Jasper, my straight best friend, shivers against me, his bare skin icy under my hands. He’ll die if I don’t warm him up. That’s what I tell myself as I strip him down, pressing my body against his, rubbing heat back into his trembling limbs. But when his body brushes against mine, I lose control.
I try to focus, to ignore the pull, but my body betrays me. My hand trails along his skin, and I swear I hear the softest hitch in his breath. I should stop. I should pull away. But I don’t.
Then, the cabin door slams open. A gust of icy wind cuts through the room as a stranger steps inside.
Rylan. Dripping wet, blue-eyed, and carrying nothing but the essentials—whiskey, a candle, and a coil of rope.
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