Three dots pulsed. Then disappeared. Then returned.
Edwina:
I figured you already knew. Everyone in the department is talking about it.
So you didn’t think I’d care. That’s what she meant. You didn’t think I’d notice. I stared at that message until the edges of the screen blurred. I wasn’t thinking about the department. I wasn’t thinking about the work. I was thinking about her, on a mountain, surrounded by people, bundled in layers, laughing, her cheeks flushed from the cold. I could see it too clearly, and the image crawled under my skin until it burned.
My fingers itched to reply with something sharp. Something to remind her who the fuck she was talking to. To remind her that I wasn’t just another name in her inbox. That I could make her remember exactly where she stood, on the edge of something dangerous, with me holding the line.
Instead, I forced the words through, clean and hard.
Hayden:
Fine. Have it on my desk by Friday morning before you leave.
I paused. The cursor blinked, taunting me. I should’ve stopped there. I didn’t.
Hayden:
And Edwina, don’t forget what I said about dressing for the cold.
I hit send before I could stop myself, watching the message light up the thread. My pulse thudded in my throat. I could almost see her reaction, the way her lips would part, the small hitch in her breath, the memory of my voice saying those same words against her ear.
Professional, my ass. There was nothing fucking professional about any of this. She was driving me insane, and the worst part was, she didn’t even know it. Or maybe she did. Maybe that was what made it all so goddamn intoxicating. I didn’t wait for her reply. Couldn’t. I didn’t trust myself to read whatever came next, because if I did, I’d start imagining things I had no fucking right to imagine. I’d start asking questions I had no claim to ask. Who was she going with? Was she sharing a room? Would someone else be there when the cold settled in, when the lights dimmed, when the night got quiet enough for touch to mean more than it should?
The thoughts clawed through me, brutal and unwanted. Would some kid, a smug, twenty-something asshole with too much confidence and too little sense, get close enough to make her laugh? Would he stand beside her, breath steaming in the cold, fingers brushing her sleeve like he had any right to know what warmth felt like against her skin? Would he unzip herjacket after a long day, shake the snow from her shoulders, and lean in, too close, too casual, saying her name as though he’d earned it?
The image hit hard, cut through reason, through logic, straight into the gut. She wouldn’t let him. I knew she wouldn’t. But the idea of it, the possibility of someone else’s hands finding her first, someone else hearing the sounds she didn’t mean to make—Christ—it was enough to set something inside me unravelling.
If he touched her, I’d break his fucking fingers. If he kissed her, I’d bury him deep enough that no one would find the body until the mountain thawed. The thought wasn’t rational. It wasn’t right. But it was honest.
She wasn’t mine. Not yet. But every part of me already belonged to her.
And that was the goddamn problem, because when I let myself feel it, when I let the thought of her up there in that cabin with warm lights, snow in her hair, and someone else’s shadow crossing her body seep into my head, I wanted violence. I wanted to drag the whole fucking mountain down until she was standing there alone again, untouched, freezing, waiting, for me. Only me.
And that made me exactly the kind of man I didn’t want to admit I already was. But the truth? I’d always been that man. For her, I’d burn the whole fucking world and call it devotion.
Her message stopped blinking on the screen, but it was too late. The damage was done. I tossed the phone across the couch. It hit with a dull thud and landed face-down, but that didn’t stop the pulse pounding in my veins. I started pacing, the kind of restless that chewed through bone. Back and forth. A caged thing in an apartment too small for what was clawing its way up my spine.
My hand found my hair again, raking through it hard enough to sting. I sat down, stood again, cursed under my breath, grabbed the phone off the couch before I could think better of it,and hit call. There was no trace of hesitation, no flicker of sense or restraint left in me, only the relentless, consuming need that drove every thought toward her and refused to loosen its grip.
It rang once. Twice. Three times. Then a groggy voice cracked through the static.
“Stone? What the actual hell? It’s nearly midnight.”
I exhaled, the sound rougher than I intended. “David.”
There was rustling, the faint scrape of movement, then a long-suffering groan. “You do realize I have a life outside of academia, right? One that usually involves sleep?”
“I need to ask you something.”
He sighed. “Of course you do. Let me guess, your bookshelf finally gave up under the weight of your God complex?”
I ignored that. “The university ski trip. Who’s going?”
Silence stretched, then a hum that carried too much knowing amusement. “Interesting. You’ve never given a damn about extracurriculars. Or snow. Or, you know, people.”
I said nothing. The quiet between us was answer enough.
