Sledgehammer (Hard to Love 2)

“Wait, what?” His smile falters. He blinks, blinks again in comprehension, which turns into a bark of laughter, which turns into deep belly laughing. Jerk.

“I’d rather you go Hidden Dragon,” he barely manages to get out.

“You’re laughing? I amuse you? You’re not gonna be laughing when I sock you in the coin purse.”

He quickly covers his privates. Smart man because I am flat out furious right now. I get a little testy after an adrenaline rush. I don’t like to be scared, and it happens almost never, but when it does I get mad dog angry. With that, I grab my blanket and stomp upstairs.

Fifteen minutes later my temper has cooled considerably, along with my body temperature. It’s freezing in my bedroom. Even buried under a mountain of my clothes and a down duvet.

“Joooooones. I have a nice fire going downstairs. I have a pallet all set up for us in the den. Come downstairs.”

I push the duvet off my face and find him leaning against the doorframe in his Harvard sweats, a wool beanie, and gloves.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“I meant to text you that I was on my way, but Cedric called and drained my battery.”

“Freaking Cedric.”

“Freaking Cedric. Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

Downstairs, the fireplace in the den is blazing, the room glowing from the warmth and light radiating from it. There’s a pallet made up of blankets and pillows and sheets I recognize as his set up right in front.

The snow is still steadily falling. I can see it out the floor to ceiling window. As I take in the scene, it’s not just the snow that’s falling, something inside of me feels like it’s falling as well. Probably my stomach because it’s one of the most romantic settings I’ve ever witnessed.

After I hung up on him two nights ago, I promised myself I’d put some breathing room between us. This unlikely friendship is on the verge of…affection? Yeah, affection––or something in the same emotional family. At least, for me it is. Point is, it’s running away with me, and I need to herd it back into a space where I can manage it and not let it manage me. You don’t hang out at your favorite bar if you’re a recovering alcoholic for shit’s sake! That’s not a sign of good judgement.

Minutes pass silently as I stand there frozen, feeling awkward––something I haven’t felt around him since that night in jail.

“Look at the bright side,” he finally says, breaching the heavy silence. “At least Morrison finished renovating this room. No more drafty windows.” He walks past me. Grabbing the fireplace poker, he fiddles with the logs.

My heartbeat quickens as I walk over to the pallet. Slipping under the covers, I pull the blankets up to my chin, and stare at the ceiling while he gets in next to me.

“I’m starving. Do we have any food in the house?”

“If by food you mean that nasty almond milk you like, and that cereal that tastes like wood shavings, then yeah. I went to the store earlier.”

Ethan gets up on an elbow, staring down at me with one of his killer smiles.

I glare back. “I was already there, getting my fix on. It’s not like I went out of my way for you.”

“You kind of did.”

“No, I didn’t,” I insist, narrowed eyes directed at the man cheerfully smirking down at me.

“You did, admit it. You thought about me and little cartoon hearts appeared in your eyes like one of those emojis you love and you thought, what can I do for Ethan?”

“Are you stroking out?”

“And then you said to yourself, I know. I’ll make sure he has all his favorite foods.”

“You’ve lost your ever loving mind,” I continue, talking over him.

“Whole Foods is a hike. You really, really went out of your way.”

“That’s not how it went at all.”

“Agree to disagree,” he says, arching an eyebrow.

My smile cuts loose against my will. Somebody revoke my badass card. I’ve turned into a trained seal with this guy.

“Save my spot while I get the food you bought me out of your deep, deep desire to please me.”

“If you value your future children, Vaughn, you will never utter that sentence to me again.”

On his way to the kitchen, he steps over me and I try to smack his hip but he nimbly moves out of the way in time.

“You want some,” he shouts from the kitchen.

“No, thanks. I’m not a termite.”

Fifteen minutes later the six foot two termite is back. “Mmmm, those wood shavings sure hit the spot,” he singsongs while rubbing his flat abdomen in circles.

He peels off his hat and gloves, pulls the sweatshirt over his head and off, revealing an undershirt. It rides up and I swiftly avert my eyes. Once done with his striptease, heavy emphasis on the tease part, he gets under the covers…and scoots closer and closer. A little too close for comfort. I can feel his body from my shoulder to my ankle.