Blizzards and Bastards by C.M. Stunich

Author:C.M. Stunich [Stunich, C.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sarian Royal
Published: 2024-12-16T00:00:00+00:00

CYAN

On the sixth day of Christmas, the great unwrapping (hot tub edition)

“You alright there, Sugar Plum?” Crispin asks me the next day, standing next to my bed with his hands on his hips. I don’t have to wonder how he got into my room after I already locked the door. My brothers and sisters have been picking locks their entire lives—especially mine.

“I’m fine.” I sit up on my elbows, tired from another morning of writing with Vale. Chased back up to this room by my family. I needed a break, and Inked Pages was all locked up in the office during the afternoon. I haven’t seen Frost or Aspen yet (which is probably for the best). “Why do you ask?”

“We missed ya at dinner last night—and it was plum delicious, by the way. That daddy of yours sure can cook, can’t he?” Crispin’s studying me, the lazy way I’m laying on my bed despite him being in my room. It should be weird that he’s in here, and I haven’t gotten up or adjusted myself.

In pajamas. On my bed. My bed.

“It was catered,” I answer finally, turning away from Crispin and staring out my room’s bay window into the snow. I wasn’t at dinner last night because I was confused about Aspen and upset about Frost. I’m not sure how I feel now, after having been kicked out of Frost’s room. The text he sent me while we were in the hallway together? It read: add me to your contacts as Scrooge.

Vale was neutral enough this morning, but I did catch him staring at me with the edge of his lip quirked. He knew those condoms were for me. There’s nobody else around for Frost to sleep with, even if he wanted to. Wait. I’m not sure that’s true. Tina would probably cheat on her husband for one of these guys.

Blizzards and bastards. That’s my life now.

But the bastards part … I think it applies more to my family than the four sexy rockstars staying at my house. They’ve been nicer to me in the last week than anyone I share an ounce of DNA with. My cousins—dickheads. My dad—asshole. My siblings—monsters. And don’t even get me started on my mother.

“I don’t think so,” Crispin says, sitting down on the edge of my bed, smelling like amber and apples and soap. “I saw your daddy slavin’ over the stove for damn near an hour and a half last night. Didn’t see any fuckin’ caterers.”

I sit up and turn to face Crispin because, like, he’s not a person that’s easy to ignore. He’s so warm and wise and … hot as fuck in a pair of tight jeans and a red tee that just barely fits his big, muscular frame. Tall, ripped, wearing a welcoming smile.

Anyway, as I look over at him, it’s easy to see why he’s considered the soul of the band. He’s got an infectious energy that makes me want to smile, too, even if I feel like shit.

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