Cupcakes and Christmas - R.J. Scott Page 0,44

making a strong go.

Something in the way he admitted the lack of snowball-friends made my chest hurt. “You’re picking it up quick.”

He threw me a happy smile and then eyed our supply critically. “Is that enough snowballs?”

“More than enough that they won’t know what hit them.”

“Parlay!” Ivan called from the other side of the hedge. “The girls have gone in. I’m done.”

“Can he call time like that?” Justin asked seriously as if snowballing had rules and a set length of time like a hockey game.

“No worries!” I called back and then it was just me and Justin and a pile of snowballs. He didn’t look cold nor did he look as if he wanted to go inside. I picked up a snowball and tossed it in my palm thoughtfully. Justin needed to learn that the only rule of snowball fights is that they didn’t stop in our family as long as there were snowballs left. I threw it at his chest, and given he was only six feet from me, it thumped on his coat and rolled off him without disintegrating much.

He stared down at the white trail, his mouth open, then he glanced up at me, and there was a gleam in his eyes. He moved a step closer to the snowballs in the pile, so did I. When he reached for one, I copied, and then he tossed his up and down like he was the coolest snowball thrower on the planet.

“This is on,” he announced and then pounced, forcing a snowball down the collar of my jacket, the icy wetness trickling on my skin.

“It’s so on,” I retorted and did the same thing, only this time it was a snowy face wash.

We separated the pile at speed, throwing snow at each other, laughing, being stupid, and the memories of so many times that I’d done this with my family, always me and Adam against everyone else, flooded back. So much laughter, no worries, nothing serious, just icy snowy fun.

Then the battle began in earnest, jumping and dodging around the bushes and falling on our asses until we were so exhausted that the last few throws were nothing but us lying on the ground scooping up handfuls of snow and piling it on each other. I managed to get a snowball down his neck and in a surprisingly quick move, he was straddling me with a handful of snow inches from my face.

“You so did not do that.” He leered down at me with serious intent.

“Uncle!”

“Nu huh, I still have a snowball left.” He scrabbled at the nearest snow he could find, and we struggled for control in the snow. I was gripping him, sliding. He was pushing back and when I finally got a face full of snow, most of it went in my mouth because I laughed so hard that my sides hurt. I shoved him back, rolled him, and somehow I was lying on him, using my body weight to pin him to the ground. He was shorter than me, but wiry, and pushed up, but I had the upper hand, and I casually rubbed snow in his face. He spluttered, laughing, and then in an instant something changed.

We were inches apart, admittedly padded in coats. I could just go that last few inches and kiss him. He blinked up at me, his blue eyes so expressive, and I knew he could feel that spark between us. I let go of his gloved hand, the one I’d been using to hold him down, and he immediately gripped my shoulder.

“Brody?” His voice was little more than a whisper but that single word held so many questions. I moved an inch closer. He didn’t move. He didn’t push me away, instead he tugged at my shoulder and pulled me down, and then our lips touched. Icy cold, numb, until the warmth began to curl inside me. He let me inside, and I got my first taste of Justin and the cinnamon he’d used in his bake and the gingery warmth of his tongue. When he moved his hand to around the back of my head to deepen the kiss, I went with it, sinking into his warmth.

“I’ve got it!” someone called. We separated so fast I’m surprised I survived the inelegant fall to the snow.

“What the fuck, Erin?” Justin was up in an instant, stalking over to the smiling woman taking photos of us. “No!” He yanked the phone from her hand and attempted to press buttons,