Love Me Like That

By: Marie James


She nods her head, and I open the door against the frigid wind and icy snow that is raging in all directions. I move out of her way and point toward the front door telling her to head that way. She walks past me quickly. Closing the door to the truck, I stay close to her back as we fight our way to the front door.

The process is slow and arduous, and I’d like nothing more than to pick her up and carry her because it would cut our time out in the cold by at least half; I don’t, however, think she would appreciate a stranger putting his hands on her, especially with the way she looked at me when I suggested something as simple as climbing out of my side of the truck.

She steps aside for me to open the door as she crests the top of the stairs. Is she trying to determine if I’m a gentleman or does she suspect the door is locked? I stomp my boots on the mat to get the majority of the sludge sticking to them off and open the door, standing out of the way so she can enter first.

In the light of the foyer, I’m able to take her in. She has to be absolutely freezing. She’s wearing a thick coat and gloves, but her legs are only covered in a thin pair of running spandex.

As much as I want to bawl her out for dressing so scantily during a blizzard in Montana I keep my thoughts to myself. I have no business getting in her business.

I turn to the left and enter the small mudroom. I shrug my coat off and hang it on a hook just inside the door and kick off my boots.

“I’m going to light a fire,” I explain to her as she begins to shrug off her outer layer as well. Paired up with her thin pants she’s also wearing a thin Henley type workout top; that’s it.

I bite my tongue as I head to the den to make a fire. I stop by the thermostat on my way and crank up the heat another five degrees as well.

I throw several more logs into the already raging fire and jab at it with the poker, making sure all the logs will burn consistently. I feel her presence when she soundlessly enters the room. I frown at the sound of the crackling fire when my heart rate increases slightly in acknowledgment. I cut my eyes briefly to the drawer of the small table across the room that houses my demise, a bottle of pills and a glock; my mood being the only thing to determine which is used.

I turn to her and watch as she rubs her arms briskly with her hands. I push my tongue to the roof of my mouth to once again keep from chastising her for being out in the middle of a damn blizzard in what would easily be considered less than some people wear to bed.

“I’ve turned the heat up in the house. It seems you’re stuck here so let me show you where you can sleep.” I say instead. I need to get away from her. The sooner she gets settled, the sooner I can start in on the whiskey. I won’t allow her to derail my plans; this little hiccup is no more than a short postponement. She can sleep, and I can begin my nightly ritual of drinking myself stupid.

She nods and follows me up the stairs to the guest bedroom. I open the door to one of the rooms I actually haven’t made it in yet since arriving. The interior designer did a great job in here as well. She kept with neutral colors on the walls and gave it a modern feel without detracting from the rugged aspect of the home as a whole. The large bed is against the exposed logs which serve as the accent wall. Every room in the home that is on an outside wall has the same.

“Your room?” she mutters.

“Hardly,” I say with a huff. “This is the guest bedroom. The bathroom is right through there.” I point to a door on the far wall. “Should be fully stocked. If not? Well, we’re in the middle of a fucking blizzard.” See, the asshole has arrived.

“I appreciate it,” she says and slides past me making sure she doesn’t touch me.

She doesn’t seem like the shy type but more uncomfortable with the situation she’s been tossed into with no control. She walks further into the room and the sinful shape of her luscious ass does not go unnoticed.

I clear my throat. “I’ll be downstairs.” Like she gives a shit. I pull the door close behind me and take the stairs down two at a time.

I scrub my face with my hands and then run them through my overly long hair. I know getting drunk with a stranger in the house is not the best game plan, but it’s going to happen none the less. I’m here with very strict instructions to ‘get over my bullshit and don’t come back until I do,’ and that’s my game-plan, well the first part at least... It starts with the whiskey.

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