"I see them. On three?"
"One, two?—"
We pop up simultaneously, pelting the approaching EBM guys with rapid-fire snowballs until they retreat, cursing.
"We make a good team," James says as we duck back down, breathing hard.
"Yeah." I’m no longer surprised at how right it feels. "We do." "
James looks different right now, flushed with exertion, eyes bright with competitive fire, snowflakes melting in his dark hair. The perpetually grumpy webmaster has been replaced by someone playful, athletic, and...frankly, hot as hell.
When he notices me staring, I quickly look away, focusing on packing another snowball. From the corner of my eye, I see the way he is looking at my hands, and how his eyes are moving up my arms to my shoulders.
A shout from across the arena pulls us back to reality.
"Push forward!" Drew calls. "They're retreating!"
Sure enough, the EBM brothers are falling back, several of them already soaked and miserable. Chad is nowhere to be seen, presumably taken out earlier.
“Shall we?" James asks, nodding toward a forward barricade.
“After you.”
We sprint forward together, diving behind the new cover as a volley of snowballs flies overhead. The space behind this barricade is smaller, forcing us to press close together. Heat’s radiating off James despite the cold snow surrounding us.
"Four left," he reports, peering quickly over the edge. "Two directly ahead, two trying to circle behind."
"I'll take the two in front if you want to handle the flankers."
"Deal."
We rise together, launching our attacks with precision and accuracy. I hit both targets clean in the chest, while James manages to catch both of the circlers. A surprise one, however, gets off a lucky shot that catches James in the shoulder, sending him tumbling back down behind our barricade.
I drop down beside him. "You okay?"
"Fine," he grunts, brushing snow from his jacket. "Just wounded pride."
We huddle for a moment, catching our breath. The sounds of battle continue around us, but it’s strangely quiet in our little snow fortress. James is so close I can see individual snowflakes melting on his eyelashes.
"You've got—" he starts, then reaches up to brush snow from my hair. His hand lingers, just for a second, there’s a zing between us.
I don't know who moves first.
One second we're looking at each other, breathing hard, and the next his lips are on mine, or mine are on his, in a soft, careful touch. We pull back enough to see each other's faces, and a tiny moment of doubt hangs between us.
Oh shit, what’s happening? Don’t care, just gonna go for it.
Then James's hand is on the back of my neck, pulling me in again, and there's nothing gentle about this kiss. It's heat and hunger and the explosion of tension that's been building since when? That first fake date? The political fundraiser? The Christmas tree farm?
My hands find their way inside his jacket, and the warmth of him through his sweater is perfect. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open mine instantly.
James tastes like winter, like cinnamon and cold air, and I want more. My fingers move up to tangle in his hair, still damp with melted snow, as he shifts to press me against the barricade.
The world narrows to just this: James's mouth on mine, his hands gripping my waist, the contrast between the cold snow at my back and the heat between us. I'm dimly aware that we're in public, that we should stop, but I can't bring myself to care. Not when James is making that soft sound in the back of his throat as I nip at his bottom lip.
"Well, well, well," comes Gavin's amused voice from above. "I found our missing right flank."
We break apart so fast that I nearly give myself whiplash. Gavin stands looking down at us, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face as he takes in our flushed faces and dishevelled appearance.
