Abby Spencer hated everything about Brody Stone, from his dumb crew cut, to his heavily tattooed arms, to his ludicrous name. “Brody Stone” she jeered to her friend, Kris. They were standing outside the Thirsty Moose, trying not to freeze to death as Kris took a last drag off her cigarette. Abby’s shift was about to start and she was dreading spending another night working alongside the ill-tempered bartender.

“He’s not THAT bad” heartened Kris, stamping out her cigarette. Although her face said otherwise, as she spied him through the frosty windows. “My shift at Basil’s is over, I’m gonna get home before this storm hits. Hang in there Abby, stay warm.”

The Thirsty Moose Tavern was one of the few old-town, hold-outs in this ever changing, tourist trap of a ski village. Abby remembered coming here as a kid, after ski lessons, for Hot chocolate. The place hadn’t changed much, and neither had Brody. The tattoos were new, to her at least, but not the attitude. When they were in grade school he would pull her hair and call her “Crabby Abby”. When they got to high school he shortened it, skillfully, to “Crabs” and took to snapping her bra strap. Due to the special torture of alphabetical seating charts, he always seemed to be near her. Abby went off to college and tried to forget about Brody Stone and this town, and the way it always made her feel like an outsider.

As anticipated by her perpetually disappointed parents, Abby’s Bachelor’s degree in Anthropology had not yet translated into the exciting career she had hoped for. So, instead of digging up valuable artifacts, or even working in a museum, she found herself back here, shoveling snow and working as a waitress. When she took this job, over a week ago, she had no idea Brody worked here, or that he’d be the one “training” her. She took a deep breath and tugged on the door.

“It’s about time Crabs,” chided Brody with irritating predictability as he tugged on the beer tap. “You got something against being on time?”

“Jesus Brody, it’s 2 minutes after 7:00 and I could see from outside we’ve only got three customers.” Abby lamented, “Everyone is packing it in because of the storm. Why the hell is Chuck even making us work? Let alone both of us?”

“HA!” Snickered Brody, “Don’t you know anything about this town, Crabs? We don’t shut down when it snows, that’s when we party the hardest.”

“Riight, well, I dunno if you watch the news Brody,” Abby snubbed, as she stomped snow off her boots and hung up her parka and scarf, “but this is going to be snow, ice and wind like we haven’t seen in years. Not to mention temperatures well below freezing. It’s not really party weather.” Brody just shook his head and rolled his eyes dismissively.

“I’ll party with you,” slurred a very inebriated snowboarder from the corner. “Thanks hun,” Abby feigned “but I’m on duty.” She tied up her strawberry blonde hair and started wiping down tables. “Jesus Brody,” she retaliated, “You got something against cleaning? Why is everything such a mess?”

“Listen Crabs, this place has been bursting at the seams since the lifts closed, you just missed the rush. The lunch shift has gone home and the dinner shift isn’t here yet. What’s the matter, you too good for cleaning?” It was Abby’s turn to roll her eyes dismissively.

The drunk snowboarder and his buddy ordered another round and Abby continued clearing and wiping, hoping Chuck would come to his senses and send them home soon. She leaned over a booth to reach some dirty mugs and felt a hand on her Ass. Recoiling, she spun around to find their 3rd customer, an old townie who had been lurking in the corner, staring at her menacingly. “Do that again and I’ll cut it off.” She threatened, brandishing a dirty knife from the bussing tray at him. He put his hands up in mock innocence and she moved behind the bar. Of course Brody had disappeared into the back. Useless.

One of the snowboarders was laughing hysterically as the other staggered toward the men’s room. He was only half-way there when he doubled over. Vomit splattered everywhere and his friend’s cackling multiplied exponentially.

“BRODY!!” Abby bellowed, as she filled a bucket with soapy water.

“WHAT!?” he barked, punching through the double doors from the back.

“Can you please call these two an Uber, or do SOMETHING useful?” she berated, jabbing her thumb toward the men’s room, “This one just ralphed and I have to go clean it up before the smell gets any worse.”

“Fucking Christ,” Brody winced, punching instructions on his cell phone and directing the snowboarders through the front door, “C’mon boys, party’s over.”

Dawning rubber gloves, Abby started mopping up the disgusting slurry, trying not to wretch. She hauled the sloshing bucket down the hall, into the women’s restroom and flushed the contents down the toilet. She was rinsing everything in the sink, listening to the wind howl, when the lights flickered and went out. Fucking power outage, awesome, maybe we can go home now, she thought.

