MacKenzie Fire(8)

Will anyone miss me inside the house in time to rescue me from death by freezing or maiming by frostbite? I’m not sure. Time to pull on my vast resources of personal power so I can save myself from dying or becoming toe-less way too young.

Inventory time. I wiggle my tootsies to see if I’m good from the waist down. Yep. Toes are moving. Ass is … wet. Again. Dammit. I twitch my fingers. Yep. Those work too. But damn, they’re cold. I’m not going to be nearly as adorable with all my fingertips gone. Tightening my hands into fists seems like a very smart idea.

I’m working on moving my shoulders up and down when Ian’s face is suddenly hovering over me. “You’re getting pretty good at that falling on your ass thing.” He holds out a hand.

I punch it away since my hands don’t want to open anymore. Sitting up, my concerns for paralysis are quickly replaced by annoyance. “I told you … I’ve been practicing … on purpose.”

“Seems like there are easier ways to get on your back than slipping on the ice.”

Is he suggesting I turn into a slut? He is totally going to pay for that. I roll over and get up on my knees and then my feet. My boots slip around immediately, causing me to reach out and grab Ian’s jacket at the shoulder to steady myself.

“Are you calling me a ho?” I ask. Turning slightly to get my feet under me more firmly is a mistake. My feet slip out completely and I have to grip Ian with both hands to keep from going down again.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t expecting my extra weight on his shoulders, so he’s knocked off balance. His feet shuffle around on the ice and snow for purchase, but it’s hopeless.

He lands on his back, and I land on top of him, my forehead banging into his chin.

“Ow, mother fudger!” I moan. “Holy crap you have a hard chin.” Reaching up to rub my head, my finger goes into one of his nostrils by mistake.

“Jesus, get your finger out of my nose, would ya?” He lies there lifeless with his eyes closed, as I pull my hand back and rest it on the snow next to his head.

“Ow, God, I hurt my back,” he grunts out. His arms then fall to his sides.

My eyes widen in alarm. “Ian? Ian are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer.

I tap his cheek, first gently and then harder. “Ian! Are you okay?!” I’m yelling in his face because I’m in a panic. I’m just about ready to call out the troops when one of his eyes opens.

“Are you going to lay on me all day or what?”

My face flames red. “Ha. You wish.” I move around, trying to get off him, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. He’s big, and the ground all around him is too slick for me to get a grip on, even with my hands.

“If you don’t quit moving around like that, we’re both going to be sorry. Come on, get off.”

I speak through clenched teeth. “Shut up, idiot, I’m trying to get off.”

He chuckles. “I can tell.”

I suddenly realize the double meaning of our words, and embarrassment makes my cheeks go hot red. Without thinking, I grab a handful of snow and slap it right onto his face. That’ll cool him off, the butthead.

“Hey!” he sputters, his hands coming off the ground to swipe at his face. He blinks several times hard and then scowls at me. “What was that for?” He’s half angry and half laughing. I think he’s as confused as I am.

“That’s for perving out on me when I’m just trying to get up.” I push on his chest and manage to roll off him and onto my back again. I’m once more staring up at the Oregon sky. I’m really beginning to hate that thing. Stupid top-left state.

And then my mouth is full of snow.

I’m busy getting over my shock and spitting out the cold, melting mass as Ian whoops it up, lying partly on his side now with his upper body twisted towards me.

“Ha-ha! How’s that taste, City?!” He’s smiling from ear to ear and his eyes are aglow.

I throw my arms out to my sides, grab two handfuls of snow, and twist onto my side. “You tell me, Country!” I shove both barrels right up his nose.

He starts sneezing, and I take the opportunity his incapacitation provides to get away. I roll and roll and roll. It’s my only chance, since my feet are useless in this snow with these boots on.

Once I’m a few feet away, I struggle up onto my knees and start crawling. My knees are sliding like crazy on the ice, so I only get about two inches for every six strokes of my legs. I kick my speed up a notch to put more distance between us. Probably my feet are just a purple blur right now to any onlookers, I’m going so fast and furious.

I make it almost to the porch before Ian grabs my ankle. Fear and maybe a little bit of excitement coming from the thrill of the chase surges into me, like I’m the victim in a horror movie being pursued by a hot killer. I can’t help but shriek.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growls.

“Aaaack! Get off!” I try to kick him, but all that does is offer up both feet for capture. My body slides easily across the icy surface of the yard. Before I know it, he has me trapped under him, with the two of us chest to chest.

He immediately begins grabbing handfuls of snow and slapping them down onto my face, my head, my neck … anywhere there’s an exposed surface.

“Take that, City! Eat that snow! That’s right, girl! Yum, yum! Tasty, tasty Oregon snow! Hope there ain’t any of the yellow stuff in there!”