Chapter 3

Chapter Three

“ G et up. Your lips are turning purple.”

Ronny’s voice invading my restless sleep sounds concerned, but Ronny being concerned is not possible. Something squeezes my shoulder, shaking me, my head bobbing against my knees.

“Come on. The fire went out. Let’s move to the kitchen by the space heater while the generator’s still running.”

Blinking, I focus on the dim orange glow of the remains of charred logs in the fireplace. The meager bubble of heat they radiated is gone, and its absence becomes instantly apparent.

Fuck . I’m freezing.

Staggering to my feet, my entire body is shaking. An arm wraps around my shoulder. Ronny is guiding me toward his sleeping bag, now laid out between the kitchen sink cabinet and the space heater.

The space heater. Right. It’s all we have left. How long will the solar-powered generator run? The panels were probably covered by snow for half the day.

I wake up my phone with a trembling hand. No signal or messages, telling me I didn’t miraculously get a blip of service since I nodded off. It’s ten o’clock and we still have to endure the night in this icebox.

I stare dumbly at the space between the heater and the open sink cabinets, trying to figure out how I can best position myself to absorb its warmth. My gratitude for Ronny waking me before I sank into hypothermia is quickly replaced by annoyance. He claimed the prime real estate directly in front of the heater with his stupid, incredibly warm-looking sleeping bag while I was comatose. Such a gentleman.

Bending down, he opens the flap. What was the point of waking me if he’s just going to burrow in and hog the heater? Now, I’ll have to move the heater and look like the jerk.

“Get in.” He gestures with his chin, holding the sleeping bag open.

“What?”

“It’s down to forty degrees in here. I can’t watch you freeze to death after I got us stuck and made you miss your pre-date.”

Him and my pre-date. For a guy who can’t to stand me, he sure pays attention to everything I say.

“Not t-taking your s-sleep-sleeping bag. I’m f-fine.”

That came out dignified.

Scoffing, he shakes his head and strong-arms me to the floor. It’s embarrassing how easily I dropped to my knees. In my defense, I can’t feel my legs.

“Very convincing,” he drawls. “Unless you’ve been concealing a stutter from me for two years, I’m not buying it. Come on. Get in.”

“So you can t-tell everyone what a resource hoarder I was…aft-after we’re r-rescued? No, th-thank you.”

Now, he’s taking my blanket. That’s my blanket! I found it.

“Hey! Give that back!”

Why is he sitting down? Is he going to sit on me and hold me down until I get in? Great. I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere with a sociopath.

“What are you…d-doing?” My stammer this time has little to do wi th the cold and more to do with the bare leg pressed against mine as Ronny slides in beside me. Damn, he’s warm.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to zip us both in, so I’ll take the outer side and wrap your blanket around me. There’s still enough that we can share it and get you warm, though.”

I watch dumbly as he tucks the wool blanket over our legs, and then draws the sleeping bag flap over it. My retreat somehow put me in the prime spot to be in the fold of the sack.

“You’re getting in here with me?”

“Between the space heater and our body heat, we should be able to sleep comfortably enough,” he says calmly, focused on the zipper around our feet.

The sound ratchets my pulse up the longer it goes on, further sealing me into a confined space with Ronny.

I cannot be zipped into a sleeping bag with this man. I can’t.

He’s warm and not exactly being an asshole for once, but… he’s still Ronny. Stupidly hot, straight, secretary-kissing Ronny. And I’m still… me . Oh, God, his foot just pressed against mine.

You’re freezing to death, Marshall. How can you let a foot belonging to a menace awaken your dick?

Maybe hypothermia causes delirium. Fuck. He’s got the zipper done up to his waist now. It’s getting snug in here.

I feel like a Glo Worm —those creepy dolls that were popular when I was a kid. This thing is like a chrysalis.

Falling back, I turn onto my side as quickly as I can while there’s still time to move. And… that was stupid. Pretty sure his hip is pressed right against my ass cheeks.

Not awkward. Not at all.

Arms crossed over my chest, clutching my useless phone, I pinch my eyes closed like I’m playing dead. Solid plan.

Why is he shifting? Doesn’t he know I can feel everything ? How is a straight guy being so nonchalant about touching another man like this?

“You have enough room?” he asks .

Crap. He just rolled. The other way was definitely better. Cramped as hell and awkward, but better. Now we’re ass to ass.

“Barely,” I croak, paralyzed by the firm ass now pressed up against my much squishier one.

“Well, that’s good,” he adds, adjusting his side of the blanket.

Ten minutes ago, I was so cold I couldn’t feel a damn thing. Now I feel every jostle of his body like I’m part of it. I am one with the jostle.

“How is that good?”

“It means we’re close enough that the cold air won’t get between us.”

I don’t think you could get a drop of water between us. I’m officially familiar with all the muscles in his back… and ass.

“This…this isn’t going to work.”