She pushed the bathroom door open and stepped into the inky blackness of the narrow hallway, trying to inch her way to the front of the tavern, where there would be some light from the fireplace at least. She heard the floor creak in front of her and caught a sour whiff of Hot breath before a hand closed around her throat and pinned her to the wall. “C’mon shortcake,” rasped the sour breath, “Show me what’s under that little skirt.” She felt another hand moving up her cable-knit tights and swiftly hoisted a knee upward, into his groin. He faltered and she ran through the darkness, colliding with something solid, just as a bright light filled her straining pupils and re-blinded her.

“What the fuck!?” Brody demanded, perturbed.

“Jesus Brody, you really are fucking useless.” She cried, pushing the flashlight out of her eyes and toward the bathrooms. “That old pervert just tried to violate me in the hallway, so excuse the fuck out of me.”

Brody’s naturally mean face got even meaner as he shoved the flashlight at her, stepping toward the crumpled body on the floor and gripping it by the shoulders. “Get up asshole,” Brody barked, pushing the man down the hall “I’m calling the cops, and you’re never setting foot in here again, or I’ll kill you myself.” Abby listened to them struggle their way through the tavern and felt the cold rush of air as Brody shoved him out the door, locking it behind him. Abby was still frozen to the same spot, holding the flashlight to her heaving chest. “You ok Crabs?” asked Brody.

“No Brody, I’m not fucking ok, you asshole.” She was crying, fucking crying in front of Brody Stone. Goddamnit.

“What the fuck did I do?” Brody challenged, as Abby put on her coat. She couldn’t stand being his whipping girl for one more second, she had to get away from him. “I’m going home Brody, can you please let me the fuck out of here?” Brody hesitated, “Don’t you think you should wait until..”

“Jesus Brody, Let me OUT!” Abby interrupted. Brody unlocked the door and moved aside as Abby trudged out into the blizzard. Conditions had gotten much worse since she arrived an hour ago. The biting wind stole the breath right out of her lungs as she tried to make her way up the hill, to the lot where she left her Subaru. The sidewalk was already slick with ice. Crystalized snow was flying sideways into her eyes, stinging her face. She thought she heard, or maybe sensed someone following her as a particularly forceful gust knocked her off balance and she hit the slippery cement hard. She was trying to catch her breath when a pair of strong hands gripped her from behind and she rolled over and kicked hard, aiming for his balls again. He was too quick for her this time, so she screamed, only to be drowned out by Brody’s roar “CRABS!!!”

“Jesus Christ Crabs.” Brody insisted, “This is fucking crazy, It’s bad out here and that asshole could still be lurking around. Come back inside so we can figure this out.” Abby was disheartened to find that she didn’t have a better idea.

Brody put some more wood in the big, rustic fireplace that served as the centerpiece of the tavern’s layout and he found a kerosene lamp somewhere in storage, depositing it on the bar. Abby sat, dejected on the wide, squashy, leather sofa that faced the fire, trying to get warm and wishing she could be anywhere else tonight. They had already called the police, and given them her attacker’s description, Brody even gave them the man’s name, apparently he was a regular. The officer on the phone suggested they come down to make their statements tomorrow, when conditions would be safer. Snow was piling up quickly now, on top of the coating of ice, and Abby began to realize they really were stuck here together, maybe for the whole night.

After he turned all the faucets on to drip so they wouldn’t freeze over, Brody sat down next to her with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured and she accepted a glass, studying the way the flames danced through the amber liquid before downing it all in one gulp. “Jesus Crabs, slow down.”

“Stop fucking calling me that Brody!” Abby screeched, “Why are you always so fucking mean to me?!”

“ME?!” protested Brody, “You’re no picnic yourself Cra… Abby.”

“Oh really, and when we were seven, what was your excuse then?” she demanded.

” ‘Grody Brody’ was no picnic either, Abby, or don’t you remember inventing that little gem?” She had forgotten that actually, and it made her cheeks burn a little, before she remembered what a creep he had always been to her. “Yeah, well, you did plenty to deserve it.”

“Probably,” he admitted, taking a swig, “but you were always so damn full of yourself, acting better than everyone else. I couldn’t help wanting to bring you down to earth.”

“Fuck off Brody.”

