We left the rink, and I kept telling myself not to get my hopes up.
He wore that smirk like armor, all charm and deflection. But I’d seen his eyes flick to those faded banners. That look had cracked something open. There was something underneath it all. Something he was working hard to bury. That gave me some hope.
We walked out of the arena together.
He glanced over. “Did you walk here?”
I nodded.
He pulled out his keys and hit the unlock button. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”
Wow. Colton is showing some awareness of others. That is a good sign.
“I’d hate for you to miss a chance to scold me.”
And just like that, the flicker I’d seen in him vanished. And I was reminded of exactly who I was dealing with.
“You know, it’s amazing how little self-awareness you have. Do you ever stop to think about how your actions affect other people? Or is it all just one big joke to you?”
He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you could be mentoring rookies and showing people you have more than raw talent. You’ve got a platform peoplewould kill for. You could use it to support a charity. But no, you’re too busy making headlines. And not the good kind.”
For a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then he just shrugged, his usual smirk returning. “Maybe I like making headlines.”
“Maybe you’re an idiot,” I said, climbing into the passenger seat.
He laughed, starting the car. “You’re not wrong.”
As we drove through Silver Ridge, I couldn’t help but notice how different our worlds were. The town was quiet. Its streets are lined with locally owned shops and weathered brick buildings. It was the kind of place where people stopped to chat on the sidewalk. It was a stark contrast to the fast-paced, high-profile world Colton had come from.
I glanced at him, wondering if he felt it too—the shift, the weight of being somewhere that didn’t quite fit. Did he miss the flashing lights, the screaming fans, and the rush of being at the center of it all? Or was he just biding his time until he could escape this place, back to where he belonged?
“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “What’s the plan for this whole babysitting thing? Am I supposed to follow you around like a lost puppy?”
“Actually,” I said, “you’re supposed to come to the shelter every day and help out for an hour. Consider it community service.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Community service? What am I, a criminal?”
“You tell me,” I said dryly.
“You’re something else, Riley James.”
He pulled up to the shelter and shifted into the park, but didn’t turn off the engine. “I’m just going to go back to my apartment to change. Then I’ll come back,” he said casually. "Promise not to get into any trouble or make any headlines while I’m gone."
He smirked, and I rolled my eyes before slamming the door behind me.
When Colton returned to the shelter, it was clear our earlier conversation had annoyed him. “You know, this whole babysitting setup is a little much,” he said, his voice sharp. “I don’t need to be—”
He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes landing on me as I struggled to lift a 50-pound bag of dog food. My arms were shaking, and my face was set in stubborn determination, but I wasn’t about to ask for help.
Without a word, Colton stepped forward, grabbing the bag effortlessly. “You’re doing it all wrong,” he said, his tone still exasperated. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
I glared at him, but he was already carrying the bag to the storage room. “I had it under control,” I said, following him.
His sleeves were pushed up, revealing strong forearms, and I hated that I noticed. Hated even more the way my stomach did a weird little flip. Nope. Absolutely not.
“Sure you did,” he said, easily setting the bag down. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
