“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mom asks for the third time.
“Mom! I’m fine,” I promise.
Cohen is stoking the fire and I’m studying the perfect shape of his ass. Muscular thighs and tree-trunk legs. A tapered waist that widens into broad shoulders. The type of shoulders a girl can hang onto. The kind of strength that can carry the scars of a broken heart.
“Are you still there?” Mom asks.
“Huh? Yes, sorry.” I shake my head.
“Everyone left?”
“Yep. Early this morning. But I’m with Cohen; I’m fine,” I remind her.
“Well, that’s true,” she agrees, appeased.
I roll my eyes. My parents adore Cohen. That’s a good thing, right? We’ll be able to bypass the awkward meet-the-parents bit.
I mean, if we’re dating for real. Are we?
“Just stay put, then. Thanks for calling, Raia; I was getting worried. I’m glad for you and Cohen. You could both use some time to recharge,” Mom continues.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Send me the details once you rebook your flight.”
“I will.”
“Okay. Stay safe, Rai.”
“Bye, Mom.” I end the call and toss my phone onto the couch.
Then I approach Cohen and wrap my arms around him from behind. Pressing my cheek into the center of his back, I give him a squeeze. His large hands skim over my forearms. He turns slowly, his arms automatically encircling my frame.
“Now we can do whatever we want,” I announce.
Cohen laughs. “Yeah, that’s true. Where do you want to start?” His fingertips tuck under the hem of my shirt and swipe over a path of my skin.
I bite my bottom lip. “I thought we could start with board games. Like Scrabble.”
“Scrabble?” He arches an eyebrow. His fingers move higher.
“Yeah, you know, a smart game.”
“Smart,” he replies. The pads of his fingers glide over the underwire of my bra.
“Or Uno,” I offer.
“Numbers,” he replies. Now his palm is resting over my breast. His thumb swipes across my nipple. “I have a better idea.”
“Oh?” I tip my chin up. My back arches slightly, pressing my breast more firmly in his hand.
“A much better idea,” Cohen decides, pulling off my shirt. He discards it on the floor. Then, he slides the strap of my bra off my shoulder and bends to kiss the spot where my neck meets my shoulder.
“You could show me,” I play along, my breathing accelerating.
“I could,” he agrees, pushing my sweatpants off my hips.
I step out of them and kick them to the side. Then, I pull down his basketball shorts. He loses his shirt. We stand in front of the fire in just our underwear.
“Where do you want to start?” I ask, trying to keep myself intact. To play along. To drag this out.
“Hmm.” Cohen tilts his head, studying me. “Here,” he decides, tracing my mouth with his thumb. “Then here.” He runs his fingers between the valley of my breasts. “Then…” His hand cups my pussy.
I press myself into his hold and he smirks.
“How’s that sound?” His voice is raspy.
“Perfect.” I slide his boxers off his hips and drag them down his legs, lowering with them.
“Oh, fuck,” he swears, staring down at me. I smile up at him. I’m already wet and wanting but Cohen, Cohen’s hard as a rock. Scratch that. A boulder.
“My turn first,” I remind him. Then, I fist his cock, and pull him in between my lips.
His fingers lace through my hair as he guides my head, setting the pace he likes.
I bob my head back and forth, taking him deeper.
Cohen swears. I close my eyes and imagine what we must look like, two insatiable lovers, snowed in at gorgeous ski chalet, in front of a blazing fire, with a blizzard raging outside.
It’s as if someone turned a snow globe upside down but we’re locked in the safety of the house, in the comfort of each other. And nothing else matters.
“You suck me so good,” Cohen groans. He tugs me to stand up. “Don’t want to come down your throat when I can finish inside you, baby.”
Cohen tugs a thick, plaid blanket off the couch and lays me down on top of it. We stretch out in front of the fire. It warms our skin, and the crackling sounds of the logs create a cozy atmosphere.
When Cohen finally pushes inside me, I’m desperate. We fuck on the floor. Then again in the shower. Once more on the kitchen island.
Cohen works me over so thoroughly, I can’t form words. But it doesn’t matter. Because we can read each other’s wants. We give to each other freely and fully.
For the first time in months, I feel full. Whole. Loved.
I don’t want to wake up from this fever dream. I don’t want to go back to reality. I want to stay here, in this secret corner of the world, wrapped up in snowflakes, and fall deeper for Cohen Campbell.
“I can’t believe we still have steaks,” I say as I cut into the choice meat.
“I know.” Cohen grins and clinks his wine glass against mine. “Lucky us.”
“We are,” I say, meaning it. Right now, I feel like the luckiest girl on the planet.
“Some ski trip,” Cohen laughs. “I didn’t ski, and you were out for about four hours.”
I shrug. “This was the best ski trip I’ve ever been on.”
“Me too.” He takes a long pull of his wine, his eyes studying me over the rim. “It’s cool you guys do this every year. When did it start?”
“Um, I think our sophomore year of high school. Preston’s parents used to have a chalet in Aspen.”
“Used to?”
I shrug. “Collateral damage in the divorce.”
“Ah,” Cohen comments. “I get the sense that none of your friends have great home lives.”
“They’re not bad,” I say, a little defensively. “They never went without.”
“Unless you count love,” Cohen replies.
I dip my head in agreement. “Yeah. They didn’t get affection or attention from their families the way they should have. Not like Anna and me.”
“You feel better that you guys talked?” Cohen asks.
I nod, thinking over his question. “Yes, I do. There’s some closure there but…”
“But?”
“I don’t know if it will ever be the same between us. There’s a trust factor that’s been broken and I don’t see how we can get it back. Our relationship will always be different now.”
