CHARLOTTE

We finish the pizza and move into the living room. Kicking off my boots, I wrap myself in a red knit blanket I find on a chair.

Stretching out on one of the two lounger parts of the sofa, I let out a little satisfied sigh. Between flirting with Oliver, the beer, and the crackling fire, I'm feeling a little better.

"Check this out. There's a good movie up next on one channel. You like horror?" He's sitting on the floor near the corner of the lounger, remote in hand. So close that I can reach out and run my fingers through his hair. So close that I can smell him. So close that it will take about two seconds for him to climb up here and kiss me.

Let's get this party started.

I shrug. "I don't dislike it. But shouldn't we be watching a holiday movie? It's a Wonderful Life or something?"

He shifts to face me. "That movie's always kinda depressed me. Did you ever notice that Pottersville is actually more exciting than Bedford Falls?"

"Hmm." I tilt my head to the right, then to the left. "That's an interesting theory. Never thought about it that way."

"Which would you rather live in? Pottersville or Bedford Falls? It's like Florida or Vermont."

"I think you're on to something. As much as I love it here, it lacks a certain edge."

"Boston's the same way. I like it okay, though. You ever get to the city?"

Is this an invitation? "Not too often. Went for a concert two years ago. Before you were at MIT. Now that I know you're there, I might have an excuse to go." Of course, I've known since September he was there, because Mom told me. I'd tried to forget, of course.

"There ya go," he says. Not exactly the encouragement I was looking for.

"To Florida, our much maligned, exciting home state." I hold my beer in his direction.

"Florida," he says, clinking his bottle to mine. "So, let's watch The Shining. It's like a Christmas ghost tale."

For a beat, he looks deep into my eyes. My heart rate accelerates.

"I don't think I've ever heard anyone refer to The Shining as a holiday tale."

"It's my personal take."

"Ah. I get it. You're quite the movie critic. I've never seen it, actually."

"You've never seen The Shining? You're kidding."

"Isn't it kind of old? And depressing?"

"It's a classic. Book's better, though."

"They always are."

"But the movie's so good. Now you have to watch it."

"Mmm hmm. Okay." I focus on his hair. So thick and black. It's a little curly and floppy in the front, and I imagine myself holding on to it while kissing him. As I sit in his lap. Naked.

I figure I'll zone out during the movie and indulge in a dirty fantasy. It'll take my mind off Mom. Maybe my thoughts will telepathically get into his brain, and he'll come up here and snuggle with me. Naked.

But fifteen minutes into the movie, I'm hooked.

After a half-hour, I'm wondering if he chose this because I'd get scared and want to cuddle next to him.

When the river of blood scene flashes on the screen, I fling the blanket off, squeak, and grab a fistful of Oliver's hair. I consider rolling down onto the floor with him.

"This is super intense," I squeal and release his hair. He's still sitting against the sofa on the carpet. Now that I think about it, that's a little odd. Why is he down there? There's so much room on this sofa that it's practically in two different ZIP codes, and he's lounging on the floor.

Near me.

He chuckles and raises his right hand. The backs of his fingers lightly graze my knee. Even through my knit stockings, his touch sends hot sparks through my body.

OLIVER

I should kiss her. I should crawl onto the sofa next to her and kiss her. She's sending me all the right signals. I'd even sat on the floor in the corner just to be near her. Figured it would be close, but not all hey baby let's watch a movie and make out like teenagers close.

This turns out to be a good spot, because she keeps touching me. Mostly my hair. She's grabbed and tugged and squealed at the scary parts at least three times. Probably pretending to be scared, because Sharkie is never scared of anything. Her little noises are cute as hell.

And her scent. Sweet baby Jesus. It's like sugar and strawberries. Sugarberries. It makes me think of the color red, like her lips. The smell is positively torturous, making me hard and edgy.

I want her right now. Maybe I could go to the bathroom and when I get back, sit next to her.

But I'm hesitant, because of what she said about her mother. Making a move when she's upset would be a shitty thing to do. Even though I did mention distracting her. Even though she's been flirting with me all night. Who knows? I'm awful at this shit.

She's running her fingers through my hair. I touch her knee with the backs of my fingers, then stroke a little.

I want her so fucking bad.

Licking my lips, I steal a glance at her. She's shifted on her back, propped up on pillows, and all I can think about is being on top of her.

Is now the time? I turn this over in my mind as we watch the movie.

Other guys would just go for it, not care about her situation. But I don't want to seem like I'm taking advantage of her when she's upset. I shift in my seat.

This isn't exactly the most comfortable idea I've ever had. Especially since I spent hours on the slopes today and every unused muscle is screaming in agony.

Something happens in the movie—I'm totally zoning out, thinking about how I'd like to see her with just those boots on and nothing else—and she yelps.

Her hand goes in my hair again and tugs hard. It sends a shower of lust and sparks through me, all the way to my dick, which is now uncomfortably solid. I look down and am mortified to see the outline of my erection against my sweatpants.

"Got another pillow?" I ask in a rough voice. Hopefully she can't see my dick from up there.

She bends forward, and I nearly groan when I see her long hair fall down her back. In my head, she's naked, only wearing the boots, her hair loose. Like a cavewoman. Spreading her legs. I grunt.

"Here," she says, tossing me a red pillow that says SKI LODGE. "You okay down there?"

