Chapter 8
Dylan
I didn’t plan to kiss Lauren.
I’ve wanted to since last night but I wasn’t thinking I would actually take action.
I’ve just been enjoying spending time with her, teasing, making up dumb rules to get her to fake fight with me. The way she sprang into action to charge our phones and make eggs shows an intelligence and determination I can appreciate.
But then the lights flickered and she looked genuinely upset about the possibility of the power going out again.
I wanted to distract her. Make her feel better.
Somehow that meant kissing her.
Damn, am I glad I did. Lauren’s lips are soft beneath mine, and she gives the most incredible little sigh of pleasure when our mouths brush together.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pull her closer into me, taking my time, kissing her thoroughly, smoothly, feeling every ounce of stress and fear in her body melt away.
My body, on the other hand, is tensing up. Lauren feels fantastic and she tastes even better. I want to mold her curves into me and spend the whole morning kissing every single luscious inch of her.
It’s a first kiss for the fucking books.
And I want more.
But Lauren pulls away, her eyes wide. “Well. I let go of the reindeer.”
That makes me chuckle. “You did. I’m impressed.”
“I am impressive, if nothing else.”
“You also brushed your teeth,” I say, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. “Cheater.”
Her mouth drops open. “How is that cheating? You were sleeping. I washed my face, I brushed my teeth.”
“But how is it fair that you brushed your teeth and I didn’t?”
“That’s not my fault. You kissed me! I didn’t know you were going to kiss me. I didn’t have some plan to kiss you, that’s for sure.”
I can’t help it. A grin splits my face. “It’s very easy to bait you, do you know that?”
Her nose wrinkles. “Be grateful my mouth is minty fresh.”
“Maybe you didn’t brush your teeth. Maybe you just ate a snowman marshmallow.”
“Rule number five: No marshmallow mocking.”
“Oh, then I’ve definitely broken that rule. Aim your best punishment at me.”
Lauren rubs her hands together in exaggerated glee. “Bwahaha. Vengeance will be mine.”
“Do your best.” I lean in and kiss her softly. “I like your mouth. In case that wasn’t clear.”
“Thanks. And your mouth on mine is a really great use for it as opposed to, say, marshmallow mocking.”
That is damn good to hear because I plan to do it again immediately.
I kiss her, deeper this time, longer. “Much better.”
My hands start to wander lower but Lauren quickly pulls away again. “Go drink your coffee. And the bacon is burning.”
“Shit, it is.” I smell it now. “I hope you like it crispy.”
“I like any food that’s hot right now.”
The coffee has finished brewing and I pour us two steaming mugs full while Lauren plates the bacon and eggs for us. It feels natural to sit down across from her and have breakfast. The first sip of coffee makes me sigh with relief.
“It’s perfect.”
“It tastes a little burned.”
I roll my eyes at her. “You’re just saying that.”
“I think if you’d had a bottle of water first you would agree with me. Your tongue is still numb from all that bourbon last night.”
“I appreciate your concern about my hydration levels but I’m fine.”
“You wouldn’t be hungover if you drank water.” She bites her bacon. “This is burned too.”
“So you said.” I pop a forkful of eggs in my mouth and chew, watching her.
For a few seconds she doesn’t react. But then she can’t resist. “What? Why are you staring at me?”
“I don’t want to talk with food in my mouth.”
“So look at your plate or something. Don’t just stare at me.” Lauren sounds flustered. “You’re freaking me out.”
“I think you’re gorgeous. I want to look at you.”
“Now you’re really freaking me out.”
It makes me feel like Lauren doesn’t receive compliments nearly as often as she deserves. If I mention her songwriting she does the same thing. I hate that but I also know I need to pull back or she’ll be genuinely uncomfortable.
She is definitely sassy, but underneath there is a touch of vulnerability.
“I am a freak, what can I say?” I gesture to the living room. “I like that the Christmas tree is back on. I haven’t even bothered to decorate my apartment for the holidays.”
Lauren clutches her chest. “That is the saddest bachelor pad statement I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s a lot of work to decorate.”
“It’s a lot of work to curl my hair but I still do it.”
"Your hair is curly," I point out, gesturing to her dark waves with my fork.
"Naturally wavy," she corrects. "If I want the full rockabilly curl situation, I have to put in the work with a curling iron. Hot rollers if I'm feeling ambitious."
"Hot rollers? What decade is this?" The fact that I’ve never lived with a woman suddenly feels painfully obvious. Sure, I’ve had girlfriends I’ve spent a lot of time with, and one in particular who was practically living with me, but she kept her beauty routine a mystery, all carefully ensconced in her overnight bag.
