A Deal With the Devil by Abby Matisse Page A

stop acting like one.”
    Jake turned toward the wood pile and tried to remember if she’d always been this difficult.
    He had barely taken a step when he felt a sharp thud in the middle of his back. Snowballs. Really? He rolled his eyes and turned to confront her, but before he could speak, a wet icy ball smashed in his face. “What the hell?” He wiped globs of snow from his face and shook his gloved hands to flick it off.
    “Consider it payback for your chauvinistic views.”
    “A chauvinist?” Given a choice of unsavory shingles, he preferred being called an ass. At least he could agree that one fit on occasion.
    “Just because I’m a woman, you think I can’t carry wood?”
    “A lot of women can carry wood. I just can’t see you doing it.”
    “Why?”
    He eyed her boots and arched a brow as he said, “Heels in a snowstorm. Seriously?”
    She glanced down and cocked her foot to the side. “They’re kitten heels. Only two inches.”
    Kitten heels. He shook his head. No need to say anything more.
    She squatted to gather more snow. “I didn’t pack for frolicking outdoors, but I’m improvising.”
    He frowned and watched her pack another snowball. Did she really think he’d let her lob another one at him without retaliation?
    She reared back her arm. “Heels or not, I still throw a mean snowball.” She took careful aim and then threw it with all her might, emitting a delicate grunt as it left her hand.
    Jake dodged it and decided retaliation couldn’t wait another minute. He launched himself toward her, taking care to adjust his weight so he wouldn’t hit her straight-on. He didn’t want to hurt her; merely to teach her a lesson.
    Amanda’s blue eyes grew ever rounder as his two hundred ten pound frame flew toward her. He grasped her around the waist and she screamed as they collapsed together. The blanket of snow buffered their fall and Jake rolled until he’d pinned her beneath him.
    “Now,” he propped himself up on an elbow and gazed down at her. “Say you’re sorry and I’ll let you up.”
    She opened her mouth, but instead of the verbal onslaught he’d anticipated, she shoved a handful of snow in his face and then collapsed in a fit of giggles.
    Jake grabbed her hands and pinned them above her. She squealed and her eyes grew round as saucers. Then he shook his head and showered her with icy droplets.
    Amanda shrieked and scrunched her eyes closed.
    “Say you’re sorry,” he commanded again.
    Her laughter faded as she opened her eyes. In them, he saw pain—a pain he knew he’d inflicted. He felt a pang of guilt.
    “ You say you’re sorry,” she said, her voice husky as her eyes searched his face.
    “What am I sorry for?” He knew what, but pretended not to understand.
    “How about an apology for the ‘ it’s not you, it’s me’ lame-o break-up line?” Her blue eyes flashed. “Or maybe you can apologize for your timing, since you dumped me the night before my birthday.”
    A wave of shame washed over him as he rolled onto his back and gazed up at the huge white flakes drifting down around them. “I’m sorry, Mand.”
    “Why?”
    Jake turned and studied her, his attention drawn to her stubborn little chin. Then he looked back at the sky. “Does it matter now?” Why revisit ancient history? They’d been over a long time.
    “Guess not.” Her tone sounded as frigid as the snow beneath them.
    Jake stood and extended a hand to help her up.
    She ignored him and struggled to her feet. She brushed the snow off her jeans and then stuck her chin in the air as she marched toward the wood pile. Jake trailed behind and tried to ignore the sting of shame he felt at having one of his lesser moments thrown back in his face. Still, while the break-up hadn’t been his best moment, it had been the right move—for both of them. She must have realized it too. Towards the end, their relationship had devolved into an endless stream of arguments, peppered with less frequent bouts of hot