God, how is this real?
How is this me?
Because if you’d asked me a year ago—or even a month ago—I would’ve said no way. No way a guy like Austin Rhodes would ever look twice at me. No way I’d ever let myself want someone who flirted with every breathing girl on campus.
But he’s looking at me now.
And no one ever looks at me.
His eyes search mine, quiet and unreadable.
And then he glances down.
At my mouth.
My pulse spikes so fast I feel dizzy.
We’re so close.
I can feel the space between us pulling tighter. My lips part. My brain short-circuits.
“Hey!”
We jolt apart, eyes wide.
Austin’s grip slips from my waist and he whips around. “Shit.”
The janitor is standing at the edge of the rink, squinting at us under the fluorescent lights.
“Fuck,” Austin hisses as he grabs my hand. “Run.”
We take off, our blades scraping across the ice, stumbling as we hit the edge and fumble to pull the rubber guards onto our skates.
We bolt through the hallway, ducking into a supply closet.
Austin slams the door behind us, and as soon as we’re swallowed by darkness, I let out a breathless chuckle.
“Shh,” he says, chuckling as he covers my mouth with his hand. “You’re going to get us caught.”
I lift my eyes to his and I’m suddenly very aware that his body is pressed against mine in this dark, cramped space.
I should be freaking out.
But all I can feel is him.
His presence is like a gravitational force, pulling my focus to the shape of his jaw, the heat of his skin through his sweatshirt. I shift slightly and his hand drops from my mouth.
He doesn’t move away.
Neither do I.
I can feel him looking at me, even in the dark.
I want to say something—I don’t know what.
I want to ask what we’re doing. What this is.
But then the janitor’s footsteps echo down the hall and a door slams. And the moment breaks.
