Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
What are we doing? We smash into each other and then we rip apart. We come together and we back all the way off. It’s whiplash. Sexy whiplash, but whiplash nonetheless.
“So,” I say, returning to the naughty and nice list, “do we both get hot cocoa tonight? Because it seems real and authentic?”
He lets go of that spot on my hand and runs the back of his knuckles along my jawline, and I shudder on the street outside the Sugar Plum Bakery. He keeps touching me even when he says we need to stop. Like he did in the gourmet shop when we got popcorn. Like he did, of course, this afternoon. Like now. He must be suffering from the same whiplash I am. I don’t tell him to slow down, though, because I feel soft and woozy everywhere. My head pops. My skin sizzles. And everything is hazy.
“We both win, I guess,” he says, then leans in once more and drops a dizzying kiss to my forehead. I close my eyes, savoring the delicious attention.
I’m seeing stars. I grab onto the collar of his peacoat so I don’t fall. When I open my eyes, I catch sight of Bibi down the block.
Is she staring at us approvingly?
We resume our pace. But when Wilder takes my hand once more, I can’t help but wonder what’s real and what is fake.
29
THE REINDEER GAMERS
Wilder
I’m no pro athlete.
I’m the man with the bankroll and the brilliant ideas. The guy who moves chess pieces around. The one who checkmates someone else.
But when it comes to snowballs?
I’m James Bond. I have a license to kill. As a kid I mastered how to peg a friend with a snowball. On winter days, I didn’t stay inside and play with spreadsheets or stock sites. I flew outdoors whenever I could and learned how the real world worked.
And here’s how it works in a snowball fight—you battle to the death.
It’s what we did in the winters when we visited my father’s relatives in Reno, one of the snowiest cities in Nevada. That’s where I learned to slay the competition. I guess that’s the best thing to have come out of my relationship with him.
We’re deep into the fight as the sun dips low on the horizon, the streetlamps of the town park flickering on.
Fable and I have outlasted a lot of the other teams so far, including Caroline and her wife, Fable’s mom and her husband, Fable’s Uncle Rick and his girlfriend, Maeve and Cousin Troy—since she picked him as her teammate saying he seemed like a fierce competitor and he was—as well as plenty of townspeople, like the couple who owns the Mistletoe Emporium and the managers of Play All Day. We even bested Max and Everly, and Josie and Wesley, and those guys are pro athletes. I work with athletes all day long, and they’re shockingly competitive. But then, so am I.
Bibi paired up with the town’s sheriff, and there’s never been a more Bibi moment than that—pure strategy.
But she’s out of the running now, and I’ve got a job to do—finish this off. As I duck behind our snow fort—a picnic table flipped up—I steal a quick glance at my teammate. Her cheeks are the sexiest shade of winter pink from racing around and killing others too. Fable is fantastically ruthless as she packs a snowball nice and tight, then hands it to me, coolly whispering, “Leo’s on the move. Kill him dead.”
She’s vicious, and it’s such a turn-on. I pop out from behind the fortress, find the target, and cock my arm, take aim and fire at my best friend.
Bam!
Nailed him right in the shoulder.
Leo groans in defeat. “Are you kidding me, Blaine?”
I fire off a victory grin his way. “I am not. See you later, Whitlock.”
I wave him goodbye, and he hangs his head, but he’s not a sore loser. He’s just having fun as he and Charlotte fold, heading off the field but still watching from the outskirts. Charlotte peers around, looking at Fable, I suspect. Come to think of it, she’s been studying her sister more than usual since we arrived, but now’s not the time to think on why. Now’s the time to attack without mercy.
We’re down to the final few players. Fable’s father arrived in the nick of time for the competition and announced he was here with a booming, “The father of the bride has arrived! The fun can begin.”
Asshole.
He’s got a barrel chest and big arms. He has the strength you’d expect of a man with a sturdy build. But he’s mostly landed lucky shots so far. He ducks back behind his fortress next to his fourth wife while a woman emerges from behind another one at two o’clock. Blonde hair, pale skin, and a smile I’ve seen from behind the counter as she peddled sweets, but that customer service grin is notably absent now from Aurora, the owner of the Sugar Plum Bakery. Her dark eyes scan the field like a robot, narrowing in on a man across the park, who’s running over the snowy white grounds. She fires ruthlessly, slamming a snowball right into his…ass.