His spine flexes against mine, telling me he lifted his head. “Are you still cold?”

Before I can come up with a response, his ass squishes tighter against mine. The zipper resounds again, straining to claim a few more teeth to lock us in this sleeve of unbrotherly love that shouldn’t be. And seriously, why is he so warm?

“N-no. I…I’m better. Good . I’m good-better.”

What. The crap. Was that?

“Liar. You’re still shivering so much you’re stammering.”

Crap, he just scooted closer. That’s not going to help my stammering. It’s official; I haven’t been touched in so long that Ronny Carmichael is affecting me.

How ridiculous. His body is affecting me. Not him .

“Give it a minute,” he assures me. “We’ll warm up enough to get some sleep.”

Is that concern I hear? Who is the firm ass in this sleeping bag with me, and what’s it done with Ronny?

He’s kidding himself if he thinks I can fall asleep like this. Slinking my hand out through the opening, I glance at my phone. No signal bars and it’s only been eight minutes. This will be the longest night of my life.

Tucking my hand back in the unnatural bag of warmth, I pinch my eyes closed, trying to blot out the sensation of the soft leg hair pressed against mine. I hate how it makes him feel… cuddly. He’s not cuddly. He’s… prickly. Freezing temperatures won’t make me forget all his snarky comments over the last two years.

‘You sure you got that?’

‘Looks like you could use some help there?’

‘Do you really cut your joints like that?’

Discreet condescension masked as helpfulness. I see you, Ronny. I’ve got your number.

He must have slipped and hit his head while climbing out of that ditch. It’s the only explanation for his offer to keep me from dying a frigid death.

I try to stretch in microscopic movements, but no matter how covert my attempts are, I can’t retreat from The Ass . How am I supposed to fall asleep with buns of steel smashed up against mine?

Snaking my hand toward the opening again, I check my phone in vain, hoping for a rogue moment of signal. Maybe Sal messaged, realizing we didn’t make it back to the shop and will send help. Maybe Henry has the intuition that something must be wrong and doesn’t think I ghosted him for our holidate meetup.

Nothing.

Just No Service and The Ass . Merry freaking Christmas.

The temperature in the cabin feels like it dropped ten degrees in the last half hour. I shiver, the tremor rippling down my body.

“If you quit checking your phone every ten seconds, you might get warmer faster,” says The Ass .

“I could be zipped up in two of these things and not get warm it’s so cold in here,” I retort, but yank my freezing hand back down inside the bag, tucking it underneath my armpit. “And please spare me any more factoids about Minnesota winters. It’s stupid cold in here no matter where anyone’s from. It’s not…human. ”

The sigh I hear has me wincing at my dramatics. I hate complainers. Maybe that’s why I hate Ronny. He seems to bring out the worst in me.

Great. Now he’s unzipping us. I’ve annoyed him so much that he’s going to kick me out.

Before my pride allows me to move, I feel him roll again. Into… me .

The Ass is gone. Bonus.

The downside?

The opposite of his ass is now pressed against my back.

It only gets worse after he reaches behind him and zips us back in. We are now two peas in a pod…a really small pod.

Using one arm as a pillow, he folds the other one to his chest, resting his elbow on the side of my ribcage like I’m a shelf. His cuddly leg hair brushes against the smooth skin at the back of my thighs.

“What… was that?”

“What was what?”

“The… you… I…” Oh, my God. He stole my ability to form sentences. “You’re spooning me,” I say, trying for more of the petulance I’ve displayed all day, but it comes out sounding wary. Wary and affected by Ronny’s body parts pressed against my body parts.

Warm . He’s so fucking warm.

“You’re freezing. I don’t know what else to do. This is the best way to share body heat.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t going to work for me.”

“Do you want me to bottom and you top?”

Did he…

What the actual fuck? I think I’m choking on my tongue.

“Did you just say…bottom? And…top?”

“Yeah,” he snickers. “Don’t read into it. You know what I meant.”

“Um, yes. I think I know what you mean, but… but how do you know what you mean?”

“What?” he chuckles, an infectious sound that shouldn’t be infectious. “Okay, you’re going to explain that for me because that was some crypticism even I don’t understand.”

“How in the hell do you know what a top and bottom are?”

The warm breath from his scoff gusts across my neck. I can feel the vibration of his words, amplifying the surreal intimacy of our proximity. “Um…is that a trick question?” When I don’t answer, he supplies, “Same as everyone else, I guess—experience.”

“ Experience ? What kind of experience?”

Another scoff. Am I a comedian? Why is he always laughing at me?

“I…must be lost here. Either you’re suddenly showing me a nosey side of you I didn’t know existed or…did you not know that I’m gay?”

The words float over my shoulder so smoothly that they seem at odds with the foreignness of their context. Gay ?

Ronny Carmichael?