“Jesus, you’re a pain in the Ass.” Brody protested, “You fucking asked!” Brody got up and moved to a table between the fireplace and the bar, leaving the whiskey bottle next to Abby. She took off her boots, placing them by the fire and stared out the rattling windows at the blizzard, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Look, Abby, I didn’t realize the name bothered you that much, I thought it was like, our thing, ok?” Abby turned on him “Our thing?! Jesus Brody, we don’t have a ‘THING’ ok? Our only thing is that you’re an asshole.”

“Right,” followed Brody, sipping his drink “and you’re a perfect little princess.” Abby poured herself another glass of whiskey, scoffing, “I’m not the one who was always pulling your hair or making fun of your clothes.”

“No,” Brody agreed, “You were too busy holding your nose for your friends when I walked by, and snickering every time I got an answer wrong,” He downed what was left of his drink, adding “which was pretty often.”

They both sat quietly for a few minutes, and just as Abby was starting to think he might have some semblance of a point, Brody started up again. “Why are you always so uptight Abby? If we’re gonna be stuck here all night, I gotta know. Is that stick up your Ass permanent, or can it be removed?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” challenged Abby, pacing now.

“Just like, are you always, like this?” He stood and gesticulated at her stiff, pacing body, “Do you even know how to relax and have fun?”

“Gee, I dunno Brody,” Abby spat “Why don’t you teach me since you’re such an expert.”

“I could you know,” offered Brody, looking her up and down.

“In your fucking dreams asshole.” Abby could not believe she was even having this conversation with Brody fucking Stone.

“Right,” nodded Brody, “I forgot, Abigail Spencer is too good for that sort of thing. She would never lower herself to such filth.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” Abby protested, “You just want to get your rocks off.”

“So what if I do?” countered Brody, “What’s wrong with that? Trust me Abby, your rocks could use some getting off.” Now he was pacing. “What’s the matter with that pretty-boy, Olympian of yours? What’s his name? Jonas? Doesn’t he know how to show you a good time, or are you just too damn frigid for everybody?”

Abby felt like she’d been punched in the gut. Everyone knew that she and Jonas Blake dated in high school, and had another fling before he left last week to train for the Slaloms. Now he was off doing what he loved most, which it turns out, was other Olympians. The tabloids caught him in a rather steamy kiss with Greta Johansson, Sweden’s freestyle hopeful.

“That was a low blow, even for you, Brody. What’s the problem?” She was gesticulating at him now. “This whole inked-up thug thing not working out for you?

The ladies don’t flock to this,” she gestured at his ripped up jeans and tight tee shirt, “what is this? A dumbass uniform?”

“Jesus Abby,” Brody laughed, “you are so fucking judgmental. You could use a bit of ‘inked up thug’ to spice up your boring, predictable, entitled little tightass routine.”

Now Abby was laughing. “Riiight, and you are just the stud to show me what I’ve been missing.”

“I could be.” Brody cocked one of his stupid eyebrows “If you weren’t such a pain in the Ass. But I think you may be beyond help.”

“Are you serious right now?” Abby protested, sitting on one of the rustic, wooden tables “You bully me relentlessly for years, and now, what? You think you can bully me into spreading my legs for you? Because why? Because we’re stuck here and you figure this is your shot?”

“Bully YOU?” Brody stood, leaning against the fireplace, shaking his head in frustration. “That’s rich Abby. At least I have the balls to admit we have a ‘thing’. You are so far in denial you won’t even let yourself feel what I see on your face every day.”

Abby was dumbfounded and uncharacteristically speechless. A blizzard was swirling around inside her head now. A wintry mix of conflicting emotions and impossible realizations brewed as she sat, staring agape at Brody Stone’s husky form, listening to the wind howl and the fire crackle.

“Fuck it.” loosed Brody as he sprung forward, closing the distance between them almost instantly and encasing her bewildered mouth with his firm lips. All the dormant electricity from the power outage seemed to spark back to life inside of Abby’s body and she found, much to her dismay, that she was kissing Brody fucking Stone, hungrily. One of his large hands was tangled in her hair, the other sliding down her back, onto her hip. It felt outlandish and surprisingly natural at the same time. Finally, Brody’s traveling hands gripped the edges of the table, flanking her, and he broke the kiss. His forehead was still pressed to hers and his smouldering eyes were searching her for a reaction to his bold, risky move.

