His lips trail down my neck, sending shivers all over.
"I love looking at you," he breathes, brushing the hair off my shoulders. "Will you let me look at you?"
My heart hammers, a wild thing seeking his. "Yes."
So he does. And I feel it. For a long...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
C A M I L A
Almost five years of running, but I never ran over tire-driven slush, half-packed snow, and ice. I'd say there's a good reason. I've almost died—again—four times.
Fox is like a cheetah, jogging in places as I climb over another mound of plowed sidewalk sludge.
"Let's go, Sport! We're clearing our minds!"
"Imma clear something."
"I heard that! And it doesn't make sense!"
My foot slips on a patch of ice. My arms windmill for balance, but I somehow manage to stay upright.
Fox laughs as he jogs in place, pulling his forest green beanie further down on his head. "You got this, Sport! Just a little—"
"I'll shiv you!" I snap, but he just grins and takes off again, his long legs moving effortlessly across the street. I grit my teeth and push myself to keep up, even though my muscles are screaming.
We round a corner and the wind hits me square in the face. I pull my red scarf up higher, covering my nose. Left, right, left, right.
Fox slows down slightly, waiting for me to catch up. "You dying or something? What the fuck?"
I huff out a breath. "I'm... fantastic. Loving... this. Could do this all night."
He laughs again, a sound that's light and carefree and goofy and...fuck. I'm about to ruin it.
Not many people are out around here, but there are some shops with a golden ambiance in their windows and the little trees separating the lanes twinkle with multicoloured Christmas lights.
We keep running. I haven't figured out how to tell him, how to break the news without shattering him completely.
I've rehearsed in my head. Hey Fox. Turns out Maddie's more damaged than I thought. Hey Fox. Dump your girl. Hey Fox—
Something thuds into my back. I slow to a stop and realize a few things. Fox is not beside me. My hoodie is soaked. And I still don't know how to tell him.
I turn around and yank the scarf down off my face. Fox is standing a thirty feet behind me, holding a snowball in his hand. Another one.
"Did you just—?" I start, but he doesn't let me finish.
Another snowball flies through the air, hitting my shoulder this time.
Should I stop this? Yes. But he's happy.
"You're a dead man, Freckles!" I shout, scooping up some snow and packing it into a ball.
He just laughs, dodging to the side as I hurl my snowball at him. It misses by a mile, crashing into a parked car instead.
