Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Myla contacted the rink and had cameras configured before we got here,” he says. “There won’t be audio though until we turn on our audio packs. I have them in my bag.”
“Got it. Remind me where we left off the other night,” I say. “So we can keep the vibe nice and steady.”
He flashes me a killer grin. “You thought I was the hottest guy you’ve ever seen and couldn’t wait to see me again.”
“And you were clearly smitten with me and practically begged to take me out one more time.”
“You begged to go home with me, but I refused. I’m just not that kind of guy.”
I gasp. “You like men?”
“Right.” He shakes his head, amused. “Are you ready to do this?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He unceremoniously slings open the door to the rink, and as I step inside, a blast of cold air smacks me in the face.
The rink smells odd, kind of like frozen sweat.
“Do you know what’s truly ironic?” I ask, sliding my hoodie over my body.
“Probably not.”
“The devil just took me somewhere freezing. Who would’ve thought?”
He groans, ignoring my laughter, and leads me to a long bar extending along a wall. A blond man smiles at us, mostly me, from the other side of the counter. Good grief.
Ripley frowns, his eyes hardening as he introduces himself to the man and explains why we’re here. Billy, as his name tag reads, provides a rundown of the next two hours that I have the luxury of spending with Ripley. Not. It’s not lost on Ripley or me that Billy keeps watching me out of the corner of his eye. As the seconds tick by, and Billy seems more and more interested in talking to me than Ripley, my date starts to grow annoyed.
“We’re on video,” I whisper just loud enough for Ripley to hear.
Ripley’s jaw pulses. He slides an arm casually around my waist, his gaze locked on Billy.
I gasp as Ripley’s fingers sink deep enough into my side so I’m aware of the pressure through my two layers of clothes. It’s a subtle, yet intentional move, which isn’t lost on me … or Billy.
Billy reads between the thin lines, takes our skate sizes, and disappears through a doorway behind him.
I’m frozen in place, tucked against Ripley’s solid frame, and enveloped in the spicy air surrounding him. My God.
The only movement he makes is to peer down at me with an uneasy yet unapologetic look in his eyes.
I press a hand against Ripley’s abs and swivel to face him. My throat is tight. My body hums. And, by the growing humor in his baby blues, I’m pretty sure he knows all of that.
“Was that necessary?” I ask, my heart pounding.
He grins mischievously. “If you hate it so much, step away from me.”
His voice is low and smooth. It’s a dare, a goad. It’s a test to see who will win our battle of the wills. He’s snapped into character quicker than I have.
Get yourself together.
Thankfully, Billy reappears with our skates before I have to say anything in response. We thank him, take the skates, and silently move to a bench near the ice.
My head is spinning. I can’t make sense of my reaction to his touch. I knew it would happen eventually, and I’ve been mentally preparing for it—practicing how cool I’d be when the time came. But it came out of nowhere, with absolutely no warning. His arm wrapped around the small of my back, his fingers splaying against my hip. I didn’t have time to remind myself to brace for impact.
Dammit.
Ripley tosses a bag beside him and sits. I sit, too, leaving enough space between us so I can’t use my skates as a weapon.
“I’m happy to sit and watch you,” I say, placing my purse next to me. “You can have all the attention on you. We know how much you love that.”
“You’re skating.”
“I’m not much of a skater,” I say.
“You are today.” He slips off his sneakers and starts putting his skates on. “We have to start filming at some point, so let me know when you want to be nice.”
“To you? Never.” I slip off my shoes. “It’s so draining.”
He laces up his last skate while I fumble with mine. “You signed the contract.”
That I did.
I finish my skates and sit up. Ripley hands me an audio pack. We work quickly to attach them to our backs like the crew showed us at Canoodle.
“Smile at me,” I say, straightening my hoodie.
He looks up, puzzled. “Why?”
“I want there to be photographic evidence that you think I’m funny.”
“We can’t lie to the people, Peaches,” he says.
I laugh, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. “The fact that we’re here is lying to the people. And if I don’t punch you in the face for calling me Peaches, that’ll also be disingenuous.”