Chapter 9
NINE
JOSIE
Sharp, crisp air hits my bare shoulder, and I blink my eyes open into the space. It takes only a moment in my sleepy haze to realize where I am. I bolt upright and drag the blanket across my body.
Oh, no. No, no, no, nooooo. Shit.
What have I done?
The evening before comes back to me in a flash.
A terrible, yet phenomenally hot, flash.
The sex was great. Oh God, it was so unbelievably great.
Hot, frantic, urgent, messy. But—I did it again.
I chased something and made a terrible, impulsive decision.
I let my heart and body make decisions that my mind knows are wrong, and the need to connect made me do something very, very stupid.
And clearly Colby thinks the same thing because she is no longer curled next to me on the couch where everything happened. Nope. I’m alone. Covered up with an extra blanket, a fresh water bottle on the coffee table next to me, a pile of folded blankets beside it, but definitely alone.
I’m gonna cry.
It’s been forever since I connected with someone, like this, and made a friend, and the first thing I do is sleep with her?
What the hell is wrong with me? But… oh…
those lips, those fingers, the way she moved.
My chest flushes with the desperate need to do it again, and the guilt of what I’ve just done.
Yes, I’m sexually open and free and a firm believer that any consenting adults should do whatever they want, but this is so much more.
This is me going back on my promise to myself to find what I’m seeking and not numb myself with sex. And I’ve failed, again. With Colby.
I scoop my clothes off the floor, tug the blanket around my naked body, and tiptoe down the hall to use the bathroom and get dressed as quick as humanly possible. Colby’s bedroom door is shut. Thank God. The very last thing I want to do right now is face her and everything I’ve done.
Well, I fucked this one up good. Whatever budding friendship was happening here, whatever flicker of something potentially brewing, I ruined because of my need for something.
And as hot as the sex was last night, as luscious as her lips were, as good as everything felt, I still didn’t find what I was looking for.
This constant, endless, unfulfilled ache in me is as present today as it has ever been.
The hardwood floors in this place are so creaky, and I’m praying to whatever entity out there that may exist that neither Kona nor Colby wake up. Flames fan my cheeks. I absolutely cannot have this moment right now. I throw on my jacket, stuff my feet in my tennis shoes, and quietly step outside.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
It appears that while I was having multiple orgasms last night the storm of the century was getting busy outside.
The area is covered in a blanket of white.
Covered. It looks like someone just plopped us in the deepest part of the Arctic Circle and any moment a polar bear is going to rise from the hills and give chase.
It’s barely dawn, just the tiniest murky ray of light is peeking over the horizon, but I think even if we were in full sun, I’d have trouble spotting my car.
The wind is whistling, whipping more flurries into my face; the snowflakes are thick and fat as they slam down. I shield my face against them as I run to where my car is buried. As the car warms, I take a deep breath, push the back of my head into the seat, and close my eyes.
“Shit.” I allow myself a few more moments of wallowing, before I reach in the back to grab the snow brush.
Once I’m home, I’ll allow myself a proper cry and a few moments of verbal self-flagellation.
But now is not the time. Now is the time to break free from this place and run as fast as I can to the safety and serenity of my own bedroom.
Outside, the long brush swooshes across the roof, the windshield, the hood, and massive mounds of heavy snow plop to the ground.
My feet are buried up to my midcalf, icy cold wetness soaks into my leg, and why, why, did I not change into the boots I have buried in my trunk?
Let’s add a solid case of frostbite to my terrible decisions for the last twelve hours.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I got this…” I say, trying to fake to myself that I do, in fact, got this.
Which I’m pretty sure I don’t. My legs are freezing, the scrubs offering as much protection against the snow and wind as a piece of tissue paper.
I frantically brush off the last of it and scurry back into the car.
Oh… heat. Glorious, glorious heat. I tug off my mittens, rub my palms together, and then press them onto my exposed cheeks.
God, it’s cold out there. The prickly sting of cold skin from damp pants clinging to my legs sends shivers through me, and I quickly tug them up and blow the warm air vents at them.
My heart pounds against my chest. I need to leave. I need to get the hell out of here and take a shower and have a good cry, and seriously, why is there so much damn snow? Even on max speed, sitting in Colby’s driveway, my wipers can barely keep up.
I blow out a deep, ragged breath and slowly ease down the driveway.
The car pushes through the thick, heavy snow.
“Come on, come on,” I say, and someone tell me why I thought a tiny little sedan was a good vehicle when I live in Northern Minnesota.
I lean as close to the windshield as I can to try and get better visibility, and pray that I don’t make a sudden stop and face-plant into the glass.
The wipers squeak against the windshield as they drag the heavy accumulation to the side.
Visibility is so low it’s disorientating.
Thank God Colby doesn’t live on a cliff where I could go over the side.
I can’t tell where the gravel drive ends, but if I follow the tree line, I should be good.
All moisture in my mouth has zapped away, and my body quickly starts overheating.
I throw my hat to the side, grip a solid ten and two on the steering wheel, and inch my way towards freedom.
A small dip in the road, along with the howling wind, edges my car into a small snowbank and I stick.
“No…” My teeth grit. No, I am not stuck.
I can’t be stuck. There is no way the universe would be cruel enough to let my car get stuck on Colby’s property after everything that happened last night.
I press on the gas, and tires spin. I put it into reverse. Spin. Neutral, then drive, spin.
This is not happening. I swipe the beads of sweat lining my forehead and put my car into park. Every swear word that I know, and a few that I picked up from my seventeen-year-old nephew, comes flying out of my mouth. “Think, Josie.”
There’s no chance in a frozen hell that I’m going to stay here. I refuse to let my walk-of-shame nightmare turn into a stuck-in-shame nightmare.
I’m not giving up. I grab my gloves and hat, pop out of the truck, put on my boots, and grab my mini shovel.
I have an idea.