Page 136 of Ice Cold Chemistry
“You look good,” I tell him.
“If you say so.”
“You look great. My mom is going to love you.”
“What about your dad?”
I pause just a half-second too long.
“Winnie.”
“He’s going to love you too. Eventually.”
Banks drops the visor. “Eventually.”
“He’s just—he’s protective. Derek really did a number on all of us, not just me. My dad took it personally.” I reach over and straighten his collarfor him, which was already straight. “Just be yourself.”
“That’s terrible advice.”
“I’m serious. You’re sweet. Charming.”
“I’m not charming.”
“You’re charming with me,” I point out.
“You’re different.”
I look at him. He’s staring through the windshield at my parents’ front door like he’s calculating exit strategies, jaw tight, and I have a very sudden, very clear idea.
“Hey.” I put my hand on his jaw and turn his face toward mine. “Look at me.”
He looks.
I kiss him. Not a quick good luck kiss—a real one, slow and deliberate, my fingers curling into his hair, and I feel him go from rigid to something looser, his hand coming up to my face without thinking about it.
When I pull back, his eyes are a little unfocused.
“There,” I say. “Better?”
“That’s—” He blinks. “That was manipulative.”
“Did it work?”
He pauses, still slightly thrown off. “Yeah.”
I grin. I knew it would. We haven’t taken the quiz, but I’m pretty sure his love language is physical touch. It seems to calm him. Every time, without fail. “Then let’s go.” I’m already opening my door. “And Banks? Whatever you do, do not mention hockey to my dad in the first ten minutes. Let him bring it up.”
“Why wouldI mention—”
“He’s going to try to rattle you. Just let him talk.”
Banks gets out of the car. Over the roof, he looks at me. “You’re really not selling this.”
“I’m preparing you. There’s a difference.” I round the hood and take his hand. His fingers close around mine immediately, tightly. “You’re one of the toughest NHL players on the ice. You can handle dinner with my parents.”
“Right. Yeah. Fine.” He squeezes my hand once. “Let’s go.”
Banks
