My throat convulsed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
He grinned. “Scared?”
And damn if his taunting didn’t work. I sat on the sled before him, stretching my legs straight ahead so they wouldn’t brush his.
“You’re gonna fall out of the sled if you don’t hold on to anything.” His voice was amused, his breath brushing the back of my head.
I reached over his legs for the edge of the wooden sled. Tyler, damn him, scooted closer, his long legs bracketing my own. He put his arm around my waist and suddenly my back was flush against his front, his chest warm and hard. I sucked my breath in.
“Wow,” I said lightly, because I didn’t know how to handle this besides through sarcasm. “I would havelovedthis three years ago.”
“Admit it, Shir,” he said, mouth alarmingly close to my ear. “You love it now, too.”
“Get over yourself.”
He laughed. “Never. Ready?”
“Sure.”
He pushed off, and the sled tipped over the edge of the hill and onto the incline, gradually increasing in speed until we whipped recklessly downward, wind flaying my cheeks and tearing a shriek out of me. Tyler laughed. His arms tightened around me, and I clutched him. We were going so fast, it was impossible to be in control. The sled careened from side to side, snow slashing up at us, the world a blur of white and blue and green. Tyler’s warmth seeped into me, his body the only steady thing...
And then the hill leveled off, the sled slowing and turning, and we fell off it, laughing, lying in the snow.
“Shira...”
I grinned at him, trying to swipe hair out of my eyes, getting snow on my face instead. “Yeah?”
For a moment, his face was very still, unreadable, which was odd because I was used to Tyler being so expressive. But then he let out a huff of laughter and smiled wryly. “It’s too bad we want such different things.”
I stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant.Such different things...
He looked away, squinting at the sun. It glowed orange and low in the trees, casting skeletal shadows. “It’ll be dark soon.”
“Right.” I swallowed hard. “We should head out.”
We trooped up to the top of the hill, Tyler’s long-legged stride weirdly graceful, unlike my clomping steps. “Did you learn anything observing me with my family?” I asked.
He glanced over. “Are you going to get mad if I tell you?”
“Only time will tell.”
His mouth turned up in a small smile. “Fair.” He studied me, that look of his I’d noticed before, so unlike his charismatic smile. Had Tyler been watching everyone for years and just done a good job hiding it? “With your family, you’re sweet and open and warm, but usually when I see you at parties or wherever, you kind of come off like an ice queen.”
“Excuse me?” What a term.
“I don’t mean it as an insult. But no one sees you and thinks, ‘Oh, she’s awkward and uncomfortable joining in—’ ”
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
“They think you’re bored and aloof and not in the mood to flirt.”
I frowned. “So you’re saying my anxiety manifests as bitchiness instead of, I don’t know, making me look like an endearing, twee rom-com heroine.”
His lips twitched. “Pretty much. Look. If I’ve learned one thing over the years, it’s that no one’s as obsessed with me as I am.” He grinned. “Well, maybe you were.”
“Thank you,” I said, “for shoving a finger in that old wound.”
He continued. “What I’m trying to say is, no one pays asmuch attention to you, or judges you, as harshly as you judge yourself. I think you get stiff around other people because you’re overthinking how to act. Imagine you’re hanging out with your family, and act like you do with them.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “Be sweet.”
