ANNIE

He’s late.

I’ve been waiting here for ten minutes, and I’m starting to turn into a popsicle. I’d texted Cohen the address to my apartment late last night and agreed to meet him out front since the campus layout can be confusing.

Huge mistake—now, I’m stuck waiting out front while my body temperature steadily drops to zero. Gritting my teeth, I pop a thumb out of my glove and scroll through my phone’s touch screen. No messages, no phone calls, no texts. Minutes are ticking away, and I’m about ready to call it quits.

I’m not surprised—not even a little bit.

I know men like this. My father, for one. I’ve been in this situation so many times the rejection doesn’t even sting anymore. That’s not the part that bothers me—it’s better that way, actually. The part that bothers me is the fact that I’m disappointed.

I start back into my apartment and catch a glimpse of myself in a nearby window. My cheeks are pink, thanks to the biting wind, and my eyes are all squinty. On my lashes, however, there’s an extra swipe of mascara. An extra dot of eyeshadow. An extra puff of foundation. To think I actually put on makeup for this gets my blood boiling.

I’d be fooling myself if I said I wasn’t disappointed. Truth is, I hate that I’m disappointed. I hate feeling helpless, and I hate the fact that there’s a tear sparkling down my cheek about to freeze into a tiny pinprick of ice.

“Annie, wait!”

Thankfully, it’s cold enough that my red cheeks and shiny eyes can be blamed on the lack of temperature. I turn around to face Cohen and force a smile.

“Where were you going?” His breath appears in a visible rush. “I told you I’d show up. I am so sorry I’m late. I got stuck behind an old woman at the grocery store paying her thirty dollar bill in coins, and... God, you’re freezing. I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay, really.” My somewhat frosty smile thaws at his bumbling apology as Gran’s reminder to take a leap hits me hard. “I’m Minnesotan. We’re built for this.”

Dimples appear as he grins, relief written in his eyes. “Hop in the car. I’ve got the heat cranked up, and I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes later, we park in a quiet field that’s situated atop a high hill just outside of the Cities. Our tire tracks are the first ones down this road, wheels crunching with effort as we cross loose gravel meshed with fresh snow. Fat flakes drift in lazy circles around us, spiraling in the wind until they rest on top of the ground.

“I used to come here as a teen.” Cohen climbs out of the car, opens my door, and helps me out. “Right when I first learned to drive.”

“How’d you find the place?”

“Friends.”

“Girlfriend?”

His lips quirk up in a half-smile. “I plead the fifth.”

“It’s fine. You’re not my first boyfriend.”

“We’re doing titles now, are we?” Cohen leans against the car, his eyes glinting as if he knows a secret that I don’t. “I’m not opposed to being your boyfriend, if you’re asking.”

“You know what I meant!” My face flames red despite the dropping temperatures. “We’re not a thing yet, this is a first date. We’ve barely kissed.”

“Oh, honey, that’s where you’re wrong.” He winks, and it sends butterflies soaring in my stomach. “We definitely kissed.”

The memory of last night has me flushing warm despite the goose bumps on my skin, and I make a disgruntled noise deep in my throat. Meanwhile, Cohen clicks the trunk open and exposes two sleds—bright green and bright pink—immaculate in their newness.

“I had these laying around the house,” he says, “and I figured it’d be a sin to waste the perfect snowfall. What do you say?”

“I say bullshit.”

“Sorry?”

“These weren’t laying around,” I say, resting a hand on one of them. “These are beautiful, brand new sleds. Did you just buy these at the grocery store?”

“Am I that obvious?” He smiles, and I can’t help but laugh. “I thought you seemed like the sledding sort of girl.”

I yank the pink sled out of the trunk. “You guessed right... but now you’re in trouble. I happen to be the reigning champ of sled races.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“It’s more like a fact, actually.”

“You’re on, sweetheart.”

Before I can turn away, however, he hooks a finger into the front of my jacket. I spin in a circle and crash against his chest with a thud. Snowflakes reflect in his gaze, spinning, swirling in circles, our breath fusing into one cloud of smoke.

The warmth from earlier is still there, and now with this closeness, there’s a twist in my gut that has me wanting more. I lean into him as his arms wrap around me, hold me tight, so perfectly tight, the beat of his heart matching mine.

