I couldn't help but laugh. "You are such an idiot."

I sent Tuna back in the house and my mom held the door open for him, then we both got back in the car, ready to go.

"Wait. Stop," Pratt said.

"What now?" I asked, annoyed.

"Does anyone need to use the potty before we leave?" he asked.

"I can't. Just stop talking. You're like this weird man-child." I pulled my iPod out and put my ear buds in, with a cheeky smile on my face.

He just turned around and gave me that irritating grin. But this time, I noticed he had a dimple on one side, and his eyes were gray like the sky. They contrasted with his black shaggy hair that had a bit of a curl at the ends.

Eighty-Six 1, London 0

Chapter 3.

While I picked out my replacement phone, Eighty-Six teased me the entire time. I must have called him every other name in the book, and probably made up a few words, too. After we were finished there, my mom had to get some groceries. She had an irrational fear of running out of food. We were so stocked up we'd qualify to be on an episode of Hoarders: Snowstorm Edition.

While Mom and I walked around the store, I messed around with my new phone. Thank God it was a cakewalk transferring everything over to itI haven't remembered a phone number since 2003. Pratt had gone across the street to get some coffee. I was surprised when he asked if I wanted something. I graciously declined, which I'm sure surprised him too. Look at us, full of surprises, Mr. Montgomery.

The heat must have been jacked up to 100 degrees in the grocery store, and I was getting really hot, so I told Mom I'd wait outside for her. When I left the store, there was one of those kid horsey ridesthe kind you put a quarter in and it gives you whiplash. I sat on it sideways and unzipped my jacket, concentrating on my phone. Suddenly the damn horse started bucking around, and I nearly fell off. Pratt had stuck a quarter in it while I wasn't paying attention.

"Dammit, Eighty-Six." I tried to get off, but he blocked me.

"Nope, I'm taking you on a ride."

I had to laugh at the mischievous look on his face. It was cute, I couldn't resist.

"You're such a clown, Pratt."

I remained sidesaddle on this tiny bucking horse until it stopped. When it finally did, I went to get off and my foot slipped. I was headed face first into the pavement. The whole thing was playing out in slow motion . . . I was going to be in a full body cast with my face mangled by the concrete, and my new phone would be a paperweight. Instinctively, I put my hands out to break my fall, but Pratt caught me.

He lifted me so I was on my feet, even with his shoulders. "That's twice I've saved your pretty little ass, London."

"Thank you. You saved my phone too."

"Yep, you should thank me later." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. His black curls stuck out from under his hat, and I found myself wanting to touch them. All right London, don't be weird.

"I'll send you a card." I rolled my eyes and turned my back to him, but I was smiling.

"Look what I got while I was waiting on my coffee," he said.

I turned back around to look, and there was something clipped to his hat, hanging in his face. Mistletoe.

"You are such a child," I scoffed playfully. "What, are you planning to carry that around hoping to score with random women?"

"Admit it. You wanna kiiiiissss me." He puckered up his lips like a fish.

"Grow up, Eighty-Six. And not if you were the last set of lips on this planet." I laughed and smacked his arm.

Then I heard my mom's voice from behind. "You kids ready?"

"Sure am. Shotgun!" I called, as I dodged around Pratt to follow her back to the car.

"Shotgun." He mimicked, then jumped in front of me when we got to the car. He picked me up from under my arms and moved me aside like a cardboard cut-out. I was sort of impressed by just how strong he was. But I was not impressed with my lack of resistance to how he made me feel when he touched me. Even just goofing around, he made my heart race and my skin get hot. I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks every time. Not good.

"Seriously, you have no manners. What happened to ladies first?" I asked with my hands on my hips.

"Just keepin' it real, London. This way, when you fall in love with me it's all out there." He opened the front passenger side door for me, and I eyed him up and down before getting in.

"Never gonna happen, bub." I shook my head and gave a small laugh. I had to admit, if nothing else, he was cute and entertaining.

When we rolled up back at the house, I was happy to see my dad's truck in the driveway. I went around to the trunk to help with the groceries, but Pratt had beaten me to it.

"Just close the trunk," he said.

"Just close the trunk what, Pratt? How do we ask for things? See . . . man-child," I scoffed.

"Now?" he responded, trying to hold back a smile.

I shut the trunk when I heard my mom yelling at Tuna as he ran out the door. We both laughed and headed towards the house.

As soon as I walked in I saw my dad and Trent round the corner, and my dad's face lit up. They both had grease on their clothesthey must have been in the barn making sure all the equipment was tuned up and working properly.

"There's my girl," he said, walking to me with open arms.

"Hi, Daddy. I missed you." I hugged him tight, not caring about the grease. I was a Daddy's girl . . . don't judge me.

"How you doing, kiddo?" he asked, as he looked me over.

"I'm great. The mess hall condiment bar feeds me well," I joked.

He chuckled. "Oh yeah?"

"Yep, all-you-can-eat mustard packets fit for a princess," I said as I took off my jacket. I hung it up on the hook as Pratt set the bags on the kitchen table.

"Ohhhhhh, look who it is. Eighty-Six! Come on over here boy, give me a bro hug," my dad shouted with enthusiasm.

"A bro hug?" Trent and I mouthed to each other with expressions of horror crossed with confusion, then laughed.

"Hey, Mr. Skye. How are you?" Pratt said as he 'bro hugged' my dad.

"Call me Will, Pratt. I hear enough Mr. Skye at work."

I left them to their conversation, and started helping my mom put up the groceries. With all the movement and opening and closing of the cabinets, I couldn't hear what was being said. I was bent over in front of the fridge when someone bumped into me from behindand then I heard a snort. Pratt.

