12. Jessica
Chapter twelve
Jessica
T he snowstorm that night rolls in fast, thick flakes flooding down in the cold night air, covering everything in a heavy blanket of white. I’m standing at the front window, watching as the storm transforms the world outside. Just an hour ago, my dad and Trixie left, his overly critical voice still echoing in my ears. Now, silence has settled over the house, except for the sound of the wind whipping against the windows.
Eric’s in the kitchen, pacing and checking his phone like he’s expecting a miracle. I know what’s on his mind. He’s worried about making it to Denver tomorrow, worried about practice and the game. The storm has him on edge, and I can feel the irritation radiating off him even from here.
“We’re screwed,” he mutters, mostly to himself, but loud enough for me to hear. “There’s no way we’re getting out of here tomorrow if this keeps up. The roads are going to be a disaster.”
I turn away from the window and walk toward the kitchen, trying to keep my own frustration in check. “Maybe it’ll stop soon,” I offer, though the snow shows no sign of letting up.
Eric gives me a skeptical look, then checks his phone again, as if it will somehow change the weather. “I doubt it.”
The remnants of pizza are still in the kitchen, along with the remnants of Eric’s softness toward me after Dad left. Now, he’s wound tight. I sigh. Relationships are complex because things change way too quickly. Moods come and go. Priorities shift. And right now, his priority is his job, hockey, as it should be, even though it hurts me to feel him grow detached so fast.
He’s right about one thing. The storm isn’t going anywhere, and the reality is sinking in. We’re stuck here, just the two of us, in this big empty house. Part of me is relieved. After the chaos of the past few days, a quiet night sounds… nice. But I can tell Eric’s mind is panicking.
“I need to get back to Denver,” he says, his voice tight. “I can’t miss practice tomorrow. And I definitely can’t miss the game.”
His words hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting. I know how important hockey is to him—it’s his whole life. But hearing him say it like that, with so much urgency, makes something twist inside me. He’s so focused on getting back to the team, to the game, that it feels like everything else, including me, is just… secondary.
“Maybe we should have stayed in the city,” he continues, running a hand through his hair. “I need to find a place of my own downtown. This house is too far out. I can’t risk getting stuck like this.”
A place downtown. A place of his own, closer to his team. A place that doesn’t include me.
I try to shake the thought, but it clings to me like the cold outside. Eric’s talking about practical things—getting to practice, making sure he’s ready for the game—but all I hear is distance. Like he’s already planning his escape, already moving on from whatever this is between us.
“Right,” I say, forcing a smile. “That makes sense.”
But it doesn’t feel right. Not at all.
Eric glances at me, his eyes softening for a moment. “I’m not saying I don’t like staying here with you, Jessica. It’s just..”
“Practical,” I finish for him. “You need to be closer to the arena.”
He nods, but there’s something in his expression that makes me wonder if there’s more he’s not saying. I don’t ask, though. It’s not my business. We’re just housemates, after all.
I suggest we make the most of our night by doing something other than worrying about the weather—decorating the house for Christmas. I started a week ago but never finished.
Eric’s already hauled out the boxes of decorations that Bill and Kathy left behind, and we start unpacking the rest of it, filling the house with garland, lights, and mini trees. It’s mindless work, and I’m grateful for the distraction. But even as we string lights around the banister and hang stockings on the mantle, my thoughts keep circling back to what he said about needing a place downtown. It reminds me—I can’t live here forever, either. I should start looking, too.
We spend the next hour or so in a steady rhythm of decorating, the sound of holiday music only broken by the occasional laugh or comment. It’s easy, peaceful even, but my mind keeps circling back to the last time I decorated. When Eric’s moving van showed up. When that photo album triggered Eric so much that he hid away.
“Hey,” I say, as I hang a wreath by the window. “Remember when we went through your boxes a while back? You found that old album, right? Have you thought about looking through it again?”
I don’t want to push too hard, but I can’t ignore the curiosity gnawing at me. There was something in his eyes when he opened it—a sadness or maybe confusion. I want to know what it was, but more than that, I want to know him .
Eric freezes for a second, the string of lights in his hands hovering in mid-air. His face tightens just a little, a subtle sign he’s uncomfortable, but then he shrugs it off.
“I’ve thought about it,” he admits, his voice quiet. “Just… not ready to deal with all that right now.”
I nod, sensing the boundary he’s drawn. It’s clear that whatever is in that album is something he needs to handle on his own.
