Take to Win a Snowball Fight?
Macy squeaks—she actually squeaks—but Jaxon just raises his brows at me. The look on his face is a little amused and a lot wicked and my heart starts beating like a metronome on high.
At least until Macy hisses, “Seriously? You couldn’t tell me he was there?”
“I didn’t—”
“She didn’t know.” He looks me over from top to bottom, and for a second, just a second, a smile touches the depths of those obsidian eyes of his. “Braving the snow twice in one day? I’ve got to admit I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be too impressed. I still have to make it through the snowball fight in one piece.”
The smile drops—from his face and his eyes—as quickly as it came. “You’re playing Flint’s game?”
It sounds more like an accusation than a question, though I don’t know why. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“For a snowball fight?” He shakes his head, makes a dismissive sound deep in his throat. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, well…” That got awkward fast. “Um. We should probably…”
“Get going,” Macy finishes.
Jaxon ignores her as he braces a hand on the wall behind me. Then he leans in and, in a voice so low I have to strain to hear him, murmurs, “You’re determined not to listen to me, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I whisper back, but I can’t look him in the face as I say it. Not when I’m lying—I know exactly what he’s talking about—and not when his breath is so warm and soft against my ear that I can feel it everywhere, even deep inside.
“It really is for your own good,” he tells me, still standing way too close. Heat slams through me—at his words and his proximity and the orange and dark-water scent of him currently wrapping itself around me.
“What—” My voice breaks, my throat so tight and dry, I can barely force the words through it when I try again. “What is?”
“You shouldn’t go to that snowball fight with Flint.” He pulls back, his gaze catching and holding mine. “And you sure as hell shouldn’t be wandering around the school grounds on your own. You’re not safe here.”
It’s not the first time he’s implied that Katmere is dangerous for me. And I get it. I do. Alaska is no picnic for the uninitiated. But I’m with Macy, on school grounds. No way is she going to let anything happen to me.
“I’ll be fine.” It’s easier to breathe now that Jaxon’s mouth isn’t a scant inch from my ear, but finding words is still harder than it should be under his watchful gaze. “I’m not planning on wandering off tonight. I’ll be with the group the whole time.”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound impressed. “That’s what I’m
worried about.”
“What do you mean?” I clarify. “I thought you’d be relieved I’m not planning on tackling any wild animals with my bare hands.”
“It’s not the wild animals I’m concerned about.”
Before I can ask him what that means, Macy interjects again. “We should get going. We don’t want to be late.”
“Well, whatever you’re concerned about, you shouldn’t be,” I tell him, refusing to be pulled away before I’m ready. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. But if you want, you can join us.”
“Join you.” His tone implies I just suggested that we fly to Mars under our own power.
But I refuse to be dissuaded. Not when Jaxon is standing so close to me instead of pulling his usual disappearing act. “It’ll be fun. And I’m sure Flint won’t mind.”
“You’re sure he won’t mind.” He repeats my words, and again it isn’t a question. He’s back to seeming amused, though—at least if you don’t look too closely at his eyes. They’re flat now, completely empty in a way I haven’t seen since he looked through me at the party. “Because I’ve got to tell you, I’m pretty sure he will.”
“Why would he? He invited a ton of people.” I turn to look at Macy, who has gone absolutely sheet white.
I roll my eyes at her, annoyed she seems so freaked out at the idea of hanging with Jaxon, but before I can say anything, Flint walks up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Hey, Grace. Looks like you’re ready to get your snowball on.”
“I am, actually.” I turn and end up grinning at him because
it’s impossible not to. He’s just that fun and that charming. Not to mention the fact that he’s wearing a snow hat in the shape of a fire-breathing dragon that looks absolutely ridiculous. “In fact, I was trying to talk Jaxon into joining us.” “Oh really?” Flint’s eyes go a kind of burning amber as he looks from me to Jaxon. “What do you say, Vega? Wanna
fight?”
Flint’s smiling, but even I can tell it’s not a friendly invitation…and that’s before three other guys in all black join us, arranging themselves in a semicircle right behind Jaxon. For the first time, the phrase “got your back” makes sense to me, because it’s very obvious that’s why these guys are here. To have Jaxon’s back. I just don’t know from what.
These must be members of the infamous Order Macy was telling me about. And I can see why they got the nickname
—there’s a closeness among the four of these guys that even I can’t miss. A bond that seems to be about a lot more than simple friendship.
Flint feels it, too. I can tell by the way he stiffens and the way he shifts his weight forward onto his toes, like he’s just waiting for Jaxon to throw the first punch. More, like he’s hoping for it.
Which…no. Just no. I don’t care if there’s suddenly enough testosterone in our little alcove to start the next world war; it’s not going to happen. At least not while Macy and I are standing directly in the middle.
“Come on.” I grab my cousin’s arm. “Let’s go figure out a way to win this snowball fight.”
That gets both Jaxon’s and Flint’s attention. “Those are big
words coming from someone who never saw snow before she got here three days ago,” Flint teases, and while the tension isn’t gone, it’s way lower than it was a few seconds ago—exactly as I intended.
“Yeah, well, you know me. All about the bravado.” I keep a firm grip on Macy’s arm as I start to maneuver around Jaxon and his friends.
“Is that what you call it?” Jaxon murmurs in my ear as I slide past him. Once more, his warm breath is against the side of my neck, and a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold works its way down my spine.
Our eyes meet, and for a second, just a second, the whole world seems to drop away. Macy, Flint, the other students who are laughing and chattering as they move past us on their way to the door all disappear until it’s just Jaxon and me and the electricity that arcs between us.
My breath catches in my throat, my whole body grows warm, and it takes real, physical effort to stop myself from reaching out and touching him.
I think he must be having the same problem, because his hand comes up, hovers in the air between us for one long, infinite moment.
“Grace.” It’s barely a whisper, but still I feel it all the way inside myself. I wait, breath held, for him to say something— anything—else, but before he can, the front door flies open, letting in a huge gust of freezing air.
It breaks the spell, and suddenly we’re just two people standing in a crowded hallway again. Disappointment wells inside me, especially when Jaxon takes a step back, his face set once again in inscrutable lines.
I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches as Flint herds Macy and me toward the open door. As we cross the threshold, I raise my hand in a small goodbye wave.
I don’t expect him to return it, and he doesn’t. But just as I turn away to take my first step outside, he says, “Don’t forget to build an arsenal.”
They’re pretty much the last words I expect to hear from him…or anyone, for that matter. “An arsenal?”
“It’s the most important part of winning a snowball fight. Find a base you can protect and concentrate on building up your arsenal. Only attack when you’re sure you have enough ammunition to win.”
Snowballs. Here I was, convinced we had just shared a moment, and he’s thinking about snowballs. Fan-freaking- tastic.
“Ummm…thanks for the advice?” I give him a WTF look.
Jaxon responds with his regular, annoying blank face, but I swear his eyes are sparkling just a little. “It’s good advice. You should take it.”
“Why don’t you take it? Join me and the two of us can
build a bigger arsenal.”
He lifts a brow. “And here I thought that’s exactly what I have been doing.”
“What does that mean?” I demand.
But he’s already turning away, already walking away, and I’m left staring after him.
As usual.
Damn it.
Something tells me this boy—and his world-famous
disappearing act—is going to be the death of me.
