In a Holidaze by Christina Lauren

chapter sixteen

Two hours later and the impact of that first ride down the slope still hasn’t dimmed; I hear it—It never occurred to me that you might be mine—as clearly as if Andrew’s said it again right into my ear, even though he’s sitting next to me at the basement card table and not holding me tight as we sprint down a mountain.

For the first hour of the sledding trip, I didn’t feel even the slightest bit cold. I was a campfire inside, a roaring inferno. Eventually, though, my fingertips went numb and my butt was almost dead from the chill of the wooden sled beneath me. Now back in the cabin, we’ve holed ourselves up in the basement—Theo, Miles, Andrew, and me— to escape the cloying heat of the roaring fire upstairs, as well as the roaring cackles of our parents engaging in some preholiday day-drinking and catching up.

Theo shuffles a deck of cards absently while we all decide what we’re in the mood to play. Under the table, a socked foot finds mine, and the other foot comes around it, gently trapping me in a foot-hug. A careful peek belowdecks tells me it’s Andrew, and I suddenly feel like I’m wearing a wool sweater in Death Valley. Clumsily, I reach down, tugging my sweater up and over my head. It gets tangled in my hair clip, and Andrew has to shift forward to help extract me.

It means that he pulls his feet away, and once I’m free, I catch him biting back a knowing smile.

“Thanks.”

He holds my gaze. “You’re welcome.”

I take a few deep drinks of my sparkling water to cool this ridiculous fever. You’d think I’d never been touched by a man before, good God.

Looking at me from beneath his lashes, Andrew reaches up, scratching the back of his neck.

“Today was fun,” Miles says, and tries to take Theo’s beer, but is instantly smacked away. “I’m glad you talked Dad into just heading for the lodge. If I had to ride with Mom this year, I think I would have bailed.”

“Thanks for taking one for the team and sledding with Mae,” Theo says to Andrew, and then smirks at me. “Worst sled steerer ever.”

I glare. “Hey.”

Andrew gives a magnanimous shrug. “I’m a humanitarian.”

I smack him. “Hey.”

His eyes sparkle when they meet mine, and the smiles fade into that same buzzing awareness. I finally blink down to the table. We rode the slope about six times, and I guess I’m grateful that nothing was as loaded and heavy as that first ride down, because I probably would have had some internal combustion issue and ended up back on the plane from a heart attack. There was plenty of Andrew being Andrew: he sang terrible opera on one trip, swore he closed his eyes the whole way down on another, and said hello to every other sledder we passed on a third, but it was just normal again. Which I loved, and hated.

Turns out, where Andrew is concerned, I apparently like heavy and loaded.

“We need to call ourselves something other than ‘the kids,’” I say, breaking the quiet. Theo sets down the deck of cards in the middle of the table. “ ‘The kids’ are the twins now.”

“Aren’t the twins ‘the twins’?” Miles asks.

“We could be called the ‘kid-ups,’ ” I suggest, laughing, and Andrew beams over at me, thrilled with this suggestion.

Andrew slides the deck of cards closer to him, tapping, shuffling. I watch his fingers, trying not to think about his hands and how big they are. He has long, graceful fingers. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed a man’s nails before unless they were dramatically unmanicured, but Andrew’s are blunt, clean, not fussy. I think I’d like to see those hands roaming and greedy all over my bare skin.

Theo clears his throat and my attention flies away from Andrew’s fingers, guiltily.

“Two truths and a lie,” Theo says, and gives me a bewildering wink.

Andrew looks up from his shuffling and deadpans, “I don’t think that’s a card game.”

Ignoring this, Theo lifts his chin to Miles. “You first. I’ll give you a sip of my beer.”

“Miles hasn’t lived enough to have interesting truths or lies, and he’s definitely too young for day-drinking,” Andrew says.

“Actually,” Miles says, “we did this game as an icebreaker in chemistry last year. It was hard thinking of things that were appropriate for school.”

I hold up my hands. “Pardon?”

