Page 6 of You Keep On Giving

Cold!

My whole back is cold and wet. I gasp, my eyes flying open and my grip digging into the solid muscle that is York’s biceps. He looks mad.

I faintly register gasps and ‘ooohs’ but I can’t focus on anything but the cold stare of the man who still has his arms wrapped around me, holding all my lumps against his strong body. His eyebrows are pulled down and I’m fascinated by the notch of folded skin hovering above his nose.

My panties are wet... and not in a fun way.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” My grip flexes against his biceps and oh my god, why the hell am I still holding onto him?! I loosen my digging digits one by one and try to push our bodies apart.

I’m sure it’s my imagination but it feels like his arms tighten ever so slightly before they drop to his side. I take a few steps back, becoming more and more aware of my soaking wet backside.

“Sage, dear. Are you okay?” Bea’s cold hands cradle my cheeks as she pulls my attention to her. The shock on her face almost makes me laugh but it’s so genuine. I pull her hands down from my face but keep holding our hands together between us.

“I’m totally okay. Honestly, it was my fault.”

“Oh, dear. No. Why don’t you go dry off and change? I’ll make you a plate.”

I shake my head. No way in hell I’m coming back to the festivities tonight.

“I’m going to go change, but I’m pretty worn down from the flight. I think I’ll just head to bed early.” Oh, Bea does not like that. I can tell by the purse of her lips and the huff of breath out of her nose.

“Well, dear. I don’t know⁠—”

“Mother.”

York’s voice sends a spark of awareness up my spine and cuts off Bea’s protests quickly. She shoots him a glare but seems to relent without another word.

“If you really feel tired, dear.” I nod and take a step back, doing my best to put distance between the mother and son duo but Bea still has a hold of my hands.

“Come on, I’ll grab you some towels.” York stomps past me, opening a cabinet and scooping up an arm full of towels.“Follow me.”

He’s moving to some stairs that lead down into the basement. “Good night, everyone!” I call over my shoulder before rushing to follow after the eldest Snyder son.

York shows me to the guest room I’ll be calling my own for the next week before crossing to the other side of the room to show me the bathroom with the biggest shower I’ve ever seen. Between my room and the bathroom is a wide open area that’s been turned into a game room. There’s an air hockey table, pool table, overstuffed couch facing a TV that's mounted on the wall, and what looks like every gaming system ever resting on an entertainment center below.

He mumbles an apology before rushing back up the stairs, leaving me to my own devices. I waffle back and forth about throwing on my pajamas and just climbing into bed to die of embarrassment as quickly as possible but I do want to wash the day of travel off my body.

I nibble on the side of my lip, from the quick tour York gave me, it seems like I’m the only one staying in the basement-slash-game room and my backside being wet is starting to get uncomfortable. I make the snap decision to head straight to the shower, I can hustle from the bathroom with towels wrapped around my body. That way I can make sure I’m completely dry for real before digging around in my luggage for sleep clothes.

The shower is heavenly. Perfect water pressure, perfect temperature, perfect balance of steam in the air. I’d marry this shower if I could. I almost don’t want to get out but I hate pruney fingers, the feeling of wrinkled skin gives me the willies.

Of course, the towels are the softest thing I’ve ever rubbed against my skin. York seems to have the best quality of everything and it’s slightly annoying that the hottest guy I’ve ever seen also has the nicest things.

“Freaking rich hot butthole.” I grumble to myself as I open up the bathroom door. The towels are even long enough to wrap around my extra padding. It does make the towel wrapped around my hair sit a little awkwardly on the top of my head but it’s not a big deal, it's less than ten steps to my room. I’m doing my best to shuffle as quickly and gracefully as possible when the towel wrapped around my head starts to droop, blocking my view of the room.

I stop moving immediately, I do not need to add a bruise to my leg or hip because I ran into the flipping pool or air hockey table. But of-freaking-course, because I’m the unluckiest person in the world, the towel that was wrapped around my body starts to slip.

“Christ on a cracker.”

One hand attempts to drop from the towel and hold the towel to my body while my other tries to resecure the wrap around my head and, somehow, I fail at both attempts and both towels are now pooled around my feet and I stand in the middle of the room, naked as the day I was born.

“Ms. Bergen?”

You have got to be FREAKING KIDDING ME.

5

YORK