"Don't knock hot rollers. They're a classic for a reason." She takes another bite of bacon. "So what do you do in your sad, undecorated apartment during the holidays?"
"Work, mostly in December. For Christmas, we all go to my parents. Sometimes I go over to Malcolm's place to work. MacKay doesn’t have decor opinions so he lets Faith do whatever. His place looks like a Hallmark movie exploded."
"That sounds amazing, actually."
"It is pretty nice," I admit. "Faith has good taste. She went full out with garland and lights and one of those fancy advent calendars with the little doors."
"I love those!" Lauren's face lights up. "My mom used to get me one every year when I was little. The chocolate inside was always kind of disappointing, but I loved the ritual of it."
"Faith's has bourbon in it."
Lauren's jaw drops. "That's genius. Why didn't I think of that?"
"Because you're a marshmallow girl, not a bourbon girl."
My phone buzzes with a text. I glance at it and see it's from Ian.
Storm hit us too. How's the cabin?
I text back.
Lost power overnight but it's back on. Stocked with wood just in case.
Ian's response is immediate.
Good. Malcolm says roads won't be clear until Sunday at earliest. You got enough food?
Yeah, I'm fine.
There's a pause, then he texts again.
You sound different. What's going on?
Damn twin telepathy.
Nothing. Just enjoying the peace and quiet. And how the fuck could I sound different in a text?
Three dots appear, then disappear, then appear again.
Bullshit. But okay. Stay warm.
I set my phone down to find Lauren watching me.
"One of your brothers?"
"My twin. He's annoyingly perceptive."
"Identical twin, you said? That must be wild. Do you do that thing where you finish each other's sentences?"
"Sometimes. It's more like we just know when something's up with the other one. He can tell when I'm stressed even if I don't say anything."
"And he can tell you're stressed right now?"
“I’m not stressed at all.” I meet her eyes across the table. "He can tell I'm in a good mood. Which is suspicious because I'm supposed to be here alone, decompressing from a stressful year."
“And instead?”
“I’m having fun. I like you, Lauren Louise."
She fidgets with her fork. "I like you too, Dylan James."
The way she says my middle name makes my chest tight. There's something intimate about it.
"So," I say, breaking the moment. "Since we're stuck here another day at least, what's the plan? Do you need to write?"
"I should," she admits. "But I feel like if I force it, nothing good will come out. Sometimes the best thing I can do is just not think about it for a while. Let my brain work on it in the background."
"What do you want to do instead?" I have about a half dozen different ideas, all of them involving touching her.
Lauren drums her fingers on the table, thinking. "We could play a game. Do you think Jolene has board games?"
"Let's find out." Maybe we can segue from games to nakedness. That’s my plan, anyway.
We clear our breakfast dishes and start exploring the cabin more thoroughly. There's a closet in the hallway I hadn't noticed before, and when we open it, we hit the jackpot.
"Jackpot!" Lauren announces, echoing my thoughts. "Scrabble, Monopoly, cards, Yahtzee…"
"Scrabble," I say immediately.
"Final answer?"
"Yes. I'm excellent at it."
Lauren turns to face me, one eyebrow raised. "Oh, you're excellent at it? Those are fighting words."
"Are you saying you're good at Scrabble as well?"
"I'm saying I'm better than you."
I grin. "Prove it."
We set up at the dining table with the Scrabble board between us. I've poured us both more coffee, and Lauren has draped one of the blankets around her shoulders like a cape.
"I should warn you," she says as she arranges her letter tiles. "I like to win."
"Noted, with zero surprise. And I should warn you that I'm competitive about everything."
"Also noted." She glances up at me with a small smirk. "Are we playing dirty or clean?"
"I wasn't aware there were versions."
"Dirty Scrabble allows made-up words as long as you can defend them convincingly. Clean Scrabble is dictionary only."
"Clean," I say. "That’s all too vague. You can’t loophole your way to a win."
"Workarounds," she corrects. "Remember, I'm a workaround girl, not a loophole girl."
“See? That’s my point exactly. Semantics.”
Lauren goes first, laying down the word SNOW vertically to use the center star. "Fifteen points. Beat that."
I study my tiles. I've got a Q, which is both a blessing and a curse this early in the game. "QUIZ," I say, adding it horizontally to use her W. "Twenty-two points."
"Solid start," she admits. "But I'm just getting warmed up."
For the next hour, we trade words. Lauren plays JINGLE, I counter with BOURBON. She plays FROST, I play WHISKEY.
"Are all your words going to be alcohol-related?" she asks.
"Are all yours going to be Christmas-related?"
"Yes," we say simultaneously, then laugh.