FROZEN LINES
" Think, Caleb. Crack it open."
The trail markers had been covered in ice.I had been wearing my heavy red winter coat. The memory expanded, and I had heard deep cursing from the bushes.The wind was blowing hard, and Eliot twisted his ankle on the trail.
“Your hands are freezing,” Eliot had whispered.
“Then warm them up,” I had muttered. It wasn't a polite request. It was a challenge. A dare. I was Caleb Foster. I didn't lose games, and I didn't back down from things I wanted. And looking at him right then, flushed and shivering in my passenger seat, I wanted him.
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