Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
“Hard to say,” Holden says. He’s sprawled out on the floor across from me, his upper half propped up by one of the foot poufs. “Is your mom going to be pissed?”
I shrug. “She won’t notice unless I fail to show up on New Year’s Eve.”
“And your dad?”
“My dad hasn’t spent a Christmas with me in years,” I say, apparently in a sharing mood. “He’s probably busy with his new family, pretending I don’t exist.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he says, nudging my hip with the side of his foot. He barely makes contact, but it’s enough to make me wince. His eyes narrow at my reaction before he reaches forward to circle his fingers around my ankle. He tugs me toward him, my sweatshirt bunching up to expose my stomach as I slide down the rug.
“Show me.”
“Show you what, you neanderthal?” I ask, kicking off his hold on my ankle. Instead of answering my question, he reaches for the waistband of my sweats. “Hey!” I smack his hand away.
“Let me see it.”
With a dramatic huff and an eye roll for good measure, I push my pants down to the middle of my thigh.
“Jesus Christ,” he curses, repositioning me onto my side, using the flames from the fire to get a better look. “Have you not been icing it?”
I frown, looking down to see what he sees. It’s bigger and darker than it was this morning, a deep red, almost black in the middle, fading into shades of purple and blue that stretch from the side of my hip to my butt cheek. “Not since it happened,” I confess. I know from years of cheer that you’re supposed to ice injuries every few hours for the first couple of days, but it’s a bruise. Not a sprained ankle. “It’s not that serious.”
He rolls me onto my stomach, moving closer to inspect the damage until he’s face-to-face with my ass. I’m propped up on my elbows, ass on full display with nothing but a light blue thong to cover the important parts, my shirt still bunched up around my ribs. “Looks serious to me.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, letting my head fall forward. “Are you done inspecting my ass?”
“Never.” His fingertips ghost across my tender flesh and I shiver at his touch. “Hurt?”
“No,” I croak, then clear the lust from my voice. Holden grips my thigh to turn me back over, which puts his face directly above my crotch. I can tell by the way his eyes drop to my underwear that this wasn’t his intention, but he’s not complaining either. His hands find my hips, his grip tightening as he looks up at me. His thumbs stroke my hipbones once, twice, three times.
Suddenly, the power flicks back on, bathing us in light. I hear something beep in the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator. The interruption feels like a bucket of ice water. I should be thankful, but instead, I feel achy, needy, and wound too tight. Holden mutters a curse, dropping his head to my lower stomach. I can feel his breath through the thin material of my underwear, feel his hair tickling my skin. And then he’s pulling my sweats back into place and backing away.
“Finally,” I say, rising from the floor, doing my best to look anywhere but at Holden. Every light in the house is on, leaving me feeling exposed, and suddenly, I miss the darkness.
Holden stands, adjusting the bulge in his sweats without an ounce of shame before making his way over to the thermostat on the wall. I hear the heat kick on as I walk over to the counter where my phone is plugged in, waiting for it to get enough juice to turn on. The little battery icon appears, but my hopes are shattered when the power cuts out again.
I take it back. I don’t miss the darkness.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” I drop my phone back to the counter.
“Stay here,” Holden instructs. A small flashlight gleams from his direction. “I’ll go get some pillows and blankets.”
“We’re going to die here, aren’t we?” I grip the edge of the counter, the cold marble seeping into my skin and straight to my bones as I mentally talk myself off the ledge.
The storm can’t last much longer. A day or two, tops. The power came back on once. That means someone is working on it, right? I’m sure it’ll be fixed soon and I can get back to pretending Holden doesn’t exist.
I take a few deep, calming breaths.
“Praying for a miracle?” Holden asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.
“Actually, I’m trying to put a curse on you, so stop distracting me.” I turn my glare on him, watching him bound down the stairs with an arm full of pillows and blankets.
“I think someone beat you to it.” He drops the blankets into a pile in front of the fireplace before he gets to work arranging them on the floor.