CHAPTER 1 Snowed In with the Enemy #3
“Twenty-seven minutes is weirdly specific.”
He looked toward the fire.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
“Maybe you made an impression.”
My stomach did something annoying.
I focused on the flames.
“You flirt with everyone?”
“No.”
I laughed.
“Please.”
“I don’t.”
“The internet disagrees.”
“Ah.”
He nodded solemnly.
“The internet. Famous for accuracy.”
“You’ve been photographed with enough women to populate a small country.”
“Have you been researching me, Bennett?”
“No.”
“Sounds like research.”
“Sports articles exist.”
“So do gossip sites.”
“I didn’t say gossip sites.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He leaned forward.
“Question.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“How many articles about me have you read?”
“None.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe three.”
“Ten?”
“No.”
“Twenty?”
“Absolutely not.”
His smile widened.
I threw a cracker at him.
He caught it and ate it.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet here you are.”
“Because Mother Nature has a cruel sense of humor.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
The fire cracked between us.
Outside, wind hammered the building.
But for the first time all evening, the silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was almost peaceful.
That scared me more than the flirting.
Because Mason Cole wasn’t supposed to be peaceful.
He was supposed to be arrogant.
Reckless.
Dangerous.
Easy to hate.
Instead, I was beginning to notice things.
The way he always made sure I had the warmer blanket.
The way he checked the fire every few minutes without mentioning it.
The way he had paid for the room without making me feel helpless.
The way he respected Noah even while apparently despising him.
Pieces.
Tiny pieces of a man I had never bothered to see.
“Why hockey?” I asked.
Mason looked at me.
“That’s random.”
“We have several hours before morning.”
“So we’re interviewing each other?”
“Would you rather discuss protein bars?”
He considered it.
“Hockey.”
I smiled.
“So?”
He stared into the flames.
“My dad.”
“He played?”
“No.”
The answer was quiet.
“He loved it.”
Something in Mason’s face changed.
I waited.
“My old man worked construction,” he continued. “Six days a week most of the time. Didn’t make much. But every Saturday when I was a kid, he’d take me to this terrible little rink near our apartment.”
“You skated?”
“Eventually.”
“What did you do before that?”
“Fell.”
I laughed.
“A lot.”
“I would pay money to see that.”
“Unfortunately, video evidence exists.”
“I need it.”
“You’ll never get it.”
“We’ll see.”
He smiled, but sadness remained behind his eyes.
“Is your dad still—”
“No.”
The word stopped me.
Mason looked toward the fire.
“He died when I was seventeen.”
My chest tightened.
“I’m sorry.”
“Long time ago.”
“That doesn’t necessarily make it easier.”
His eyes moved to mine.
For several seconds, Mason said nothing.
Then he nodded once.
“No,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t.”
And there it was again.
The man beneath the reputation.
The man Noah had never described.
The man I wasn’t supposed to want to understand.
I pulled the blanket tighter around myself.
Mason noticed.
“You cold?”
“I’m fine.”
Without hesitation, he removed his jacket from the back of the couch and tossed it toward me.
“I already have a blanket.”
“Take it.”
“You’ll be cold.”
“I’m Canadian.”
I stared at him.
“That isn’t immunity to temperature.”
“Pretty close.”
“I’m not wearing your jacket.”
“Why?”
“Because it probably contains dangerous levels of arrogance.”
“Warm arrogance.”
I fought a smile.
Lost.
Mason saw it.
His expression changed.
That same look from earlier.
Quiet.
Intense.
My smile faded.
“What?”
“You should do that more.”
“Do what?”
“Smile at me.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“Mason.”
“I know.”
“Know what?”
He looked down.
“That I shouldn’t say things like that.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“Then don’t.”
“Probably smart.”
Neither of us moved.
The fire cracked.
Snow struck the windows.
Somewhere downstairs, a door closed.
But inside that room, everything became unbearably still.
Mason looked at me.
I looked at him.
And for the first time, I understood exactly why Noah had made me promise to stay away.
It wasn’t because Mason Cole was easy to hate.
It was because he wasn’t.
And that was infinitely more dangerous.
I took his jacket.
It was warm.
It smelled like him.
And when I wrapped it around myself, Mason looked away as though seeing me wearing it affected him more than he wanted me to know.
Neither of us mentioned that.
We didn’t need to.
The line between hatred and something else had already begun to disappear.
Outside, the storm continued burying every road that could take me away from him.
Inside, Mason added another piece of wood to the fire.
And sometime after midnight, I realized the snow was no longer the thing making me nervous.
It was morning.
Because morning meant the roads would eventually open.
Morning meant Noah.
Morning meant returning to the world where Mason Cole was my brother’s greatest enemy and I was supposed to remember exactly which side I belonged on.
But morning was still hours away.
And Mason and I were alone.
For the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted the storm to end.