looking around for something and snagging one of my dad’s fancy placemats. Vale turns it over and frantically scrawls out whatever ideas are plaguing his artist brain. “We can make gingerbread houses together.”
Aspen shoves his chair back and takes off, skirting around Donner as she comes into the room with the sole purpose of scowling at me. Wonder if she’ll still treat me like crap if I agree to start dating the band? She’s lulled away by the smell of whatever Dad’s baking, thank God. I rub at my sore nose.
“We should bake our own gingerbread. I could show you guys how to make the perfect house. We could raid my dad’s artisanal, imported candy collection. It’s worth a small fortune.” I slide my book back and trace the edges of it with my finger. “The pre-done kits are fun, too, but they don’t taste very good.”
“You ever make those little gingerbread houses in school?” Crispin asks, shrugging out of his jacket. Then out of his long-sleeved shirt until he’s wearing a red wifebeater and dog tags. His arms are criminal, flexing as he unwinds the scarf from around his neck. “With the little milk cartons as a base, graham crackers for the walls and the roof?”
“Oh, I loved those!” I blurt out before I see Atticus walk by, giving me an odd look. I ignore him, looking up at Aspen as he comes back into the room, laying a stack of boxes on the corner of the table nearest me. True to their word, these guys haven’t mentioned the dating thing since yesterday.
I took last night to myself, lying in bed and trying not to get too excited over this. What if I agree to date them and they change their mind after the blizzard lifts? What if the storm clears tomorrow and they take off for the concert? What happens then?
I have so many questions—none of which will preclude me from saying yes.
“I only bought four, but Frost and I can share one.” Aspen pushes one of the kits my way, like an offering. I shake my head, pushing it right back.
“No, thank you. I’ve crafted many a gingerbread house in my day. You guys should enjoy yourselves.” I sit back in my chair as Aspen reclaims his seat. He nudges a kit at me a second time, giving me a look. “Oh, come on. We were just talking about those little milk carton and graham cracker houses you make in elementary school. I’ve had my fair share of gingerbread decorating. Besides, if I’m going to make one, I’d rather bake it from scratch.”
“I never made the milk carton ones,” Aspen admits with a wistful sigh, opening his kit and pulling out plastic-wrapped slabs of gingerbread. The kit comes with everything you need to build the house, including the white frosting that hardens into an impenetrable substance that only pretends to be food. “Always wanted to though. I wasn’t in school enough to participate in stuff like that. After my mom and dad died, I had some pretty shitty foster parents.”
I curl my hands into fists on the table and then stand up, chair scraping across the floor. I sprint into the kitchen, ignoring my father as he croons Christmas music under his breath and ices cookies under the watchful lens of his phone. You bet your ass the minute the internet is back, he’ll be posting it with a hundred hashtags.
I ignore him, stealing one of the small milk cartons belonging to my nieces and nephews. A box of graham crackers. A tub of white icing. Paper plates. When I’m sure my father isn’t looking, I open the cabinet in the corner and snatch several bags of his expensive candy.
The boys look confused when I cart it all back and dump it on the table. I crack the milk carton and lift it up in a toast, staring right at Aspen as I do.
“To recreating childhood memories.” I lift the milk up and chug it, spilling a tiny bit from the corner of my mouth. Crispin stands up beside me, raising his knuckle and swiping the white liquid from my jaw. He doesn’t hesitate to suck it off, and I almost choke.
With a satisfied exhale, I slam the milk carton down on the table in triumph and flick it over to Aspen who’s staring at me with his mouth hanging open.
“There. Everything you need to be twelve all over again.” I smile at him as my niece lets out a scream of rage, and her mom soothes her with the box of anti-aging creams we wrapped the other day. She tears into the paper without giving the wrapping a second thought and for some reason, that makes me feel sad. “I mean, like the sort of twelve I had. Not … not whatever that is.” I flick my fingers at the iPad-addicted preteen with an obsession with Sephora and beauty products that even I’m not old enough to need.
“I … wow, Cyan. I …” Aspen has that chagrined expression on his face again, reaching up long fingers to ruffle up that green-and-red striped hair. “Thank you.” A sweet smile spreads over his lips as he pushes his kit back at me. “I’d rather make it this way. You take that.”
