JEN
I can’t help but drop the sarcastic comments for something more... Distracting, when Bing looks at me the way he just did.
His eyes get this little spark in and the fire slowly spreads outwards, consuming everything and anything between us until everything disappears. The fire suffocates me, wrapping me in a crazy, constricting blanket that cuts off all oxygen leaving him the only source.
It makes me want him even more than I already did.
And it makes me wonder what I’m doing wrong if he can look at me that way and not drag me off to make me feel that heat first hand. I must be the only girl in London he’s resisted, because that’s what he’s doing.
I hand him the whipped cream, and he slides it into the trolley slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. It takes my breath away, and I drop my gaze to my shopping list.
This time, I break under the weight of the feelings snowballing through my body, in fucking Tesco of all places.
This time, he wins.
~
“I cannot believe I’m letting you throw balls of ice at me.”
“It’s not really ice...” Bing says uncertainly.
“It’s cold. It’s frozen water. Its damn ice, and ice is for going in drinks not down my top.” I protest, pulling my zipper up a little higher.
“Who said anything about putting snow down your top?” Bing’s eyebrows go up slightly as if the idea only just occurred to him.
I give him a ‘yeah, right’ look and kick at the snow. “Do we have to? Really?” I look up and children are running around the park, screaming and laughing as parents chuck snowballs at them, build snowmen, and lie back to make snow angels.
Why would you even do that? Lying in snow? Ugh.
“Yes, we do,” Bing says quietly in my ear from behind me and dumps a handful of snow on top of my head. I scream and jump away from him, frantically batting at my head as he laughs.
“Oh my god,” I breathe, my head freezing. “You are the biggest dick in the history of London.”
“No, Jen, I have the biggest dick.” He grins, and I glare at him.
“Have I ever told you I hate you?”
“Oh, so many times.” Bing pulls his hat off, ruffles his dark brown hair, and pulls his hat back down. “When I chased you with a prawn, and pretty every much every time you see me.”
I huff and look at my gloves, covered in snow. “I’m so not cut out for this snow business.”
“It’s not hard.” Bing comes over. “Look.”
He stands behind me and takes my hands, bending me down to gather some snow. He shapes it into a ball and gives it to me.
“Easy,” he grins.
I can feel his warm breath on my skin, feel his body pressed against mine. I’m on freaking fire. I almost wanna glance at my feet to see if the snow around them has melted into a puddle of water.
“Jen?” Bing says quietly.
Oh, great. Now I’m spacing out. Can I have that vodka yet?
“Mm?”
His nose brushes my face, and I turn it into him without thinking.
“What are you doing? Is that snowball not freezing your hand yet?” His lips are millimetres from my cheek. I can feel the air move as he speaks, feel the flutter of my hair as he breathes across my skin. I want to scream, stamp, spin into him. I want to feel him, really feel him.
“Um, no.” I need to get away from him. “But it’s about to freeze your face.”
I slam the snowball into his face, and he jumps. I run away through the snow, my boots heavy and making big, size six impressions in the white stuff.
“That’s it!” Bing yells. I look over my shoulder. He’s chasing me. I squeal but he catches me and we both go tumbling to the ground, rolling until I’m on my back and he’s leaning over me.
His lips are inches from mine. My eyes are fixed on his lust-filled brown ones. I’m entranced. Intoxicated. Frozen in a moment that could be everlasting.
“Get off me you great big baboon,” I whisper. “You’re squashing me.”
Translation: get off me before I finally kiss the living shitballs out of you.
“No, I’m not.” His lips curl upwards. “I’m hardly on you.”
“Bing.” My voice is soft, breathy.
“Jen... I...”
I close my eyes, and he rolls off me, falling next to me with a light thump.
“I’m sorry,” he sighs.
Don’t be, I want to say. Don’t be sorry and get your sexy ass back on top of me so I can kiss the crap out of you.
I roll over and look down at him. His brown eyes framed by thick, girly lashes. The chiselled bone structure that would make a sculptor weep. The lips that I want to feel against mine.
“Jen?” he says uncertainly.
I drop my head and touch my lips to his, softly enough that it’s a passing brush. He cranes his neck up, and the extra pressure forces me to respond. My lips probe his, and one of his hands comes up onto my back, the other to the back of my head. My body pushes into the side of his. My arms shift so my gloved fingers graze the top of his head, and I move his hat so I can run them through his thick hair.
My body sinks into his as our mouths meld together, and when he runs his tongue along my top lip, I feel it everywhere. My stomach clenches until I’m sure the muscles there are as hard as the ones I can feel on his stomach.
His hand grips my hair tightly, and I gasp a little. His tongue brushes mine, and I push myself harder into him. All I can focus on is wanting more, needing more, feeling more.
“Jen,” Bing whispers against my lips. “I should get you home.”
I sigh, dropping my head. My forehead rests on his shoulder, and the cold temperature is suddenly apparent to me. I take a deep breath in, ignoring the sting of his blatant rejection.
“Okay.”