Page 43 of Undone

“How wet you get watching me play.”

A whimper works out of my throat, despite every ounce of my body trying to hold it in.

He laughs, which only makes the growing heat in my belly worse, because it’s that dark, intoxicating chuckle that chafes my skin, like he’s sinking his sharp canines against my most soft, vulnerable places.

Toren releases me suddenly and the icy feel of the rink blows against my overheated skin, as if he’d been blocking out the cold with his form towering over me.

Still, he’s close enough that I push at him, weakly snapping, “Leave me alone.”

Toren looks so pleased with himself as he steps back and glides away, anger starts to replace the aroused heat in my body.

I straighten my slim-fitted jacket, pulling the zipper up to cover my still-flushed neck. Raising my chin up high in the air, I skate over to where he’s now gathering more cones and markers for today’s lesson.

“For your information,” I begin, slipping too close to his body, “I have a hot date with my new, fun roommate. A girls’ night.”

It’s a lie. I haven’t spoken to Paloma about it, but I want to brag. I want Toren to know I have a roommate and she’s going to be my friend.

My words make him freeze and he turns toward me with a half smirk.

“Your roommate?” he asks, still just standing there, big frame taking up my space and all the air in the rink. He’s so infuriatingly cocky, an urge to stab him in the throat with my blade pulses at my temple.

“Mm-hmm.”

He scoots closer. “I thought you didn’t have one of those.”

I don’t bother responding as I take the cones from him, counting them in my head as if that’s something we normally do. He doesn’t seem to notice the odd task.

Toren smiles. “Who is your roommate?”

My brow wrinkles. “Her name is Paloma. And she’s . . . she’s my friend.” Well, at least, that’s the plan. She is going to be my friend—and it’s not any of his business. “Not that you need to know.”

“Paloma Blake?” His eyes widen. But it’s Toren’s tone that has my back up, shoulders hiking defensively. Why does he know her? I don’t want them to know each other, no matter the context or reasons. And I especially don’t want them to be friends. Paloma is mine, a friend that I made all on my own and I want it to stay like that.

Cones precariously balanced in my arms, I swing back toward him. “You know her? How?”

“We’ve crossed paths.” He watches my face flame red.

A flash of her pretty bright smile and much larger chest sidelines my calm demeanor. I think of her effortless ease of conversation. How beautiful and tall and so very hot she is . . .

Something sours in my gut.

“Well, don’t cross paths again,” I say, pathetically, cursing myself as I let the words fly without thinking. I could’ve done so much better than that. “She’s my friend. I’m . . .” My eyes shut tightly. “I’m just a bit rusty with the making-friends thing. But I’m getting better.” I don’t know why it’s embarrassing, because if anyone knows this, it’s Toren. “And I want a friend that’s just mine. So, back off.”

The last words have a bite to them I’m proud of, letting it sink into my psyche and help straighten my shoulders back.

“Riiiight . . .” he says, stretching the word out in a way I’ve learned usually means the opposite of what’s being said. “You want a friend. And you landed on . . . Paloma Blake.” He’s almost laughing.

Now it’s defensiveness more than anything else.

“She’s nice.”

Toren takes all the precariously balanced cones from my arms. They look so much smaller in his possession. “Are you sure we are talking about the same Paloma Blake?”

I roll my eyes and follow behind him. “Maybe she’s nice to me because she actually likes me.”

His head whips around toward me, eyes bright and eager as his mouth parts—only whatever he’s going to say seems to die on his tongue. Maybe the snarky comment he’d prepared tasted bitter enough.

Toren Kane loves to rile me up, something I know well. Something I enjoyed once upon a time. But somehow this feels more dangerous.