Like I said. Long, complicated story.
So far, my sabbatical is a huge fail. Hanging out with that pervy vice principal would be safer than this. Because I’m definitely screwed at the moment. And not in a good way.
On the other hand, therearea few firefighters and police officers at the lodge right now. All of them attractive and every one of them named Finn. I take a moment to imagine a gorgeous group of mostly gay rescuers driving up on a snowcat to save the day. They fall instantly in love with me and become my new harem. Then they whisk me back to civilization and pamper me for at least a week to help me recover from my trauma.
It's a distracting daydream. But since most of them are blissfully off the relationship market now, I’d be turned off and disappointed in their life choices if one of them did agree to join my sexy harem. And honestly, experimenting with multiples sounds like a lot more trouble than it’s worth. A few of the Finns are in committed poly relationships, which just sounds crowded to me. Not to mention physically demanding. It really seems like it would spoil the mood, having to stop and think about who goes where with what, you know? Like a bad game of Dirty Jenga or Twister. Like math.
Are you listing the reasons you can’t have a harem right now? That’s not how this works.
Because my brain is a vindictive dick, my rescue fantasy fail is swapped out for a highlight reel of my life flashing in front of my eyes. Laughing with friends. Celebrating with students. Singing on stage.
Meeting that ponytailed, sweet-assed sexy beast at the pub. The one who brought me to my knees in a very literal way.
I guess I’m not too cold to fantasize after all, because my blood starts heating as I think about picking up where we left off mid-hookup. I didn’t get his name or number because of what happened to Bex that night. He disappeared somewhere between the screaming and the arrival of the ambulance. All Iknow is, by the time I thought to look for him before I drove to the hospital, he was gone.
Maybe he’s a criminal. Or just a mildly insensitive jerk who wanted to get off but not deal with drama.
Either possibility should have been enough to wipe him off my fantasy roster, but he’s still in my head more than I’m comfortable admitting. In fact, he’s the only one I’ve been thinking about for a while. I tell myself it’s because I hate leaving things unfinished. Like good books and trays of brownies. And orgasms. Something neither of us got to have. But it’s more than that. There was something about him I can’t seem to shake. The way I felt when he looked at me. The way I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.
You are in actual physical danger, Winnie. Your pathetic love life isn’t important right now.
Now I’m lostanddepressed.
A loud crack echoes through the trees and I hop-spin in a jerky half-circle with both hands and one leg lifted up for a fight.I’m the damn Karate Kid.Instead of looking badass, the fear-fueled maneuver throws me off balance and I fall face first into the nearest tree, scraping my cheek against rough bark. “Shit.”
You can’t unsee that, can you?
My Skinny Winnie movie is a slapstick tragicomedy instead of a hero’s journey. Raise your hand if you’re surprised.
I hug the tree that so rudely broke my fall and think about my friends again. Val would have built a shelter by now, and the only thing Connor knows more about than coaching is camping. Bex could probably MacGyver an emergency beacon from sticks and snow pellets—not that she’d need to, since she never forgets to charge her phone and her boss is always on speed dial.
Or he was, until Bex took a leave of absence from her job and her apartment, asking for space. I’m sure Tanaka’s checked in with her doctor, but I haven’t seen him again until today, whenI caught him whisper-arguing near the front desk with his fiancé Brady. I tried to listen in, so I could tell Bex I was doing what she asked without having to lie. But I found myself glaring at him instead of paying attention to what they were saying.
I’ve lowkey hero-worshipped the man for years, but there have been times over these last few weeks when I admit I’ve thought about punching him in the face.
Okay, enough of that. Back to my current emergency. Out of all of our friends, I’m the only one unprepared to survive something like this. I’m the musical entertainment, the shoulder to cry on and the only friend to phone when the topic is American history, song lyrics oreighth grade tween problems. Invaluable at social gatherings and emotional interventions. Absolutely hopeless in the wild.
I didn’t even dress right, since my phone app assured me the weather would be nippy at best. It might explain my pointless cotton gloves and decoratively buckled boots with no tread or support. My thermals and new red jacket are the only things saving me right now, and the latter I only purchased because I’m susceptible to sales and it was half off due to winter being nearly over.
Winter is clearly not over.
You’d think I’d know better, since I live in the megalopolis most famous for its snow days. My only excuse is that cold weather hits different in the city. I’m outside just long enough to dash from a warm apartment to a warm vehicle, where the streets are magically plowed and salted before I wake up. If I decide to walk, there are five coffee shops between my apartment and the school, and they all have heat and clean bathrooms. And coffee.
Mmmm, coffee.
Connor says I’m spoiled, but if civilization and indoor plumbing were wrong, he’d have to give up ESPN and his regularpizza delivery. I’d like to see him survive that for more than a week.
“I was promised room service and a hot stone massage,” I moan against the tree.
Sir, this is a forest.
Sure. But it’s the forest around a ski lodge. That should count for something. To tell the truth, I’m not sure why this particular venue was even chosen. All the Finns live in the same city I do. What would make them think this was the ideal location for an anniversary party? Other than the fact that half of that family married into serious money, and according to every movie I’ve ever seen, all rich people love to ski.
I straighten and start limping forward again, grumbling into my cupped hands to warm them with my breath. A cloud of vapor gushes through my fingers and quickly dissipates in the frosty air. “This reminds me of that team-building episode where Eda got lost in the snow and Serkan had to find her.”
I’m probably about to die, and since I’m thinking about the sexy pub beast anyway, the subtitled romcomSen Çal Kapimi(You Knock on My Door), which I’ve been watching on repeat just to hear people speaking in Turkish, is the first distraction that springs to mind.
I blame my initial addiction on a student who was watching it during my class last year. We had a sit-down in my office to discuss respecting her peers and elders, the true value of education…and our favorite OTPs—also known as the two people on that show you like who you wish would just kiss already. #onetruepairing.
