I lob another snowball at her, and it lands square on her chest.

She fires one back that splatters hard against my chest. I stare down at the snow, still packed over my left nipple. “Holy hell.”

She smirks. “Cooper’s not the only one in the family with an arm. Do you surrender, or are we doing this to the death?”

“I will never surrender.”

I’m smiling.

It’s Thanksgiving, I’m trapped here, and I’m smiling, just like I smiled when I decided to put those garden gnomes from the basement out along her property line and like I was smiling after I got over the initial jolt of terror of seeing her gigantic face on my shower curtain.

“You’ve sealed your fate, Captain Cole! Prepare to die!”

We both dive for the snow again, packing and flinging snowballs at each other until she gets me in the face.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

I sputter and wipe it off, and when I blink my eyes open again, Tillie Jean’s right in front of me. She attacks my face too, wiping more snow away from my cheeks. “Are you okay? Can you see? Do I need to call Doc? Blink twice if you can hear me.”

I don’t know who I am today, but the question makes me crack up. “My ears are fine, Trouble Jean.”

“Thank god. I know they’re what you throw with.”

She’s so completely serious that I laugh again.

She doesn’t.

Instead, her eyes go dark, her lips part, and her tongue darts out to swipe at her lower lip.

And suddenly all I can think of is her lying in Chance Schwartz’s bed, her bare breasts peeking out from beneath the sheet, head thrown back in ecstasy, very clearly pleasuring herself.

I shouldn’t have been in his apartment at all, except I’d misplaced my phone, and that was the last place I remembered having it. He’d forgotten his gym bag, but also had a meeting with management, so I offered to get both.

And instead, I got a show.

I pretended I didn’t see a thing. You don’t screw around with your teammates’ girlfriends, and if she was in his apartment alone, she was clearly involved with him somehow.

But when she showed up again a few hours later at Duggan Field, pretended she didn’t see him and gave Cooper a hug, I asked if she was sleeping with everyone on the team.

And that’s when everything went to hell. When I discovered the wet dream from Schwartz’s apartment was off-limits for so many more reasons than I thought.

But forgetting how she looked writhing under those sheets?

Hard as I try, I can never quite do it.

And living next door to her? Seeing her almost every day, aware of her coming and going even when I don’t think she realizes I’m close by?

Hearing people talk about her and all the little things she does every day to spread some happiness here in Shipwreck?

Reminding myself of all those reasons I hate her?

I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to do it anymore.

Fuck, I wish she wasn’t Cooper’s sister.

“You shouldn’t smile at me like that,” she whispers.

“I shouldn’t.” Hell, my voice is hoarse, and it’s not the cold air causing it.

“We can only be friends if you don’t smile at me.”

“Then we can only be friends if you go back to being annoying.”

She smiles, and I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her again, this time in the snow. I want to feel the heat of her lips contrasting with the ice of the world around us, stroke her skin, embrace her curves, taste her mouth, make her moan, and soak in that feeling of being around the simple joy that is Tillie Jean.

I know it’s a bad idea, but I don’t care.

I feel happy.

Cold and alive and happy.

I want to be happy.

What was it she said the other day? I had to find what made me happy, not what other people thought would make me happy.

I’ve been avoiding what I think would make other people unhappy. Like, I can’t be the kind of man who deserves a woman like Tillie Jean, even if Cooper could forgive me for trying.

I’m not the kind of man who’ll ever deserve any woman.

Not long-term.

But god, it would make me happy right now.

I dip my head. Angle in. Watch her quick intake of breath.

Feel her hand still on my face.

I’m doing this.

I’m kissing Tillie Jean.

Consequences be damned.

But just before my lips brush hers, she ducks.

I blink.

And more snow rains down on my head.

“Ooh, gotcha!” Tillie Jean calls, but she’s not backpedaling like a woman afraid of revenge.

She’s backpedaling like a woman afraid of what we almost just did.

Again.

I should thank her.

Instead, I turn around, trip over my shovel, recover, and head inside.

Must not kiss Tillie Jean Rock.

It’s a rule.

And I need to remember it.

14

Tillie Jean

Max almost kissed me.

Again.

And I almost let him.

Again.

And since I can’t stop thinking about the way he was looking at me, like he’d just emerged from living in an Armageddon bunker for thirty years to discover there’s still sunshine and flowers and snow and mountains, I’m not paying attention to the massive pot of sweet potatoes in Dad’s kitchen at Crusty Nut.

“I think you got them all, hon,” Dad says behind me.

I jump, then look down at the pot.

Our sweet potato casserole is never lumpy, but I do believe I’ve taken smooth to the next level here. Have I induced decomposition? Are they runny now? Gah. “Getting my exercise in with the potato masher,” I tell him. “I’m earning all of that turkey I’m planning on eating later.”

“I thought you did that with a snowball fight in your front yard.”

The kitchen’s always hot, but not usually face-flaming hot. “Meh. It wasn’t the best snowball fight. My yard still has untouched snow. You know that wouldn’t have happened if Cooper and Grady were there. We would’ve used all the snow on the entire block before calling a truce.”

He grins at me.

It’s a classic Dad grin. The someone has a crush and I’m going to tease you incessantly about it grin.

I frown at him the same way he used to frown at me when he caught me after I’d tell him I cleaned my room but actually shoved everything on my floor into my closet. “Dad. He’s Cooper’s teammate. Winning before sinning, okay?”

He laughs, but it’s an awkward, wincing kind of laugh. “Sinning? Tillie Jean. I don’t want to know what you do on a date, but I don’t want you to feel ashamed of yourself either. Some things are, ah, natural, and, ah—”

“Dad, I know grown-up activities aren’t a sin. But interfering with the team’s vibe is.”

More wincing, which better not be the theme of this year’s Thanksgiving. “I suppose I can see that.”

Mom pops into the kitchen. “How’re the turkeys coming?”

“Right on schedule.”

“Good. Glory’s on track too, Grady’s reporting he’s ready, and Pop’s been working with Vinnie to get the roads cleared.”