Page 146 of Secret Obsession
I frown at that but let him guide me along more easily. Up the ramp, into the main hallway that goes to the locker rooms and wraps under the public hallways above. This one is for players and staff, and it immediately feels a bit like we’re not supposed to be here.
But when have I let that stop me?
I throw my shoulders back. We go to the locker room, where I balk.Again. He ignores it and pulls harder, practically dragging me through the door. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the horseshoe-shaped arrangement of lockers and benches. They’re all empty except for one.
“Miles…?”
“Sit,” he urges, releasing me and pointing to the bench beside the bag.
He drops to his knees in front of me, and my damn heart skips.
“You say you don’t love me.” His tone is conversational as he tugs at the laces of my boots. “But do youlikeme?”
My brows furrow.
He removes one boot, his hand sliding around my ankle and cupping it. His palm is warm through my sock, and it moves up to my calf for a moment. Then he pulls a skate out of the bag and slides it on my foot. The laces are almost all the way undone, making it easy. He sets it down and repeats the steps with my other foot, taking care on each step.
I’m biting my lip hard by the time he’s done.
“Ice skating?” I try to laugh off. “Do you remember the last time we went—”
“I refuse to believe that counts,” he interrupts. “You weren’t wearing skates. And you were jumping down, which is hard to do in street shoes, let alone for someone who has never been on ice before.”
I don’t tell him Ihavebeen on the ice—in skates—before. Indie went through a phase where she wanted to be a professional figure skater, and my parents made me take her to the local rink on the public skate nights. Most of the time, they had run out of figure skates in my size, so I was stuck with the hockey skates. No toe picks, which always seemed to scare Indie. Not me, though. I got used to it pretty fast.
But why ruin that surprise?
He laces me up fast and tight, and it’s actually kind of hot how quick he does it. Way better than any time I had to do my own.
He pats the side of the skate. “Good?”
“Yep.”
He sits beside me and pulls out his own skates, quickly lacing them up and hopping to his feet. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
I let him help me to my feet, and he doesn’t release one of my hands on the way out of the locker room and down the rubber-matted hall to the rink. The door is already open and waiting for us, the lights illuminating it.
“How is this allowed?”
“I bribed someone to give us an hour alone.” He steps out and skates in a wide circle, coming back to me. “Don’t be afraid to fall. That’s the hardest lesson to learn.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Oh, someone’s going around and talking about my so-called fear of falling?”
He glides closer. I’m on the lip above the ice, holding on to the half wall on either side, and it puts us eye to eye.
His eye contact is unnerving. “Never said you didn’t want to, Willow. Just that you’re chicken shit.”
My jaw drops. “I’m not.”
“Prove it, then.” There’s a new glimmer of challenge in his eyes.
One I can’t resist.