When he brings a hand to my face, strokes a stray hair from my cheek, my lips reach for his, desperate for a touch, a kiss, a caress. Anything. As if all of this waiting has me pent up and needing him more than ever.

His lips brush against mine, and it sends me circling toward the heavens, the feel of him against me so right, so sweet, so—

“Ready, set...” He pulls back, grasps the free sled from the car, and gives me a quick flash of a smile before setting off in a sprint toward the hill. “Go!”

For a moment, I’m stunned. I stand there, aching for more of his kisses, frustrated beyond belief at the sudden absence of his body against mine, until I realize his sneaky little game.

“Hey!” I call after him. “Not fair!”

Though it feels like minutes, it’s only a matter of seconds before my body catches up to my mind, and I take off after him.

I dive onto my sled just behind him as I reach the top of the hill. “You play dirty, Cohen James!”

He gives me a cheeky grin, slowing his pace to wait. Even so, he’s got athletic grace on his side, while I have awkwardness on mine, and it’s no competition as we take off down the hill.

“So,” he says, lazing in a heap in the snow at the bottom of the hill. His sled has curved off to one side, so I make my way over to him. “What’s my prize?”

“Prize? You didn’t win fair and square.”

“Come here, we’ll call it a tie.”

“Eat my dust.”

I stomp toward the top of the hill, and it’s not until I’m halfway up that I realize he’s following me. We’re a few feet from the top when he makes his move, hooking an arm around my waist and pulling me down with him onto the sled, directly onto his lap.

The sled loses all traction and takes off down the hill, the two of us a tangle of limbs as Cohen struggles to situate his arms around me. The wind whips across my face, snow pelting us from every direction until finally, I succumb to the warmth that is Cohen, and sink into his embrace.

By the time our sled skids to a stop, we’re both giggling like schoolkids, and I find myself disappointed the ride has come to an end. I sigh, not yet ready to stand up, which works out fine because he doesn’t seem keen on moving, either. If anything, he leans closer, his breath fresh as spearmint and spicy against my cheek.

“Can I kiss you, Annie Plymouth?”

I swallow, wishing I could see him. We’re wedged tightly into the sled, however, so I’m stuck. When I give the slightest of nods in response, his mouth lands gently on my neck, a tender, soft spot just below my ear.

Shivers rock my body at the surprisingly sensitive touch, and I only lean further into him as he slides his mittens off and eases his hands under my jacket. It takes a few seconds of fumbling through layers of clothing before he inches his hands toward the edge of my shirt, skin finally brushing skin.

I need to have my arms free to hold him, too, so I swivel around and attempt an awkward sort of straddle. My gangly limbs wreck my best attempts at being suave, however, and I accidentally knee him in the gut.

He lets out a whoosh of air at the impact, but with minor difficulty, he guides us out of the sled and into a tangle of more awkward limbs in the snow.

Once we’re finally situated somewhat comfortably—Cohen on his back while I’m perched on his lap—he grins, looping his bare hands through my gloved fingers. “Better?”

I lean forward, one leg on either side of his body, and press a kiss to his lips. “Perfect.”

“You feel fantastic just like this,” he says, a smirk playing at his lips. “But I promise that one day, I’m going to get you on a date that doesn’t require a parka.”

I laugh a little, wiggling my hips against him, my lips lingering just above his. “You can try.”

Before I can say anything more, his mouth closes on mine. It’s hot, swift, and all-consuming. His hands reach up and find my bottom, grasping tight as he pulls me against him. He groans as my hips press against him, a slow grind as he deepens the kiss.

“I want you so badly,” he says, breaking the kiss for just long enough to run a tender line down my cheek. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

It’s my turn to shut him up with a kiss. Ironically, it’s safer this way—if I let him use his words, he’ll sweet-talk me right out of my pants. That wouldn’t be good—at least not out here, in the snowy tundra. A lady can’t let her best parts get all frostbitten.

I don’t know what we’re doing here, I’ll be honest. I never expected to fall in love with Cohen James—but then again, I’m not sure this is love. I’m not sure it’s friendship. I’m not sure if it’s something in between, even, or if it’s pure lust. I just don’t know.

Cohen’s hands come up through my hair, his fingers sliding through the loose curls as my hat hits the ground. I don’t feel the chill in the air, or the brush of melting snow. I feel only Cohen, his desire for me, pressed against me.

