“You slipped.”
“I was trying to save you from yourself!”
“And yet. Here we are. Alive.” I grin up at him. “I win.”
“You do not.”
“I touched the snowbank first.”
“Because youfell.”
“Still counts.”
He shakes his head, still smiling. Snow in his hair. Glasses askew. Looking ten years younger.
My scent shifts before I can stop it—going warm, wanting. I feel the slick start, that telltale wetness that makes my face burn.
His nostrils flare. His pupils blow wide.
For a breathless moment, neither of us moves.
Then he clears his throat and pushes up, offering his hand.
“We should get back. You’re covered in snow.”
“So are you.”
“Yes, well.” He pulls me up but doesn’t let go right away. “Someone staged a death race across a frozen creek.”
“Someone followed.”
His mouth twitches. “Someone is an idiot.”
“Someone had fun. Admit it.”
His grip tightens on my hand. His eyes hold mine.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I did.”
After that,walls start crumbling.
We walk back closer than before. When I stumble on a root, his hand catches my elbow automatically.
“Careful.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re clumsy.”
“I’madventurous.”
“Same thing.”
We sit in his car with the heat blasting, passing the thermos.
“Romance novels,” Lucas says.
“We’re back to that?”
