But I can’t be fake to her. I can’t be friendly when she’s being rude. And I’ve told her numerous times that if she doesn’t apologize to Ryke, then I won’t be the warm, cheerful daughter around her. I’ll be a little colder.
I’m willing to meet my mom halfway. My dad told me that she loves me too much to be stubborn for so long. To just give her time. I hope he’s right.
“Shhh,” Lily whispers, her eyes bugging. As the silence descends, I hear the sound of Rose’s Escalade rolling into the driveway.
“One…” I whisper, listening to a couple car doors popping open.
Lo’s edged voice resounds across the yard. “Christ, we need to get someone out here to plow the driveway again.”
“Two,” I count to my sisters.
“I can do it later,” Ryke tells him.
I smile wide. “Three.” We run out of our hiding places, or really, I run with frozen feet and they walk. Snowballs lie in their gloved hands （mine gloveless）。
I focus on the guy in the leather jacket, carrying a case of Fizz Life and a carton of eggnog. And I pelt him with a snowball, square in the chest, the snow bursting open and soaking his gray shirt.
I grin. And his eyes darken on me while his brows rise. “Really, Calloway?”
“Really, really,” I say, already scooping up more snow for my second attack.
Lily shrieks, and I glance over, realizing that Lo’s hair is wet and he’s started chasing her around the snowy yard. She abandons her pre-made snowballs and runs away with a silly smile, her hands on her head like her Wampa cap may blow off.
“Nice hit, Lily!” I call.
She gives me a thumbs up.
And then cold blasts my bare skin. Right in the face. Waking me in an instant. I smile and look at Ryke who has ditched the soda and eggnog. He bends down to make his second snowball.
Game on.
I dodge his next shot and land another one at his shoulder. I try to take a step towards him, but my flip-flop gets stuck underneath the snow. I outstretch my arms for balance, but my weight tilts me backwards and I fall, the white powder catching me like an icy pillow. My hair and my long-sleeve tee is soaked through and through.
A six-foot-three guy suddenly hovers above me, blocking the sliver of sun, undisturbed by clouds. His dark eyes swirl with protectiveness and lust. He grabs my ankles out of the snow and inspects my footwear. His face hardens. “You’re fucking insane.” He removes my flip-flops and rubs one of my reddened feet.
I tilt my head back and almost moan. “That feels so good.”
And then his eyes pin on my chest.
I glance down. My nipples are totally hard, and the thin white shirt is see-through. The words printed right below say: Taken.
He shrugs off his leather jacket, his intense gaze still pinned on my boobs, and my chest rises and falls heavier than before.
“Didn’t you hear?” I ask, watching him watch me. “I’m taken.”
“I heard,” Ryke says, scooping me in his arms and wrapping the jacket around my shoulders. His eyes meet mine. “I also heard that he’s the only one who can keep up with you.” And then he lifts me in his arms, the breath blowing out of my lungs.
With his hands underneath my back and legs, he carries me towards the driveway. I realize that we’re outside, alone, and the other two couples have retreated to the warm indoors. I don’t even think Rose participated, but at least she withstood the cold in camaraderie.
I reach up and run my fingers through the hair by the back of his neck. And his hard muscles tighten, his eyes descending down my body once more. Then he kisses me, his tongue effortlessly sliding against mine, heating every inch of my skin.
I’m in his arms.
No longer just the sister of his brother’s girlfriend.
Or the sister of a friend.
Not even just a friend.
I am his.
And as he carries me into the house, the kiss turning more and more urgent and fiery, I realize something, deep in my heart.
We are free.
No matter if the public hates us. No matter if my mom never accepts him. We’ve done all that we can for now.
I smile into the next kiss, my hand rising in his thick hair.
“I can’t narrow it down to ten,” Rose tells Connor, cutting into our moment. We both break apart and turn our heads.
Rose has her legs tucked beside her on the cream suede couch while Connor passes her a mug of coffee. His hand is draped over her thighs, keeping her close to his body.
“You need to unless you want to have fifty kids, darling,” he tells her.