The door creaks yet again under a flurry of light knocks. Sighing, I stand up. You'd think that the deliveryman would rather leave my packages at the door than stand out there waiting for a signature in these bitter conditions, but I suppose it's probably just protocol. Stretching my arms, I pull on my discarded sweater and shuffle over to the entryway, wrenching the door open with a grunt. What is waiting for me on my front step though, shivering and clutching herself, is no postman. Before me is a young girl who looks to be around thirteen; she's drenched from head-to-toe, her small body wracked with shivers and face blue from the subzero temperature.
"I f-f-fell through t-the ice," she chatters, hugging herself as if to prevent the last remnants of body heat from escaping. She must mean the creek that snakes behind my property, continuing along quite a while until the next town.
"What are you doing out in this weather, it's freezing!" I exclaim, catching her eyes only for the teen to look away and clutch herself tighter. Ah, a runaway. I could get in serious trouble for taking in a rebellious young teenager like her. I live alone in this big house and there's no one to vouch for me if she were to accuse me of anything. But still, she'll never make it the half-mile to one of my neighbors, and if this kid doesn't get warmed up right now, it'll be really dangerous for her. "Come on then, hurry inside." Resigning myself to my fate, I usher the grateful girl through the door, shutting it behind us.
Immediately, I lead her to the couch, grabbing a couple of blankets and setting them beside her. "You need to get out of your wet clothes, okay?" The teen tugs weakly at her jacket in response to my words, but it's clear she's not getting anything off without help. "I won't look," I promise, unzipping her jacket and slipping her arms through it. Underneath her jacket she's wearing only a thin long-sleeve shirt—not nearly enough layers for this kind of weather, even if she wasn't soaked. "Lift your arms," I say, gripping the hem of her shirt with one hand and using the other to support her back as I pull the shirt up over her. Next are her pants, which are similarly ill-equipped to handle the cold.
Once I've got the young girl in just her underwear and bra, I wrap her in the blankets I grabbed earlier and reach beneath them to unclasp her bra with the instructions to take it and her underwear off. Shifting around a little, she does, a small hand reaching out from under the blankets to deposit the soaked garments on top of her other clothes.
I come back to her a minute later, after starting some hot chocolate in the kitchen. It's immediately obvious to me that the teen doesn't seem to be getting much warmer—she's still hugging herself under the blankets and her shivers are shaking the whole couch. "I'm so cold," she whispers, glancing up at me with pleading eyes. I want to help her, but I don't really have any heavier blankets, and I remember hearing somewhere that you're not supposed to put someone this cold in warm water right away because it can cause shock or something. Unfortunately I do have one idea that could warm her up fast, but it's a terrible idea that could go very wrong.
"I don't have any better blankets, honey. There is one thing we could try, but it's really embarrassing." When she meets my eyes, the girl seems to realize what I mean, and if her face hadn't been drained of color from the cold, I'm sure it would have just become red.
"It's okay," she whispers, her weak voice barely audible as she pats the couch beside her. Trying to ignore those wide little eyes on me, I strip down to my boxers and lift her blanket, pulling it back down once I've settled in beside her. My face is more than red enough to make up for her lack of color, and it must be a good thirty seconds that the two of us lie side-by-side under the blanket before the girl finally moves.
I can't stop the gasp that leaves my mouth when she lays herself flat against me, letting our bodies connect from chest to toes; the sudden action combined with her cold skin touching me everywhere at once made my voice impossible to contain. "Sorry," she says quietly, resting her head against me with another little shiver. This is very bad. Well, it can't get any worse than this, so I might as well actually warm her up. Tentatively, I reach up and encircle the girl with my arms, holding that freezing cold but oh-so-hot form against me as I massage her back with my hands.
I can feel every inch of her in my arms, and she's not just lying there, she's hugging me back—those cold little arms snaking around my back as she clings to my chest, paying no heed to the fact that her small breasts are pressed up against me, or that she's wrapped around me like a spider.
