Snowed in with Mr. Heartbreaker (Copper Valley Bro Code #5)

Chapter 10

10

Aspen

It’s awkward again, and I’m not sleeping.

Every time I think I might doze off, I start to feel cold, and within seconds— seconds —Cash is up putting more wood on the fire, then returning to the couch, where the fake leather gives one singular groan and goes silent, like he’s fallen immediately back to sleep.

The way I want to text him right now is overwhelming.

This guy I have an unfortunate crush on told me he likes me too, and now I feel awkward because I want to do something about it, but he’s my landlord, and I don’t want to lose one more place to live because it got weird between us.

He’d text me back something like Is it already weird enough to move? If so, seize the day .

And I’d reply Might not even matter depending on how long this storm lasts.

He’d say YOLO .

I’d say I just want him to crawl into bed and snuggle me because it’s dark and cold and no matter how much I tell myself that I’m fine by myself, I don’t like being alone in the cold and dark.

There’s something about the night that makes everything seem worse.

Like the night is when the bear comes. Or a snow monster. Or the family I walked away from.

And then they’re here.

My family.

Marching to the door of my cabin castle, led by the bear who was sent to sniff me out.

You have pebbles! We want pebbles!

I don’t have pebbles , I cry.

You made pebbles and you kept them from us! They have guitars that shoot arrows, and they’re sending flaming arrows through the air as they advance. We will burn it all down for you turning your back on us!

Do your worst! I yell back. You’ve made me rise from the ashes before, and I’ll do it again!

“Aspen,” a whiskey-smooth voice says beside me. The world shakes, and I hear it again. “ Aspen .”

I sit straight up with a gasp, the dream clearing, the darkness cut by the glow of the fire coming back into focus.

Cash.

Cash is beside me.

On top of the quilts.

Stroking my back. “Hey. You okay?”

I swipe my nose.

Shit .

I’m crying.

Fucking dream.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer.

Why should he? We both know I’m lying.

“You have bad dreams often?”

I shake my head.

He grunts.

Once again, we both don’t believe me.

Have I had bad dreams while we’ve both been in Malibu at the same time? Does he sleep with his windows open? Could he have heard me if I did?

“You warm enough?” he asks.

I nod, but at the same time, I shiver.

I try not to, but I do. My fingers are cold. My nose is cold. I’m still wiping tears off my face like they’re not there.

I hate crying in front of people.

It’s weakness.

Also, the streaks where the tears fall are cold.

Fire’s a little low again.

He shoves up from the mattress, grabs a log, and tosses it on. We’re both silent as it catches, sending a brighter glow through the room. I shift and settle back under the covers. I’m shivering far more than I should be this close to the fire.

And then he does the best-worst thing he can do, and he takes the two quilts he’s been using on the couch and shakes them out over the two quilts I’m already using on the mattress.

And then he climbs under the covers with me.

Heat touches my skin as he curls up behind me, one arm looped around my belly. He’s shed his outer layers and is down to his T-shirt and jeans, but he’s still radiating heat.

“Go back to sleep,” he says softly. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

You’re safe. I’ve got you . “People in my life don’t say that kind of thing to me,” I whisper.

“Then you need better people.”

I have better people. Waverly would leap mountains to get here if she knew I needed a friend, and Cooper would be right beside her.

But I don’t ask because she’s already done so much for me, and I don’t want to burden her with the hang-ups that are better saved for a therapist.

I huddle closer to Cash, soaking in his warmth, and settle my hand on his arm, giving it a light thank you squeeze.

He yelps softly.

“Sorry. Sorry,” I whisper as I release his arm. “My hands are?—”

“Freezing,” he whispers back.

He grabs my hand and cradles it in his. Warmth seeps into my fingers, and I almost want to cry again.

I like being held. I like being close to people.

But I don’t trust it.

That’s why I date, but only for short periods of time.

But it’s so easy to trust Cash right now.

His breath is warm in my ear as he murmurs, “Is your other hand cold too?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I can’t even feel it anymore.”

“How are you the closest one to the fire and the colder of the two of us?”

“Talent.”

He chuckles, the warm reverberations rumbling against my back. “Give me your other hand.”

“Bossy.”

“I don’t let people freeze on my watch.”

“You’re keeping the fire going. My poor circulation isn’t your fault.”

It’s not poor circulation.

It’s legit that the rest of the house is getting cold and there’s only so much that a fire can do.

Cash maneuvers my hands so they both press together against my breasts.

He doesn’t touch my breasts himself.

I don’t think.

I think that’s just my own hands.

And they’re warming up.

I curl into a tighter ball and press back against him. Swear I’m seeking warmth and warmth only.

Except his sharp inhale and the very solid ridge against my tailbone tell me I’m getting the full cuddling-with-my-secret-crush-who-likes-me-back experience.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“Fuck sorry,” I mutter back, and I press even harder against his erection.

“Aspen—”

“We could freeze to death out here. Do you want your last act on earth to be heroic, or do you want your last act on earth to be the best blaze of glory?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he cracks up. “Quit quoting my most famous movie lines at me.”

“Oh, were you in that movie? I forgot.”

“Yes, I was in that movie. Lead character. The one who saved the world? Ring a bell?” Fingers brush my breasts, and those are not my fingers.

I can tell by the way goosebumps break out all over my chest.

I’m still in my hoodie and sweatpants. He’s not touching my skin anywhere except my hands, and I’m still getting delicious chills. “Oh, I might remember that now.”

His nose nestles into my hair.

The fire crackles and sends a dancing yellow glow around the room.

My fingers are warming.

My breasts are tingling. My vagina is asking if we’re really going to sleep like this, or if we can have other fun first.

“Cash?” I whisper.

“Hmm?”

“My nose is cold too.”

He shifts, releasing my hands, and clamps his palm over my nose. “Yep. Definitely cold.”

I snort in amusement, my own breath filling his hand and warming my nose up.

But only a little.

I roll over until I’m facing him, and scoot close enough that my hands are scrunched between us, my nose buried in the warm, smoke-and-pancake scent of his T-shirt.

“Aspen—”

“Shh. Conserve energy.”

He’s stiff against me—his whole body, I mean, not specifically just his penis—but only for a moment.

And then he relaxes.

Except for his penis.

This is such a bad idea.

But it’s a much better idea than having more nightmares.

Being cold by myself.

Being alone.

He tugs me tighter against him and presses a kiss to my hair.

I slide my top hand under his shirt and wrap my arm around his back, lying to myself that it’s for heat.

His breath hitches again, but he doesn’t pull away.

If anything, he tightens his grip on me.

And I feel safe.

So safe.

Cared for.

Cherished.

Especially when he kisses my head again.

“Thank you for being here with me,” I whisper.

“Glad to have fucked up in the right way,” he murmurs back.

I kiss his chest and burrow closer to him, my fingers cautiously exploring the hot, smooth skin on his back.

He buries his face in my hair, gripping me even tighter.

“Whatever happens here can stay here,” I tell his shirt.

“I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“My entire life is one regret after another. Even if I regret this, it’ll be small. Barely noticeable. A little blip.”

He goes completely still and silent for a moment.

For the love of guitar strings. “I’m not calling this a blip,” I add, flexing my hips against his erection.

He coughs. Half laughs. Coughs again. “I didn’t think?—”

“Yes, you did.”

“Maybe a little.”

I giggle.

He kisses my forehead.

The way I want to push him onto his back, crawl on top of him, strip out of my clothes, and make love to him is overwhelming.

It’s scary—this will change everything, no matter how much I might try to insist that what happens here, stays here—but he’s here.

He likes me.

I like him.

I trust him.

Screw it.

I might never have this chance again.