All she could seem to do was pant and stare back. She was caught off guard by this wave of unexpected feelings. Before she could process the conflicted state of her mind and body, Brody pinched the cable knit tights that encased her thighs and snapped them, much as he used to snap her bra strap in school. “Can these be removed?” he chided, with a grin, “or are they a permanent part of your tightass uniform?”

Abby couldn’t decide if she was more angry or turned on. She pushed him hard in the chest and he staggered backward. She enjoyed the look of failure on his face for a moment as she stood, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. A crooked smile started forming on Brody’s face, as turned-on won out, and Abby reached underneath her chunky sweater, hooking her thumbs under the top of her tights, pulling them, and her skirt down together. Brody reminded her of one of those snorting, cartoon bulls, getting ready to charge the matador as she tossed her shedded coverings aside, resisting the urge to call out “Ole!” and trying to comprehend this whole, ridiculous situation.

Charge he did, “You’re in trouble now, princess,” he grinned, as he pushed her back up onto the heavy table, spreading her legs and invading the now unprotected space between them with his meaty fingers. Abby was shocked to find her legs and arms wrapped around him so willingly, as if this wasn’t completely insane.

Goddamnit, he was good at this. Fuck. His brusk, invasive movements were just like him, defiant and demanding. Abby felt almost completely absorbed by him, her body simply melting into his rhythm, his fingers, his mouth. Everything else just disappeared and she found she was making noises she didn’t mean to make. She could feel the hint of an Orgasm forming already.

Brody slowed down. “Oh no… Uh-ah, no way,” he shook his head, ” you’re not getting off that easy.” He backed off her, leaving her panting again. “This isn’t a charity ya know, you’re gonna have to put in some effort too.”

“What the fuck Brody, can’t you even fuck without being an asshole?” “Nice mouth you got there princess,” He challenged with a diabolical grin, “is it good for anything other than trash talk?” He put the two fingers that had just been between her legs in his mouth, locking eyes with her as he sampled her juices. It took a great deal of self control for Abby not to hurl yet another “fuck you” at him, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Even stranger, she was beginning to understand, even enjoy this game, this thing, whatever it was. To her surprise, she realized, she really did want to use her mouth to show Brody just how wrong he was about her. “Take off those ridiculous pants.” she commanded, hoping down off the table.

“Anything you say princess.” Brody unbuckled his thick, black leather belt and stepped out of his torn up jeans. He wasn’t even wearing underwear. Of course, Abby noted, rolling her eyes as she prowled, pantless, in nothing but her slouchy sweater. He took off his tee shirt too, just for good measure and she tried not to roll her eyes at the jumbled tapestry of colorful, intertwined markings all over his brawny chest. He was so not her type, but her body, strangely, yearned to be connected to his once again.

She closed in on him, “Sit,” she directed, pushing him down into the sofa. It was her turn to push his legs apart and infiltrate. She started with her hands, kneading his balls and taking measure of his cock from up close. It looked a lot like him, thick, stocky and dangerous. She was eager to tame it.

Brody looked a bit awestruck as she took the solid head in her mouth and explored it thoroughly with her tongue. He can’t believe this is happening either, she thought, as she kept eye contact. Even though she was on her knees, she felt immensely powerful. She had always enjoyed giving head. She engulfed him, slowly at first, then faster, showing him how she could take him deep into her throat. He stiffened even more, gripping the couch cushions. She worked up and down, swirling her tongue as she went and loving that she could make him shudder so easily. She felt an odd enjoyment at the way her jaw was beginning to ache from being stretched by the thickness of him.

He wrapped his hands around her head and started pushing back with true need. she relaxed her throat and allowed him to fuck her mouth at his own rhythm until he started making noises she suspected he wasn’t meaning to make, and then she slowly pushed off of him. “Uh-ah, no way, you’re not getting off that easy.” she chided. “I thought you were supposed to rock my world Brody, not the other way around.”

“Get up.” he snarled, yanking her sweater over her head as they stood up. He reached around and unceremoniously released her bra, yanking it off as well. Abby maintained the challenge in her eyes and her stance through all of it, but internally, she could not quite believe she was allowing herself to be this vulnerable, or this naked in front of this particular man. Still breathing heavily, Brody looked her over sweepingly, animalistically. “Jonas Blake is a fucking cunt” He noted, before tossing her onto the couch.

Abby appreciated that Brody meant that remark to be some sort of compliment, and she was thankful, on a certain level, but she couldn’t resist the opening he had left her. “Nice mouth you’ve got there Brody,” She grinned, “is it good for anything other than trash talk?”