He moves closer, avoiding my gaze as he adjusts some ornaments on a mini tree set up by the entryway. “Let’s just focus on Christmas,” he says, with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ve got enough going on without dragging the past into it.”
I let it go, for now, but the mystery of the album—and the woman in that photo—lingers in the back of my mind like a shadow. Still, I smile and nod, grabbing another string of lights.
He’s holding something back. But honestly, so am I. I guess honesty in a fake relationship is just too much to hope for.
He pulls a sprig of mistletoe from one of the boxes and dangles it above my head, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. That’s classic Eric — always a smile, always ready to bring happiness into the moment.
“And here I thought we’d be stuck in a snowstorm with no Christmas spirit,” he says, his voice lighter now, the tension from earlier slipping away.
I glance up at the mistletoe, then back at him, my heart pounding in my chest. The air between us shifts in that now familiar way, the space closing in, the weight of the conversation we were just having forgotten.
“Eric” I start, but I don’t know what I’m going to say. The words are lost as he steps closer, his hand sliding around my waist, pulling me toward him.
His lips brush mine, then the kiss deepens. It feels so good, so familiar and so new. I’m lost in it, the rest of my problems fading away as his hands grip my hips, anchoring me to him. It’s intoxicating—the feel of his body against mine, the warmth of his skin, the way he’s kissing me like he’s into me… like I’m his.
I let out a small gasp, my hands finding their way to his chest, and he takes that as an invitation, pressing me closer, his lips sensual and exploratory on mine. I can pretend that I’m his in this moment. I’ll worry about everything else later.
His lips trail down my neck, sending shivers across my skin, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips. I don’t care if this is supposed to be fake, if we’re just playing a part. Right now it feels real. It feels like everything.
Eric pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath ragged. “Jessica”
I open my eyes, meeting his intense gaze, and I see something there that makes my heart skip a beat. It’s more than just lust, more than just the heat of the moment. There’s something deeper, something raw and real.
I find myself losing control. “Do you want me?” I ask, the meaning more than surface level. Why do I keep needing Eric, wanting him this way? I’m spying on him, or rather, I’m supposed to be, so this is all wrong.
“Always,” he says and I gasp, letting myself believe he means more than he probably does.
Our clothes fly off and onto the living room floor as we make our way to the couch. I push him down onto it, straddling him.
“Fuck, yes,” he groans as I slide my wet core onto his thick shaft. I feel pent up energy fueling my every move as I grind on him, my hips moving back and forth and then up and down. He watches my breasts bounce as I gently grip his shoulders with my hands.
I close my eyes, giving in to the pleasure of the moment. I feel his strong hands grasp my breasts, squeezing gently as he sucks my nipples one by one. The sensations make me shiver.
I find the sweet spot where his length rubs me just right and I focus on it, panting and moaning.
“That’s it, Sunshine. Let go. Let me see you come for me.” His voice is deep and sexy, his cock growing firmer inside me.
“Yes, yes,” I cry out as I shatter before him, coming hard as I feel his hips thrust up fast as he finds his orgasm.
I lean my head down and kiss him like a ravenous woman, biting his lower lip and then kissing his neck. I can feel his pulse pounding. I can feel my own heart starting to slow down, the pleasure of my release giving me relief for now. I should regret what we just did. But I don’t.
Before either of us can say anything, a loud crash sounds from outside, startling us both. The wind howls, and I remember where we are—trapped in this house, in the middle of a snowstorm, with no one else around.
I stand up, breaking the spell. Eric jumps to his feet, grabbing at his pants, ready to fight if an intruder is nearby. I feel the cold air rush in where his body had been close to mine. He looks toward the window, then back at me, his expression torn.
“I should check on the power,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Make sure we don’t lose heat.”
I nod, still trying to catch my breath and my racing thoughts. “Yeah, good idea.”
He heads toward the basement, leaving me standing there. The sex we’ve had, the kisses, the touching, none of it was an act. Was it? It wasn’t for me, at least. But he and I haven’t talked about feelings, so I don’t know what it meant for him.
I pull my clothes on and glance up at the mistletoe, still haphazardly hanging above me, and shake my head. This whole thing—this fake relationship, this forced closeness—it’s starting to mess with me emotionally. And I don’t know if I can keep pretending that he doesn’t mean anything to me.
Eric returns a few minutes later, a grin on his face. “Power’s good,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we’re safe for now.”
I smile, but it feels hollow.
But for now, I push my anxious thoughts aside. We’re stuck here together, and whatever this thing is between us, we’ll have to figure it out eventually. Right now, we just need to survive the storm.