“Yeah,” Cohen sighs. “That’s shitty. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if my brother, or your brother, betrayed my trust like that.”
“The thing with Anna hurts more than breaking up with Brooks,” I admit.
“Was it hard? Seeing him?” His voice is even but his eyes are intent on mine. Curious and wary.
“No. Not after the initial reaction. If I’m being honest…I think Brooks was right.” I shake my head. “Don’t fucking tell him.”
“Never.”
“But we did outgrow each other. I just couldn’t see it. Or maybe I didn’t want to admit it. I hate change, and this summer, well, everything is different now.”
“It is,” he agrees, his words heavy with another meaning.
I look at him, studying his expression.
“We have to tell Avery,” he says.
I shove a bite of steak into my mouth and chew slowly, thinking.
What will my brother say? How will he react? Will this cause issues for the Coyotes?
“Raia,” Cohen admonishes.
I sip a mouthful of wine.
“I won’t lie to my best friend. Especially when what I feel for you… It’s real.”
“I know,” I agree. “We need to handle it delicately. You have the team to think about.”
Cohen’s expression hardens for a second before he nods slowly. “I always put the team first.”
“You should; they’re a different kind of family.”
Something that looks a lot like disappointment flickers across his face. It’s gone too fast for me to confirm. “Yeah,” he mumbles, polishing off his wine.
“We’ll figure this out,” I say, more for myself than him.
“I hope so,” he replies, his tone hard.
I steer our conversation to lighter topics. We reminisce about our childhood and share stories from people in our hometown. He tells me more about the team this season, Gage’s recovery from his ACL injury, and some details about the rookie, West.
I listen attentively, learning more about Cohen’s life.
We enjoy another bottle of wine. He helps me clean up the kitchen. When I turn on a playlist, we dance around the space. Funky, ridiculous dance moves that give way to slow dancing in his arms.
When we fall asleep that night, I’m happy there’s a blizzard. I’m relieved to have this time with Cohen. I revel in getting to know him, in lowering my guard and letting him in. I lay my ear on his chest and let the steady beat of his heart lull me to sleep.
I wish our wonderland was our reality.
Deep down, I know it’s not. Nothing this good lasts. Nothing this perfect can be trusted.
I learned that firsthand by watching my friends’ families cast them aside, by witnessing Avery break Mila’s heart. By experiencing Brooks moving on with Anna.
If I allow myself to fall fully for Cohen, will he be there to catch me?
If I let him all the way in, will he eventually break my heart?
I hate that the word yes cuts through my head and twists in my chest.
“One more day,” I beg Cohen.
He lifts an eyebrow. I toss a handful of chocolate chips in the pancakes I’m making.
“You really don’t want to go home?” he asks.
“I like being here with you. Tucked away from the world.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, his eyes narrowing. “But this isn’t our everyday lives…”
“It’s better than reality,” I refute. “Here, we can just be us.”
“We can be us in Knoxville too,” he reminds me.
I sigh and shrug.
“What?” Cohen asks, shifting closer.
“I just… I never feel at home there,” I admit.
Surprise crosses his expression. “Because you haven’t lived there in years?”
“No, even then…” I consider my words as I flip our pancakes. “When I’m in Knoxville, I feel…separate. Apart.”
“From?” Cohen presses.
“Everyone. Everything,” I huff, plating our pancakes. “You want whipped cream or maple syrup?”
“I got this.” He takes the plates and sets them on the kitchen island. “I want to understand more about you not feeling at home in our hometown.”
Internally, I kick myself for opening this can of worms. But, other than Anna and Mila, I’ve never admitted how I don’t fit in in Knoxville. “It’s Avery’s city.”
Cohen chuckles. When he realizes I’m serious, his mouth twists.
“He’s the better Callaway,” I continue. “The athlete. The golden boy. The Pride and Joy of Southern Football and the hometown hero.”
“So?” Cohen asks, his eyes boring into mine.
“It just, it feels like there’s not enough space for both of us. It’s weird but if I try to…excel at something, soccer or school or whatever, it’s as if I’m competing with him.”
“But you’re not,” Cohen refutes. “You’re competing with yourself.”
“Everyone compares us all the time. Teachers and coaches and just, regular townspeople. I never fit in. By the time I was in high school, he’d already made a mark, a giant impression on everyone, and I always felt like I was failing at living up to the expectations he set.”
“Raia,” Cohen mutters. His tone is laced with surprise and concern, even a thread of anger.
“I’m not saying I’m right—”
“It’s how you feel,” he cuts me off.
I shrug. “Yeah. It’s how I feel.”
“I had no idea,” he murmurs, as if to himself. “All these years, I never knew.”
“It’s not something I really talk about.”
“Is that why you went away to boarding school?”
“Mostly, yes. But also, the soccer team there was exceptional, so it made sense on a practical level too. But it’s why I don’t ever want to live in Knoxville.”
Cohen stops eating, his eyes snapping to mine. “You never want to live in Knoxville? Ever?”
I shake my head. “No plans to live in Tennessee. It’s a place I like to visit from time to time, but I don’t see myself there. Besides, I don’t think you should ever go back. Not when you can keep moving forward.”
Cohen’s quiet as he considers my words. I shovel a mouthful of pancake into my mouth.
I wash it down with coffee and take a fortifying breath.
It feels like I just shattered some of our bliss. Chipped a bit of our idyllic snow globe by bringing in a slice of reality.
It was bound to happen eventually.
This weekend was going to come to an end.
I’m going to leave Tennessee.
And Cohen and I will go our separate ways.
That’s always been the plan. Except the thought of those options tastes sour. Rancid.
And painful to swallow.