Andrew laughs. “Don’t break your sister, Miles.”

“It’s your idea,” Miles says to Theo. “You go first.”

I can tell with a little annoyed tilt of my thoughts that this is why Theo suggested this game to begin with: he wanted to share some scandalous stories. And really, if I think back, nearly every game Theo suggests is a ploy to subtly or not-so-subtly talk about what a wild and exciting life he leads.

“Let’s see,” he says, leaning back and cracking his knuckles. “Okay, one: in college, one of my fraternity brothers kept a chicken living in his room for an entire year and none of us had any idea.”

Inwardly, I groan. That’s right. Whereas Andrew lived in a messy but comfortable apartment off-campus at CU Boulder with some of the funniest and weirdest guys I’ve ever met, Theo was in a fraternity with a bunch of players and trust fund men-children. I know there are lots of great, progressive fraternities out there, but Theo’s was not one of them.

“Dude, why was he hiding a chicken?” Miles’s face pales. “Was he being gross with a chicken?”

I turn to my brother. “Miles Daniel Jones, don’t you be gross.” And then I turn to Theo. “And don’t you break my brother.”

“Two,” Theo continues, laughing this off, “I have a tattoo of a parrot on my hip that I got when I was in Vegas with some friends.”

“A parrot?” Andrew’s expression is a hilarious mix of bewilderment and deep sibling judgment. “On your hip? Why have I never seen this?”

Theo smirks and rocks back in his chair.

Andrew shivers as he gets it. “On your groin is what you’re saying.”

“I’d like to go back to the part where he thought it would be a fun time to get a tattoo in Las Vegas,” I say. “I’m really hoping that one is the lie.”

“And three, I’m not ticklish,” he says, and then turns his eyes to me, adding, “anywhere.”

This wink is definitely lascivious. Rude.

“Um, I’m going to go with number one,” Miles says, still stuck on the chicken.

“I’m glad there are some things I don’t know about you.” Andrew wipes a weary hand down his face. “I’m with Mae: I’m hoping number two is a lie.”

“I also hope it’s a lie,” I say, “but my guess is that number three is the lie. No way do you not have even one tickle spot.”

“Wanna check?” he asks, smirking.

“I . . .” I flounder. “No, I’m good.”

“Well,” Theo says, “you’re right. As Ellie T. discovered my senior year in college, I’m ticklish behind my knees.”

What must it be like to have had sex with so many people that you have to first name–last initial them?

“What do I get for winning?” I ask. “A chicken?”

Miles winces. “Oh, please no.”

Andrew pins me with a teasing smile. “You get it to be your turn.”

“I hate this sort of game,” I admit.

“Imagine how I feel.” Andrew, the world’s worst liar, laughs, sweeping a hand over his messy curls. They pop back over his forehead in a display of careless perfection.

“Okay, one,” I start, “I hated my college roommate so much that I used to use her toothbrush as a fingernail brush after volleyball practice.”

“Gross,” Miles mumbles.

“Two, in college I had a crush on a guy who, I eventually found out, was legally named Sir Elton Johnson because his parents were clearly insane. He went by John.”

“That,” Andrew says, pointing at me with an elated grin, “is the best story I’ve ever heard. Goddammit, please let that be true.”

“And three,” I say without fully considering that my brother is sitting right here, “I broke up with my last boyfriend because he tasted like ketchup.”

Miles falls over as if he’s been shot, convulsing on the floor.

Both Theo and Andrew narrow their eyes thoughtfully.

“No way is that true,” Theo says, shaking his head. “He always tasted like ketchup? What does that even mean?

Number three is the lie.”

“Agree,” Miles moans from the floor. “Besides, I don’t think that’s possible because you’ve never kissed anyone before.”

I practically cackle. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

But Andrew just watches me, eyes still narrowed. “Toothbrush. That’s the lie. You wouldn’t ever do that, no matter how much you hate someone.”

I point at him, grinning. “You’re right. That was the lie.”

