I go to see Charlotte’s reaction, but she’s lying flat on the mat, bundled up and passed out.
“I’ll carry her inside and text her mom,” Anders says. I nod my head and look back at Mikael.
“You ease up.”
“I’m fucking trying. We’re good for the pickup game in two days?”
I roll my eyes, but nod. “Yeah, we’re good.”
“I’m really going to try,” he says softly, walking out the door and turning off his music. I sigh and accept that as a win. As long as he isn’t rude to Charlotte, that’s all that matters.
I shower and go on the search for Charlotte. Anders took Charlotte to his room, and I can’t help but feel left out. I open his door, and his voice is low. “You can take the right side.” He can’t see my smile in the dark, but I cuddle next to her, not touching, but close enough to feel her body warmth. I’ve never considered this sharing aspect, but so far, I don’t feel bothered. It’s like deep down, I know that Anders isn’t a threat. He’s my Omega’s scent match, just like me. We’re a team, like always.
I sleep more soundly than I care to admit.
“Oh, it’s snowing pretty hard. We’ve got to go outside,” Charlotte says, pulling on her boots.
“Aren’t you sick of snow?”
Anders and Charlotte both scoff at the same time, and I hold my arms up in surrender.
Her jacket is on, and she’s about to open the door for us to head out, but I tsk at her. “Forgetting something?”
She pats around her body. I tug on her wool knit hat and she smiles. Her scent comforts me as she pulls me out the door.
“You’ll come out later?” she asks Anders, and he smiles and nods his head. I appreciate the fuck out of him giving us some alone time together.
She holds her arms out to her sides, her palms up as she spins and falls backwards into the snow. I’m near her in a second, and she laughs.
“Fuck, I thought you tripped.”
“Despite what you think, I’m not really that clumsy.”
“Good to know.”
“Come on down, the weather’s fine.”
“What exactly is it that we’re doing?”
“Snow angels.”
“Snow angels?” I furrow my brow, and her boot taps at my shin. “Fine.” I lie down next to her in the cold snow and watch the white, fat flakes fall from the gray cloudy sky. It’s actually pretty beautiful and peaceful in a way.
“You’ve never done a snow angel? Aren’t you from Connecticut?”
I clear my throat and look at her. Her cheeks are pink, eyes bright, and her blonde hair is covered in flakes. “My parents weren’t the playing type.”
“You didn’t have friends?”
“Not many, and most of the time, it was in the house. My parents thought the kids who played outside all the time were unrefined or feral. They wanted me to be a very specific way.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
I shrug, knowing that my parents aren’t the best, but I want for nothing. Maybe except acceptance, maybe a dash of love.
“I don’t know. I sound stuck up.”
“No, it sounds like you need to have more fun.”
