Enveloped in a cloud of Wendy’s intoxicating perfume, I watch her exit the room, closing my hand in a tight fist and bringing it to my mouth to bite down on it.
She’s wearing all white again. Either white is her favorite color, or she’s doing it on purpose. And her face—today she looks even more gorgeous than usual. The woman is trying to kill me, slowly roasting me on a stick.
I should run outside and lie down in the snow for a couple of hours to cool down. Instead, I take a deep breath and exit the room. At least in the common areas, there’ll be enough people to place a buffer between us. I study the open space, making a mental note of all the spots where they hung mistletoe to avoid them. If I have to kiss her again, it might be my tipping point. I’d go insane.
At lunchtime, I strat