“Wait. I hope that’s not why you broke up with Austin,” Miles grumbles. “I liked him.”

“It’s one of the reasons. And you only liked him because he let you drive his car.”

I watch, surprised and mesmerized, as a pink flush works its way up Andrew’s neck and across his cheeks. He looks flustered and a little annoyed. Is Andrew Hollis jealous?

• • •

Once we’re done with our ridiculous game, and no one feels like actually playing cards or Clue or any one of the other fifty or so board games, the boys all file upstairs to get snacks, leaving me alone to curl up on my bottom bunk and succumb to the exhaustion of constantly whirring thoughts.

The craziness of the last few days catches up with me, and I nap like I’ve never slept before, so deep and heavy that it’s almost like a post-Thanksgiving slumber, or a Benadrylinduced blackout.

I come out of it slowly, thickly, at a vague, papery rustle nearby. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adapt; the sun has set outside, leaving the basement window wells black. Across the room, another page turns; the sound of paper crackles through the cool stillness.

At my sharp inhale, I hear the book close. A click of the far floor lamp, and then the space is gently illuminated.

“She lives.” Andrew. Alertness comes at me like a shove.

My voice is thick and scratchy. “What time is it?”

He peeks at his watch. In his other hand, he’s holding a paperback. “Six. Dinner should be ready soon.”

I slept for two hours? Wow.

“Where is everyone?”

He looks toward the stairs, like he might be able to see from where he’s sitting at the card table. “The twins were making more popcorn garlands with your mom. It’s snowing again, so the dads are shoveling. My mom is, um”—he winces—“baking something.”

I make the eep face, and he nods in agreement. “I think this one is some sort of coffee cake.”

“I threw the cookies out.” I push off the covers and sit up, running a hand over the back of my neck. It’s warm under all the layers, and I feel groggy and overheated.

His eyes widen. “Rebel.”

I stretch, groaning.

“You okay?”

I look up. “Just oddly exhausted.” Who knew time travel was so draining? No. Wait. Who knew time travel was real?

He turns the folding chair he’s on around and sits backward on it. “Maybe some ketchup would perk you up.”

I point a playfully accusing finger at him. “Are you stuck on that?”

“Maybe.” Quiet eats up the space between us until with a sly grin Andrew finally adds, “I’m just wondering if you meant—” He motions to his face. “Or . . .” He tilts his head to the side, winking.

Bursting out laughing, I say, “You are a pig.”

His eyes go wide in playful outrage. “I’m the pig?”

Upstairs, I hear a lot of pots banging and boys shouting, followed by Mom yelling something. “What is even happening up there?”

“Your mom was going to start dinner soon,” he says, “but Benny told Theo and Miles to do it.” He sees the surprise in my expression. “Benny said something about you wanting us all to help out more.”

“How nice of him to give me credit while I was taking a monster nap.”

Andrew laughs, his throat moving with the sound. Slowly, quiet swallows us again as he sets the book down. I want to ask him about the way he held me on the sled. I want to ask him about the foot-hug under the table. I really want to ask him why he seems jealous of my ex.

“What’re you doing down here?” I ask instead. “There are about seven hundred more comfortable places to read in this house.”

“I came down to get you,” he says, “but couldn’t bring myself to wake you up.”

“So you just hung out nearby while I slept?” I ask, grinning over at him in the dim room.

“You were cute. You kept smiling in your sleep.”

“I thought you were reading.” He shrugs, and I laugh. “How Edward Cullen of you.”

He frowns. “Who?”

“Oh my God, Andrew, no. We cannot remain friends.”

“I’m just kidding. I know the guy from The Hunger Games.” He bursts out laughing when my horror deepens. “You look so insulted! Is that your test to weed out the bad ones?”

“Yes!”

Still laughing, he stands and waves me up. “It’s a good thing I’ve always been an excellent student.”

Oh.

“Come on.” He takes my hand. “I told the twins we’d play Sardines before dinner.” In the darkness, his eyes shine wickedly. “I’m hiding first, and I have a killer spot.”