“Wait a minute,” he adds, his body going stiff against mine when I feel his head move to look over my shoulder. “You’re not nosey. I don’t think you’ve ever asked me a single question about myself.” A breath leaves his lips, dusting against my cheek. He has his answer, and I suddenly feel like an utter fool.

“You…can’t be gay.” My weak rebuttal comes out in a disbelieving whisper, which has him making another sound of bewilderment. Well, join the club, Ronny. Join the damn club.

“Uh…why not? Am I overdue on my membership dues or something?”

How can he joke right now? I will not be laughed at over a completely plausible assumption.

Whipping my head around, I narrow my eyes at him. “I saw you kiss Miriam on the mouth on your first day of work!”

Brow wrinkling, his amusement doesn’t fade. “Miriam, whom I’ve known since high school? The same Miriam who was my date to every one of our school dances? That Miriam?”

What is that supposed to prove? “How in the hell am I supposed to know your teenage history? But, yeah, Miriam . The Miriam you also told you owed a baby! ”

Eyes pinched shut, a grin splits his face. His chest rumbles against my back.

“Oh, my God,” he sighs, shaking his head. “She has four kids and is always complaining about how stressed out she is over motherhood. It was a joke. I was thanking her for putting in a word with Sal for me. The last thing she’d want is another kid, and we both know I certainly wouldn’t be the man for the job. She knows I’m gay. She always has. It’s why we’d go to the dances together every year. She never had a date, and neither did I.”

He…

What?

That cannot possibly be true. I mean…it can. Of course, it can, but…

I suddenly feel smaller, my face incredibly warm. Embarrassment is a good combatant against the cold.

Turning my head back toward the space heater, I blink, dumbly. I should try to reclaim some of my dignity, but all I can manage is, “Oh…”

“ ‘Oh ?’” he challenges, but I don’t have the fortitude to respond. “You okay there, Curly?”

“Yeah. Fine. I just…wouldn’t have guessed.”

He keeps silent, which shouldn’t be more unsettling than when he speaks, but somehow is. Ronny is gay… Ronny-plastered-to-my-body-like-a-well-fitting-glove-Carmichael is… gay. It’s officially no longer cold in this cabin, which makes zero sense. Am I so starved for physical contact that my hormones have locked onto his pheromones like a heat-seeking missile because I know he doesn’t go around offering baby-making services? No way. It still doesn’t change his obnoxious humor, nor the way he always smirks at me like it’s his mission to get under my skin. I just… part of me assumed he did it because he knew I was gay and he wasn’t. This shoots my mental profile of him out of the water, though .

“Well,” he says somberly. “There you have it.”

It feels like a loaded statement. I can practically hear his gears turning like he’s dying to question why I pegged his interests wrong. Instead, his body relaxes, and he rests his head back on his arm, saying nothing on the matter.

“Um…I’m sorry about the top/bottom joke. You just…well, you always make me a little nervous, to be honest. You’re so serious all the time, and my instinct is to lighten the mood whenever it feels too serious.”

I’m diligent , I want to retort, but my mouth just hangs agape as I stare through the darkness at the cold wood floor. He makes me feel and sound like I’m too serious—it’s one reason he’s always rubbed me the wrong way. His warmth sharing and the news of his sexuality, however, dissolve my tension in a way only an apology can provoke. It wasn’t exactly an apology. It felt like…vulnerability. Something I certainly never expected Ronny to be capable of, and most certainly not with me.

“It’s fine.” I shrug to show I’m capable of nonchalance. Stupid holidays. Stupid Trent. I’m not normally this uptight. “I have a great sense of humor. You just…caught me off guard.”

“Well…do you want to switch? Are you uncomfortable?”

Fuck me. Has his voice seems sweet now. Vulnerable Ronny— gay , vulnerable Ronny—awakens every dormant, emotionally needy fiber in my brain and body, making me want to turn around and loop my arms around him.

Geez. When was the last time another man held me?

“No,” I warn too sharply. “This…this is good. You were right. It’s warmer like this. Thanks.”

“No problem. Hopefully, the storm calms down soon and the plows can get out in the morning. We should sleep while the heater’s still running. If it goes out, we’ll need to move around to keep warm.”

“Right,” I concur, although I’ve never given the slightest thought to roughing it in cold weather.

Knowing that Ronny—who might not be as big of a dick as I thought—has, melts away some of my worries. It also helps that he lets out a sleepy, exhausted breath, his forehead brushing against the back of my neck like a lover drifting off with someone they trust. The facade of someone sounding that content being in my presence is comforting, relaxing the last of the tension in me as our body heat radiates around us. I’m so damn tired suddenly, my eyes fighting to stay open.

I don’t even care about my holidate anymore. I don’t care if it means I’ll show up to Christmas appearing single in the face of perfect, happily married Trent. I won’t die or get pneumonia. I’m warm. This cozy semblance of a body hug, honestly, isn’t any worse than sleeping alone in my bed. It’s almost…better.

Almost .