“No. I’m sure he’ll—” Story stops, her hands covering her cheeks as we both watch the impending crash. Rath’s sled hits a small bump built into the structure and he goes flying, arms and legs flailing as he rockets into the air. “Oh, no!”
He tucks and rolls, coming to a sliding stop at the bottom.
I give a slow, loud clap. “Graceful as fuck, Rathbone!”
The only movement from the dark shape of him sprawled on the ground is the emergence of two arms, raised to flip me off.
It’s a shame this is being wasted on the three of us. Mount Marcus, named after our frat brother, is the best sledding hill yet. I can just imagine fifty wasted frat boys tripping over themselves to break a bone on this fucker.
“Here,” I offer Story the sled. “Your turn.”
“I’m okay,” she says, flashing a small grin. “You go again.”
Her snow hat is askew, and I can tell the Molly is hitting her because she’s gnawing on her hoodie string like it’s a bone. Although her expression is cute and innocent, her pupils are blown wide, two deep pools of black peering up at me.
I’ve been three times and the guys have each gone four.
“What gives, little sister? Don’t trust Marcus’ handiwork?” I nudge her with my elbow, but the Molly must be hitting me too, because she stumbles with the force of it. I shoot my hand out to catch her, yanking her into my side. “Oops.”
She gives me an uneasy laugh. “Oh, I trust his skills,” she promises, but looks down at the bottom, where Tristian is helping Rath off the ground. “I’m just not super into, um, my own. Right now. Specifically.” She’s gnawing on that string and staring wide-eyed at the expanse of white slope, and Ah.
I look at her dubiously. “Is it hitting you too hard?” Well, she is a tiny thing compared to the three of us. Maybe Rath should have started her off with half a tablet. Fuck.
“No, it’s not that.” Her arms cross and the pom-pom on the top of her hat bobs. “I just don’t think I’d like how it feels.”
It isn’t until her eyelashes flutter that I realize I’m fondling her hair. I consider stopping, but decide it feels really good against my fingers. Like spun sugar or gold or something. “Sounds like you’re scared.”
Which is surprising and funny. This woman has shot a man, faced down my father, avoided a stalker for years, and exacted revenge on the three of us. Yet she’s scared of a fake, snow-covered hill.
She lifts a shoulder. “So what if I am?”
I drop the sled on the top of the shoot and position my legs around each side. Just before I sit, I reach out and grab her, pulling her against my chest and dragging her down.
“Killian!” she shouts, fighting against me. “Let me go!”
I struggle to settle her thrashing little body between my legs. “Stop fighting,” I growl, cinching my arm around her waist. “If you’ll just chill out for a second,” I say, blowing a strand of hair out of my mouth. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
She finally stills, but her spine is rigid, shoulders all stiff.
“Lean into me.” I nudge her toward me, and she relents, tipping her back against my chest. “What are you afraid of?”
“I don’t like the way my stomach feels when I go down big hills,” she admits, fingers curling around my knees. “You know, that crazy swoop you get?”
“I’ve been in the car with you.” I clench my teeth at the way she’s rubbing the denim over my knees, all mindless like she doesn’t even realize she’s basically feeling them up. “You drive like a fucking maniac.”
“That’s different.” I feel her ease a little, sinking into my chest. “I drive the car, it doesn’t drive me. I trust myself.”
I get a little lost in the way she feels against me, like I could get us both naked right now and not even need to nut. Just feeling her body against mine would probably be the most amazing fucking thing I’ve ever felt.
And then her words register. “So you don’t trust me.” Fuck, I’m not expecting the sting of that, but even I have to admit, “That’s fair.”
She looks back at me, her dilated eyes giving me a blink. “Is it? We’ve both done some shitty things to each other, but we’ve also had one another’s backs.” Frowning, she looks down at the slope, giving my knees another idle petting. “I suppose we’ve moved past that, haven’t we?”