"I'm good, thanks." I set the pillow on my lap, feeling awkward and horny. I grip the pillow in one hand, because every time I catch a whiff of her perfume, I want to bury my face in her thighs. "Never been better."

CHARLOTTE

"Well. That sure was an uplifting holiday story. I mean, it was good and all. But maybe it wasn't the thing to watch while we're snowed in." I sit up and crane my neck to peer out the window. "Look outside. It's still snowing."

"Aww, it wasn't that bad." Oliver's voice sounds gravelly and sleepy, and it makes me yawn.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm tired from that drive."

"Yeah, same. I came up early this morning and went on a few runs this afternoon. Kinda kicked my ass because it's the first time I've been skiing in a few years."

"Snowboard?"

"Yeah."

I tilt my head. "You never came up when you were in school in New York?"

"I actually haven't ever been skiing here. Last time I went was with my dad in Telluride. Years ago. This is the first time I've been out of Boston since I started at MIT in September."

He's always been laser-focused on his studies. Mom told me a while back that he's going to work for his father. He'll probably take over the company in no time.

"If you want, we can go snowboarding tomorrow."

"I'm guessing you're way better than me. So, we can go if you want the challenge of the bunny slope."

He turns so he's facing me. I shift onto my side and prop myself on my elbow. The fire's still going—turns out its gas, so it will roar all night if we want—and now that the TV's off, there's a hush through the cabin. He's going to kiss me now. I can feel it.

He's definitely interested. If there's one thing I know, it's guys. I know when they look you in the eye like that, all serious-like, then they're interested.

Not that a guy's looked at me at all recently. My relationships in recent months haven't gone past the dating app-texting phase. Well, that and the occasional mutual grope at a party. Truth be told, I've been in a bit of a dry spell since junior year.

"There's also snowshoes here. I found them in the garage. We could do that if you have boots."

Record scratch noise. He's talking about snowshoes when he should be crawling up here next to me? To kiss me breathless, like he did six years ago?

What. The. Eff?

"Yeah, we could." Snowshoeing is probably the least sexy thing two people can do. An image of us tromping through the woods comes to mind. I'm not exactly the most coordinated athlete. I'll probably tumble down a ravine or fall into a snow bank.

Oliver stands and stretches. "Guess I'll go to bed."

I almost groan in frustration. Haven't I been sending enough hints? Flirting with him? Touching his hair? Am I that repulsive? He must just think of me like a sister. Surely that's it.

This is my cue to pout. I stick out my lower lip. I'm not proud of this. But I do. "After that movie I kind of don't want to sleep upstairs alone. I think I'd rather be down here."

He glances down at me. "You're scared?"

"A little." It doesn't take much to get my imagination working. The snow and the big, empty cabin does seem vaguely menacing. Okay, I'm playing it up. A lot.

"I'll sleep on the sofa here with you."

That makes me chuckle. "You don't have to."

"Nah, this is a comfy couch. And it's plenty big. I'll go find a pillow and a blanket. You okay being alone here for a few minutes?"

"Ha. Funny. I think so. Hopefully you'll hear my screams if a serial killer breaks in."

While he finds a pillow, I slip into the downstairs bathroom and crack open the trial size of mouthwash arranged alongside bottles of shampoo and conditioner. I gargle a mouthful, smooth my hair, and take off my scarf. I think about changing into my pajamas, but that would involve going upstairs. It'd probably kill the spontaneity of our sleepover.

I remember my mom's plea for condoms, and I calculate that if we hook up tonight, I'll have to race upstairs to get one. Or, he probably has some in his room. Duh. He's a twenty-three-year-old grad student in Boston. Of course, he has condoms.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Oliver's on the sofa, setting his pillow near mine. He's not lying next to me, but at an angle. Close enough. I can work with this.

I notice his eyes drift to my legs.

"Want me to shut this out?" I pause at the light switch.

"Sure."

"Let's keep the fire and the tree on."

"'Kay."

I flick the overhead lamp off, and the large room suddenly becomes small and cozy in the light of the fire and the Christmas tree. It's so romantic that I want to squee.

"You know what made that movie so scary? It was about isolation. And y'know. We're in this cabin, in the middle of Snowmageddon." I nestle into the sofa and wrap myself in the blanket.

"I promise not to let anything happen to you, 'kay?" His laugh is a low rumble, and I can tell he's sleepy because he's pronouncing his words slowly.

"Appreciate it."

Lying there in the silence for many long minutes, a familiar feeling washes over me.

"Remember when we'd have sleepovers as kids?"

"Mmm." Why does his voice have to sound so growly and hot here in the semidarkness?

"Yeah. In your big house."

A memory, of us, playing tag at Oliver's. I was probably five, so he was seven. I cornered him in a sunroom. Screaming with laughter, I grabbed him.

And kissed him on the cheek.

My mom saw the whole thing, and later that day pulled me aside and told me to respect people's personal space. I informed her that Oliver wanted to be kissed and that I wasn't doing anything wrong. I grin in the darkness at the memory.

I'm about to ask him if he remembers that day, but I hear a little snore escape his lips.

Funny thing is, I'm not disappointed. Not even a little. As much as I want him to rip off my clothes, this is crazy good right now. Warm feelings of comfort and security allow me to drift off, far happier than when I'd arrived.

____