Frigid

“Hmm, technicalities are a bitch.” Ta

“No. I didn’t. I couldn’t think that, because if…”

“If she didn’t, then it would ruin your friendship. I get that, but damn, that girl…you must’ve been rocking some serious denial.” He shrugged. “Makes sense, though—you secretly wanting her and shit.”

“It does?”

Ta

“Shut up,” I growled.

He smirked. “So what are you going to do? Be a pussy, or fix this?”

“Excuse me?” I shook my head. “Dude, you’re lucky I like you.”

“You’re lucky I don’t bullshit around.” He winked as he pulled the sleeve of his sweater down, covering one of the intricate tattoos etched into his arm. “Look. I’m being serious. You love this girl, right?”

For once in my life, I didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I love her, Ta

“Then what’s the deal?”

I stared at him. “I’m pretty sure I listed all the problems.”

“You listed a bunch of unfortunate shit is what you did. Nothing not fixable. It isn’t like you did something unforgivable. It’s not like one of you two is dead.”

I didn’t know what to say at first. “Damn…” And that was all I could say.

Ta

He never really talked about his past, and other than the weirdness between him and Andrea, he didn’t really talk to girls. Slipping in and out of their beds? That was more up Ta

“Me?” He laughed again. “I am allergic to that shit. Love? Nope. All I’ve seen that do is tear people down and fuck up lives. I don’t want any part of that.”

My brows shot up in surprise. “Whoa. That’s…that’s positive.”

“Whatever. We aren’t talking about me and we aren’t going to, so get that look off your face.”

I raised my hands. “Message received.”

Ta

Staring at him a moment, I shrugged. “Who else is going to drive your grumpy ass home?”

Sydney

Changing into my pajama bottoms, I tugged a long, thick cardigan on over my tank top as I padded downstairs in my slippers. Feeling incredibly mommy-needy, I was disappointed to find her already passed out on the couch next to Dad, the multicolored lights from the Christmas tree flashing over their forms. I resisted the urge to wiggle between them and demand attention.

I headed into the kitchen and grabbed the box of cocoa out of the cabinet. Once done, I took my chocolate goodness upstairs and set it on my nightstand to cool down. I pulled my hair up into a messy bun as I shuffled over to the bookcase. What I needed was to lose myself in a good book—one with tons of sex and angst, complete with an unbelievable happily-ever-after that made me love and hate the book at the same time.

As my gaze traveled over the spines, some straight and others warped, my brain wandered right into a

Pulling out an old favorite, I headed back to my bed and plopped down. I dropped the book on the bedspread and picked up my hot cocoa, wishing I’d had the foresight to grab some of those tiny marshmallows.

I tried getting into the book, but I found myself reading the same paragraph two or three times and still having no idea what I was reading. Flopping onto my back, I placed my arms over my face and groaned. I wanted to cry, to scream, to rage, and to shove my head under a pillow.

In a weird way, it felt like a year had passed since I’d left for Snowshoe. So much had changed in such a short span of time. Had it really only been last week that I’d briefly considered seeing if Paul was interested in me? Was it only a week since my heart had been slightly bruised but completely whole? Now I couldn’t even think about going out with anyone.

And my heart was utterly demolished.

What was I supposed to do from here? Try to pretend like nothing happened? That wasn’t going to work. Avoid him? That would be so hard, almost impossible to consider. I squeezed my eyes shut against the tears. How could I avoid him when he was such an intricate part of my life?

What if Kyler now thought I was as frigid as Nate had claimed?

Rolling over, I shoved my face in the pillow. I was going to drive myself crazy, because I didn’t have answers for any of this. And there’d be no—

Tap.

I lifted up onto my elbows and frowned. Had I already gone crazy? Because I’d swear I thought I’d heard a—

Tap.

Pushing onto my knees, I twisted, sca

“Okay,” I whispered, sliding off the bed. I walked to the center of the room and stood completely still.

Tap.

I jumped.

Oh my God, what if my house was haunted now? Or what if I was about to pull some Black Swan shit? What if—

Tap.

I whipped toward the window. Aha! It was coming from my bedroom window…two floors off the ground. What in the world?

And then it hit me. The sound—oh, holy-baby-Jesus-in-a-manger—the sound was familiar. It wasn’t a ghost, but insanity was still an option, because it couldn’t be what I thought it was.

Years ago, Kyler used to throw rocks before he’d climbed the massive walnut tree outside my bedroom window. So cliché and ridiculous, but he did it up until middle school.

It couldn’t be.

My legs shook as I took a step forward, and then two. I reached the window, and hands trembling, I parted the filmy white curtains. A second later, a small rock smacked off the thick glass of the bottom part of the window.

I froze as my heart sped up, and then I lurched forward, unlocking the tiny latch and lifting the window up. I slid the screen up next and leaned out into the freezing December air.

And my heart skipped a beat.

Kyler stood below, next to the lit wire reindeer, a knit cap pulled low, one arm raised. He let go a second before he saw me. “Oh shit!”

I jumped back as a small pebble zoomed past my face. Holy crap. I put my hand over my racing heart and gingerly approached the window again. I leaned out.

Kyler waved his arm. “Sorry about that!”

“It’s okay.” This was really surreal. Maybe I was dreaming. “What are you doing, Kyler?”

“Talking to you.”

“I can see that. Why…why didn’t you call me?” Because that seemed like the easiest way to talk to me.

He shuffled from one foot to the other, huddled down in his jacket. “I needed to talk to you face-to-face.”

The porch light came on and I winced. A face-to-face conversation was so not possible with him standing outside and with obviously one, if not both, of my parents awake. “Kyler—”

“Hold on,” he called out. “I’m coming up.”

I’m coming up? Then I realized he wasn’t using the door. Oh, dear Lord, he was climbing the tree. He was going to kill himself! I leaned out the window, my breath puffing small white clouds in front of my face as he shimmied up the trunk. “Kyler, are you insane?”

“No. Yes.” He pulled himself up on the first thick limb. Straightening, he glanced down with a frown. “Well, this is harder than I remember.”