"You can be so immature," I said as I found a space for the ketchup. "No wonder you aren't with your family . . . they'd probably rather die than deal with you for the holidays."

I closed the fridge door and turned around to see my mom, dad and brother with jaws dropped, and Pratt with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the ceiling.

"What?" I asked.

Nobody responded. Just blank faces.

"What's with the faces?" I tried again.

"London. We raised you better than that. I'm so sorry, Pratt." My mom put her hand on his shoulder and rubbed it.

"What? He can handle an insult or two," I said in my own defense. "He's a big boy."

"No, it's cool Mrs. Skye," Pratt said. "No need to apologize. I actually need to make a phone call. Excuse me." He walked out the front door. Tuna even gave me a look of disappointment before he turned and headed out right behind him.

"Wait up, bro, I'm coming." Trent grabbed his jacket. "Really, London? Really? We all know you live in your own little world where you don't give a shit about anything but your grades and your future, but could you be any more of an insensitive bitch to him? Seriously." He shook his head and headed out the door after Pratt.

At that point I was so confused, and getting really annoyed. I folded my arms. "What the hell? How did I somehow end up the bad guy here?"

My parents looked at one another, and then back at me.

"She doesn't know, Will." Mom took a step towards me. "You don't know, do you London?"

"Know what? This is beyond frustrating."

"London, his family died in a car accident just over a year ago. It was snowing, a semi didn't stop in time, and his mom, dad, younger brother and sister were all killed. They were on the way to a charity hockey game Pratt was playing with the Minnesota Wild. You don't remember hearing about it?" Mom asked, still looking shocked.

"Oh no. No, no, no. That was his family? I remember something about it, but it was right around the time I was buried in research for my dissertation. Holy shit, Mom. I'm a complete and utter asshole." My heart sank, and I could feel that sting in my nose before my face exploded into tears. I went to the bathroom to wash my face real quick, then came back and grabbed my jacket.

"I gotta go talk to him," I said, with a bit more composure. I truly felt horrible. Didn't matter if I knew or not . . . I shouldn't have said that to him.

As I stepped outside, the snow was really coming down. I called for the guys but got no answer, so I walked towards the barn on the back side of the house, and saw the light on up in the loft. Our barn wasn't for animals, except some barn cats. We used it mostly as a safe, dry place to put all the equipment and other stuff we had. I had made the loft into a hang-out spot around my fifteenth birthday. That was my parents' present to memy own space away to hang out, read, whatever I felt like. I strung white lights all over, and my mom and I had made a huge pillow bed on the floor. I loved it because it was my space, and my parents liked it because they could always see what was happening up there as soon as they walked in. Win win.

As I approached the barn, Trent came walking around from the side. I assumed he'd used 'nature's bathroom', because he was adjusting his belt.

"Good job, jackass," he called out to me.

"Yeah, I know, I feel terrible. I'm going to go talk to him," I answered, with my hand on the barn door handle.

"Well, just remember it isn't always about you and how you feel. Apologize and leave it at that. Don't do the whole 'I feel so bad' shit. He doesn't need pity, and he doesn't give a rat's ass about how you feel," Trent said, making it quite clear he thought I was a jerk.

"I'll keep it to a minimum," I shot back at him.

When he walked off, I took a deep breath and slid the oversized barn door open. It sounded like an old wooden rollercoaster as it slid across the track.

"Pratt?" I called out as I closed the door. "Can I talk to you?"

"Not now, London. I'm really not in the mood." I followed the sound of his voice up to the loft, and saw him sitting on the rafters looking out the small window at the top of the peak.

I climbed the ladder to the loft. "I'm a big, fat, insensitive, self-centered jerk, does that help?"

By the time I reached the top and stood up, he still hadn't answered me.

"I'm so sorry, Pratt. I didn't realize," I said. Then I turned and stepped back on the ladder to go down.

"Wait," he said, and I looked up to see him standing above me. "I'll forgive you on one condition."

He stood looking at me, and in that moment I saw the sadness in his eyes. London . . . you are an idiot. My stomach gave an angsty roll. He was actually very handsome when he wasn't being a meathead.

"What's that?" I asked.

He gave a crooked smile. "Admit it."

"Admit what?" I was clearly confused.

"Admit that you just wanna kiss me." He clipped the mistletoe to his hat again.

Yup. Meathead. I couldn't help but smile. On top of handsome, he was a real charmer when he wanted to be.

This could be trouble.

Then again, maybe that was just what I needed.

Chapter 4.

We sat up in the loft until dusk. My mom checked in now and again to make sure we weren't cold or hungry. That was her story, at least, and she was sticking to it. She knew the barn was fully heated and insulated. Trent made some coffee and brought it up to us, and hung out for an hour or so. We talked hockey, school, and about my brother's psychotic ex-girlfriend, Hannah. That chick was one hell of a train wreck. Talk about trust issues. I have no idea who did what to her in life but damn, Trent paid for it the year they were together . . . and the year after that she spent stalking him.

My parents came up with dinner for us all while we were mid-conversation about her.

"Hey, remember at the Championship game in St. Paul you almost got into it with her, London?" Trent asked as he took a bite of his pizza.

"That was fun times," I answered with a mouthful.

"I remember you decided an aerial attack would be a good strategy," my father chimed in.

"Whatever. It wasn't an aerial attackI jumped on her from two rows above. What was I supposed to do? She was about to throw a bottle over the glass at Trent." I defended my actions as I wiped my hands, and everyone laughed.

"That was the first time I ever had to break up a fight in the stands at a hockey game," Pratt said. "You get pretty strong when you're pissed."