Page 111 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
His nose and cheeks are bright red, his eyelashes and eyebrows have droplets of moisture clinging to them, and his hair is wet and curled in the cutest way.
“How are you?”
“O-okay,” I say, still shaking.
“I’ll make you some tea.” He stands again and then moves off toward the kitchen, where I hear him move around, opening cabinets and shutting them.
Why . . . why is he doing this?
Why is he being so kind? I shift in my seat, not wanting to ruin my cocoon, but I want to be more comfortable, and that’s when I see Buzz’s terrarium on the hearth.
Wait . . . did he . . . did he go back for Buzz?
I mean, of course he did. I don’t remember much from my cottage to his house, but I can tell you right now, he didn’t carry that terrarium and me together.
But why?
After everything that happened this morning . . . why?
Chapter Nineteen
Max
Narrator: What a knight in shining armor, a true hero some might say. If I could, I’d have stripped him down to just a pair of jeans and a reindeer hat, letting you watch in slow motion as he trekked across the snow, his nipples hardening, his muscles flexing, turning into our very own Jack Frost and making that snow his bitch.
But of course, we must be realistic here. Instead, he was a knight in shining snowsuit... and a reindeer hat.
But now that he’s back and trying to warm up, do you think we should have them get naked for body heat?
Ehh... I think I might edge you a little bit more.
Fuck, it’s cold.
I shakily place two coffee cups on the counter and wait for the kettle to heat up. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long. This isn’tmy first time losing electricity out here, so we have stocked up on items that can utilize batteries or don’t suck too much power from the Yetis. This teakettle is one of those.
The water starts to boil, so I pull it off the warmer and pour it into the mugs. Then I dunk two peppermint tea bags into the water and carefully carry them to the living room, where Betty is still a lump on the chair.
She seems to have a little bit of color in her face now, but when I first set her in front of the fire, I swear she was ghostly white. Freaked me the fuck out.
I set the mugs on the hearth next to her fucking tarantula—that fucking thing was a surprise. “Can you sit up a little more and stick your hands out? It will really help to drink something hot.”
She shifts, but it’s slow, and when she sticks her hands out, I test them. Still cold. Christ. How long was she in there without any heat?
I gently hand her the mug and then notice how hard it is for her to hold it, so I wrap my hands around hers, helping her.
Her eyes meet mine, and I say, “Go ahead. I’ll help.”
We bring the cup to her lips, and she blows on the hot liquid a few times before taking a sip.
“That’s it. Take another one for me.”
She sips, and then I take a sip too, letting the hot liquid pool in my stomach, instantly defrosting me. We spend the next few minutes sipping the cup together until it’s gone. Then I pick up my mug and do the same thing, wanting to warm her up as quickly as I can.
When that mug is done, I bring my hand to her cheek and feel that there’s some warmth spreading through her body now.
“I’m going to change out of these clothes and wash up a bit. Do you need anything?”
“N-no,” she says, her voice still weak.
