I’m barely able to shield from the three speeding balls being hurled at me in rapid succession. I’m instantly on my feet as she screams, dropping the rest of her arsenal before turning on her booted feet and launching herself out of the door, hysterical laughter pouring from her lips. I can’t help my own chuckle as I chase her through the house, catching up with her in the living room and tackling her into the couch. She yelps as she falls back and struggles against me, her eyes shining with mischief.
“You are going to pay for that, dearly,” I say, unable to help my smile as I gaze down at her.
“I let you sleep in long enough.”
“You aren’t going to work?”
“You should know, as a southern raised man yourself, that a quarter-inch of that white stuff,” she says, nodding toward the window, “gives southern cities the chance to play ignorant to what it’s made of and shut down.”
“That so?”
“It’s so,” she nods, her porcelain skin flushed pink from the cold. Her beauty robs me momentarily as I press myself against her, and she paws me with freezing mittens. When I jerk against the discomfort, she giggles.
“We’re going to have a proper snow day, Frenchman. There’s enough for a good fight, a decent-sized snowman, and if you’re a really good boy, I’ll make you a snow cream.”
I wrinkle my nose. “What is a snow cream?”
“It’s a treat for good boys, you’ll see.”
“What does being a good boy entail?” I dip and press my lips to what skin I can reach beneath the layers she has on. “Will you settle for a skilled tongue? You know that’s a lot to ask of me.”
“Just going to have to give it your all, Frenchman.”
“My all is ready,” I murmur into her neck, grinding as much as I can into the quilt thick clothes she has buttoned around her.
“Cool off, cowboy,” she says, gliding her snow-crusted mittens down my sides, making me flinch.
“You want to battle me? You should know better.”
Her eyes narrow at my challenge. “I can take you,” she taunts.
“Think so?”
“Know so.”
Abandoning the search for more skin, I pull myself away from her and the couch and lift my chin in acceptance of her battle. “Five minutes, Trésor. And you better hide well.”
My four-legged henchman sniffs her out in the garden within the first minute, and she screams like a banshee, tossing an arsenal of poorly made snowballs at me before darting around the house to the front yard. Gaining on her, she makes it all of two steps into the foot-deep blanket in her front yard before she loses her footing and faceplants.
I can’t help my laugh as she lays there, her body shaking with laughter and defeat when I reach her and roll her over to see every inch of her outlined in snow. “The shortest war in US history lasted thirty-eight minutes, Trésor. I’m so disappointed in you.”
I dust her off as she giggles beneath me. “Oh yeah, which war was that?”
“Anglo-Zanzibar, 1896.”
“You’re such a nerd, King,” she coos beneath me. “I thought you’d be happy the war is over.”
“If you’re referring to our war, I’m more than happy. In fact, I’m willing to accommodate all demands for your surrender. But we’re going to have to work on your tactics. You couldn’t even evade my henchman.” I nod over to where Beau lifts his leg, dotting the white powder with a line of bright yellow.
“Beau,” she scolds as he looks over at the two of us as if to say, ‘what?’ She shakes her head, looking back over to me. “I don’t think he likes it.”