We stay like this for at least ten minutes—silent and still with me petrified by fear and her by cold—before she speaks up. "This is kinda embarrassing, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Thanks for saving me, Mister."
"You can call me ${Name}."
"Thank you, ${Name}. I'm Olivia." I just smile in response, continuing to gently rub her back while hoping I'll somehow make it out of this without ending up in prison. Olivia's next words certainly don't help alleviate my fears: "Can I sleep with you?" Before my brain can even begin to formulate a response to that outlandish question, she corrects herself. "Sleep here with you, here! In your house! In a guest room!" The red of her cheeks is surely matched only by my own.
"Guess your brain's still thawing," I joke, earning me a glare.
We're both quiet for a little while before Olivia breaks the silence once more. "I really did mean here; I'm not that kind of girl, you know."
"I know that. Besides, even if you were, I'm not interested in kids like you."
My only response for this quip is a little "hmph" before the teen hides her face in my shoulder. Even during the awkward silence following her misspeak, we stayed in each other's arms, despite the fact that Olivia's clearly warm enough to do with just blankets now, the hot chocolate I started ages ago sitting forgotten in the kitchen.
***
I only realize that I fell asleep when my eyes drift open and the darkness of the living room makes it clear it's been at least an hour since our little tiff.
My second thought is relief when I notice Olivia is still cuddled up into my chest. That's strange, that should be panic—not relief. Being this close to a naked thirteen-year-old I just met even after she's all warmed up is very bad. Still, there's something implacably endearing about her sleeping face as it rests against my chest. Smiling, I reach down and rub her head, my index finger somehow finding her lips a moment later to trace their cracked lines.
"What would you do if I bit it off?"
Startled, I respond without thinking. "My finger?"
"Why, are there any other long and pointy things you think are at risk of being bitten off?"
"Nope, just the finger," I reply, removing my hand from her face and trying to play it off as a stretch of my arm.
"Did you dream about me?" Olivia opens her eyes as she says this, propping her chin up with one hand, her elbow jabbing into my chest.
"You think awfully highly of yourself. What about you, did you dream about me?"
She just laughs, pushing off the blankets and standing up from the couch, remembering too late that she's as naked as the day she was born. I'm too dumbfounded to speak and just stare at Olivia's bare form as she walks towards the kitchen, where she stops mid-step when she realizes what she's done. My moment of stunned silence earns me a high-pitched squeal followed by a pillow to the face.
"Pervert! Creep! Pedo!"
"I'm not, you just surprised me, so I was too shocked to say anything right that second," I say, my reply muffled by the pillow.
"First you feel me up when I'm defenseless, and then you ogle me when I get up to go to the bathroom? Now I can never get married!"
I can only chuckle at her dramatic flair. "There are some old clothes in the closet to the right of the bathroom upstairs," I call after her retreating figure, feeling a grin spread across my face. This back-and-forth is surprisingly fun, and if Olivia wasn't thirteen, I could see myself wanting to spend a lot more time with her.
When she comes back down from a long bath, Olivia's dressed in one of my baggy old shirts, the realization that she's almost certainly naked beneath it causing my heart rate to quicken. "Eyes to yourself," she says, as if reading my mind. "Once my clothes are done drying, I'll change." I just nod, trying to convince myself that I don't want anything to do with what's underneath that loose t-shirt.
After we've had some dinner, we say goodnight and I point Olivia towards the guest bedroom before heading into my own, leaving the door ajar in case she needs anything.
***
A shrill scream pierces the air, jolting me awake. Before I even realize I'm out of bed, I'm on my feet and racing into Olivia's room. "Are you okay, Olivia?"
"Yeah, I just had a bad dream... Hey, ${Name}?"
"Yes?"
"Can you... stay here?" I can hardly say no to those scared eyes, so with some trepidation I climb into bed beside the young teen, pulling the covers back over us.