Below Zero (The STEMinist Novellas, #3)

by Ali Hazelwood

He is, very simply, a never-before-experienced mix of cute and overwhelmingly masculine. With a complex, layered air about him. It spells simultaneously Do not piss me off because I don’t fuck around and Ma’am, let me carry those groceries for you.

“The weather’s not that bad.” A wave of static almost drains the voice on the other side of the line. Ian Floyd’s voice. Because, for some reason, he’s here. Coming. For me. “It’s a—it’s a storm, Ian. Are you—please, tell me you’re not just strolling outdoors when the worst storm of the year is just hours from starting.” “I’m not.” A pause. “It’s more of a brisk walk.”

chattering. Again. “I can’t get warm.” He doesn’t hesitate. Or maybe he does, but just a fraction of a second. He opens his arms and pulls me to his chest, and . . . I fit inside them so perfectly, it’s as though there was a spot ready for me all along. A five-year-old spot, familiar and cozy. A delicious, warm nook that smells of soap and sleep, freckles and pale, sweaty skin.

“Hannah, there is nowhere else I’d rather be.”