It’s a good thing we’re not in a bedroom right now because there’s a chance I’d be in danger of losing my self-control. As much as I want Cohen, I’m not quite ready to give myself to him—not fully, not yet.

There’s still a wall inside me that’s keeping him out despite these last few weeks of a burgeoning friendship. I don’t know why, I don’t know how to break it—I just know that it’s there. We’re still so new at this: new at talking, new at kissing, new at being together.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, running a thumb softly over my chin, lightly breaking the kiss. “Annie?”

“What are you talking about?” I blink down at him, shaken out of my smoochy haze. “I’m right here.”

“No, you were right here.” He gives a smile, but it’s tinged with confusion. Almost sadness. “Did I do something wrong?”

It’s now that I realize he didn’t stop kissing me—I backed off from him. “Oh, no. I’m fine. Sorry, it’s nothing.”

“Why do you run away every time I kiss you?”

I find those green gems locked on me, asking for the truth, and I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Sure you do.”

“No, I don’t. I like kissing you,” I tell him. “I just—”

“You’re trying to keep us in some odd sort of friend-zone, and I don’t like it. I want you. All of you. I’m not talking about sex, I’m talking about you trusting me.”

“I am not trying to friend-zone you. I don’t kiss my friends like that.”

“I know, and I will be patient. Because you’re worth it.” Cohen shifts. When I try to move off his lap, he curls his arms around me, hands landing on my lower back. “But I’m done pulling your pigtails, Annie. Playing games and flirting and pretending I don’t like you.”

“Pulling my pigtails?”

“All of that surface stuff. The jokes, the banter, the fun stuff. I want to have fun with you, but it’s okay to open up around me and have a real conversation. You are so incredible, so smart and funny and yes, so beautiful. I want to know each part of you.”

He presses his lips to my forehead, and the gesture melts a place deep inside of me. The words are gone, and I can’t form a response that seems good enough for the moment.

He brushes a stray snowflake from my jacket. “Please give us a chance.”

“I want to,” I confess. “But I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of whatever happens next. After.”

“After what?”

“After this, us...” I hesitate, my fingers shaking as I hold onto his arms. “That’s what all men say at first. I love you, I want you, you’re beautiful. Then one day, you’re just gone.”

“You’re not talking about me, Annie. I’m not going to do that to you, or to us.”

“What makes you so sure this will work? How can you say us already?”

“I’m not sure at all, but I am willing to try.”

“I am trying—”

Though we’re mid-argument, he leans in and takes the words away with a press of his lips. It’s soft this time, and gentle. When he pauses, his eyes land intently on mine. “How can I prove to you that I’m serious about us?”

I exhale a breath. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m a little on edge today because when you showed up a few minutes late, I felt stupid.”

His eyes go wide. “I’m the one who showed up late. How could you possibly be the one feeling stupid?”

“Because I was excited for you to show up. I hate getting my hopes up. If you hadn’t showed, I would’ve been disappointed. I don’t like being disappointed by others. Waiting outside, shivering...I got really upset even though it was irrational.”

“It’s not irrational. It’s—”

“It made me realize something.” I bite my lip, shivering against a fresh breeze. “I’m starting to like you, or care about you, or something. And it’s terrifying.”

“Give me a way that I can earn your trust. I don’t care what it is—anything. I want to prove that I won’t let you down.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I need to start somewhere,” he says. “Anywhere. We’ll go slow. Then one day, with any luck, you’ll allow yourself to feel excited again. And when that day comes, I promise you I’ll show up.”

“You said anything?”

“Anything.”

“Well, there is one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Name it.”

“My grandmother’s looking for one male to help out with the synchronized swim team. We don’t have many options, and I’m guessing you can see where I’m going with this...”

“You want me to join a ladies swim team?”

“Not join it, but maybe just show up for the competition. We can’t find anyone else strong enough to do the twirl.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“You said anything.”

“Fuck me,” he says. “Where do I sign?”

“Really?” I grin as he pulls me to my feet, an expression of disbelief on his face. “You’d do that for me?”

“I said anything.”

“I admire your dedication, Mr. James.”

He holds my hand and, together, we march toward the top of the hill. We’re wet, the wind is cold, but I’m feeling buoyant inside, even giddy. Our kisses, this talk, his promises—maybe Cohen James isn’t the playboy the media makes him out to be.

“One catch,” he says, turning to face me, a look of utter seriousness on his face. “I am not wearing a Speedo.”