“But you’re going to freeze.”
Dred dug around in his pocket and pulled out some bills and the parking ticket, and fed them into the machine. “Haven’t you seen the beer commercial? I. Am. Canadian.” Dred laughed, white wisps of air leaving his mouth. “And it’s not that cold.”
“Here, take it back.” Pixie tried to slip the coat off her shoulders. He was wearing a thick dark sweater and a hat. Nowhere near enough to stay warm.
Dred placed his hands on hers, stopping her. “I’m fine.”
Once they were safely ensconced in Dred’s black Range Rover, Pixie bit into a donut. “Oh my God. These are the best things ever.”
Dred reached across to retrieve one. She tried to ignore the feeling of the bag moving in her lap and his fingers fumbling around at the top of her thighs, but her high intentions were falling faster than the snow outside.
“It’s worth coming to Canada to get your hands on these. I miss them when we are at the house in L.A.,” he said, and took a huge bite.
They turned off the highway, and after a few minutes, pulled up alongside a frosted glass–fronted store called Mountain Equipment Co-op and snagged a street-front parking spot.
“Come on,” Dred said, getting out of the car. He walked to her side, opened her door, took her hand, and helped her out. “We’re equipping you for Canada.”
He gestured with his arm to racks and racks of outdoor gear. “My treat,” he whispered against her neck. “I have plans for the next twenty four hours and it involves being outdoors.”
In the end, she selected a waterproof parka with an inner detachable down jacket. It had a belt around the middle so she didn’t look like the Michelin tire guy. They also picked out some knee-length winter boots, a hat—which Dred kept calling a toque—and some warm gloves.
“Okay. Now you are dressed properly; let’s go have some fun.”
Five hours later as Dred pulled into the driveway of a glorious redbrick three-story home, Pixie knew three things to be true: she couldn’t ice-skate, Toronto was a beautiful city, and Dred had her turned inside out. He’d been a gentleman, except the one time an experienced skater brushed by her and knocked her over. He’d shouldered the guy to the ground when he passed by a second time.
Now, she was about to step into his house and out of her comfort zone.
“Your house is beautiful. It suits you, all gothic and moody.”
“Gothic? That’s a new one.” Dred retrieved her suitcase and guided her up the front steps, his hand pressed against her lower back.
“Oh come on. There’s a little Vlad the Impaler in you with the hair and the scowl.”
Dred pressed his lips to her neck, then bit a little before releasing her. “If I am, do I get to do that some more?”
Pixie tilted her head to allow him better access, and savored the way his tongue slid up the side of her neck.
The front door swung open. “Hey, Pix. Great to see a smile on this miserable bastard’s face. We’re on our way out.” Nikan held his arms wide to give her a hug. The least she could do was step into them.
Jordan, Elliot, and Lennon followed him through the door, bundled up in coats and scarves.
Lennon hugged her, then turned to Dred. “There’s another crazy article. Apparently Nikan and I are coming to blows. I left it on my laptop. Sam’s dealing with it.”
They said their hellos and good-byes and Dred placed a hand on her lower back to guide her inside.
Warmth washed over her and she quickly unbuttoned her coat. The house was a collision of tall ceilings, original features, and modern furniture. The embers of a dying fire snapped in the spacious living room. Now, as they stood in the quiet of the hallway, a strange nervousness settled over her.
“I need to tell you something,” Dred said, pulling on the anchor he wore around his neck. “I live with the rest of the band. We have a house in L.A. we share, and this one.”
The idea of spending the night with Dred had taken some getting used to. The idea of being in a house with a group of men she didn’t know very well unsettled her. She thought about the credit card Cujo had given her. She didn’t need to stay. They could have a great time without her sleeping over. In fact, maybe that’s—
“Don’t look like that. Talk to me. What is it?” Dred reached for her hand and gripped it.
These men were not her stepdad. They weren’t the men he used to bring to the trailer.
“I’m sure it seems weird,” Dred said. “We’re grown men for fuck’s sake, not college kids. We grew up in a home together, but it’s not my place to share their reasons why we live like this, but trust me, they’re important.”
“I’m safe here though, right. I can trust you?”