"In Which You Really Should've Taken an Uber" - A Short Snippet (Patreon)

So, you made a mistake. 

...Maybe more than a mistake. 

And now - well, you might lose your life...or at least a toe. 

You knew winter in Danton would be unforgiving. Endless feet of snow, wind that cuts right to the bone. So why did you decide - on this day, in the middle of January - to save money on an Uber and walk to Ivy's house after work?

You flex your fingers in your coat pockets - they feel so stiff (frozen, your mind unhelpfully adds) that you don't even want to know what color they are. You're sure that your scarf wrapped around your face is the only thing keeping your nose from falling off. And, all the while, the snow pelts you - insistent and relentless. 

All to save $15. You really are a fool. 

Up ahead, you see Ivy's house and you decide to book it. Sure, the sidewalk is slippery. Sure, you have maybe 50% visibility - at best - right now, with the ice encrusting your eyelashes. But, high risk, high reward right? 

You grit your teeth and start on a jog to that familiar porch. 

You actually do pretty well...before you completely wipe out on the stairs up to her door. 

You fall ass first. Fuck slips out of your mouth in an unholy shriek before you can stop yourself. And, then you're blinking up at the unforgiving grey sky, your tailbone smarting, and your ego more than bruised. 

You might've lain there for the rest of eternity if she hadn't come out. Her red hair out of its usual bun, the strands falling around her face loosely - so beautiful, you can't help but appreciate it even with your back flat on the ground. She reaches out her hand and you grasp it - grateful, so grateful, that you might start crying (or maybe it's just the cold, or the pain - physical and psychological). She pulls you up and into her arms and into her house that always smells like cinnamon somehow, and you find yourself curling against her even though you're so much taller as she buoys you to safety - her home, her.

To your great relief, you - in fact - do not have frostbite. You feel blood rush back into your face, and fingers, and toes and as Ivy helps you peel off your coat, your scarf, your hat, you feel yourself come alive again - the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, the smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen, Ivy's hands combing your hair back, now wet from melting frost. 

"You should've taken an Uber," she says, guiding you to the couch, and suddenly there is a mug in your hand and a throw blanket over your shoulders and Ivy - warm, so warm - sitting beside you as close to fussing as she can get, her eyes piercing.

"I know." You groan, take a sip from the mug, sigh as the taste of mulled wine washes over your tongue. "But this is worth it."

"This was waiting for you anyway," she says, and you look at her, in her cotton jumpsuit and cashmere robe, and you can't help but lean forward, your fingers pulling her in, your mouth - finally - on hers.

She tastes like wine and citrus. You want to inhale her, devour her, eat her alive. She straddles you, and your hands settle on her hips, but before the two of you can really get started, you press your forehead against hers, her breath - already picking up - tickling your face. 

"I should've taken the Uber," you say. 

She arches an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Then..." Your hand skims under her shirt. "I could've gotten here sooner."