“No.” Picking up an apple, he leaned back in an arrogant sprawl. “Doesn’t involve the outside, but it does center around some physical activity.”

Heat zinged through my blood. “Really?”

He regarded me with a wicked glint. “Look around the room, Syd. There’s something you’re missing.”

Scanning the room, it took me a couple of moments to catch on. “My clothes? Where are my clothes?”

His answering grin was pure sin. “You’re not going to need any clothes today, baby.”

Chapter 16

Sydney

Oh my, my, my…

My eyes widened to what was probably seriously unattractive. Under the blanket, my body warmed deliciously. “So all I have is this blanket?”

“Most of the time.”

A thrill went through me. “Okay. And you get to wear clothes?”

Kyler winked as he took a bite of the apple. “Most of the time.”

“Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

Heat simmered in his gaze. “Oh, it will be equally fair.”

Was it possible to turn into goo? I believed so. His deep chuckle caused me to flush and I turned back to our little buffet, busying myself with eating. So many questions rose to the tip of my tongue. I wanted—no, I needed—some sort of confirmation of what was happening between us, but to be honest, I was too afraid of saying something that would bring all of this crashing down on me, shattering like a fragile snow globe.

It was weak, probably even a little wrong, but I kept my mouth shut.

After a few moments, we started talking…talking like normal. About the next semester and what classes we had left. How he planned to talk to his mom about veterinary school during the break, and I really hoped it would go better than what he dreaded. Kyler needed to do what would make him happy, not what his mother expected.

Hours passed. Every so often, he’d check the window and return to my side. We talked about Andrea and Tanner, about how I imagined he had to be bummed about not getting to snowboard.

We just talked like we always did, but there was something more to it. Kyler would touch me at the most random moments, and I came to anticipate those seconds. He’d brushed his fingers over my cheek as he spoke about his mom attempting to cook turkey again this year. I’d been an unwilling participant in many of his mom’s cooking adventures, so I didn’t envy him. When I admitted that I still nibbled on raw stuffing, he tucked my hair back behind my ear. And as he talked about wanting to make a gingerbread house when we got home—and he’d said we—he slid his fingers over my bare shoulder, eliciting a series of shivers from me.