She barely reacts to the contact, her lips pressed together in frustration, but her breath hitches just enough for me to notice. And, suddenly, my pulse quickens.
“Tight enough?” I ask, meeting her gaze briefly, trying to keep my tone neutral.
Her eyes flare, a quiet challenge passing between us. She nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”
I swallow hard and straighten up, quickly reaching for my skates. She stands cautiously, testing her balance as if her skates might betray her at any second.
“Okay,” she mutters, her voice uncertain, “How do we do this? I haven’t skated in years.”
“You hold my hand,” I say, already stretching my hand out.
She freezes mid-motion, her eyes wide. “What?”
I shrug casually. “Relax, I’m not going to let you faceplant. Not while I’m here.”
Her fingers are stiff in mine at first, hesitant and unsure. But by the time we step onto the ice, she’s gripping me so tightly I feel like I’m about to lose my hand.
Her skates wobble under her, her feet swinging wide like she’s learning how to walk again. “Oh my god, Jared—this is—terrible!”
I laugh softly, catching her by the waist to keep her upright. “You’re fine, just bend your knees a little.”
She looks like she’s ready to quit the ice altogether. “Stop sounding so calm! I’m literally going to die.”
“You’re not going to die,” I assure her. Leaning just slightly closer, I whisper, “You’re doing great, babe.”
I can feel her tense in surprise at the proximity, a slight breath caught in her throat. She gives a shaky nod, more to herself than to me, and I find myself reluctant to pull away, but I do.
Bit by bit, I guide her around the rink, my hand never leaving her back, my other holding hers tight. Her legs shudder, her hands grip me desperately, but I’m always there to catch her when she loses her balance.
We make a few laps, and slowly, the tension eases from her shoulders. I let out a small breath when she laughs, the sound so light and genuine it’s like the rink lights up around us. “I’m doing it!” she exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. “I forgot how fun ice skating is.”
“Told you,” I say, my voice rougher than I expect.
She glances over at me, her smile still in place, and the dynamic alters. I feel it in the air—the way her eyes don’t stray from mine for just a second too long before Serena and Tyler skate by in a blur, Serena laughing and Tyler in hot pursuit.
“That was humiliating,” Alli mutters, clearly trying to break the spell, looking away.
I smirk, keeping my focus on her. “I don’t know. I think you’re doing great.”
Her cheeks flush a bright pink, but she ducks her head to hide it, her hand tightening in mine just a little more, but not because she needs it. Because she wants it. And I do, too.
Chapter 47
Jared
Alli leans her head against the window, her breath ghosting over the glass with each slow exhale, matching the rhythm of the tires against the pavement. Her fingers trace invisible shapes on her bouncing knee, absent and unhurried, like she’s chasing a thought she won’t say out loud. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say anything, but somehow, it doesn’t feel like silence at all.
“It’s not like I’m cutting them off completely.” She speaks as she turns to face me. “Just… setting boundaries.”
I glance over, catching the hardness tucked behind her words. “And boundaries with them feel like betrayal?”
She laughs, but it’s hollow. “Yeah, I guess.”
I shift in my seat, the passing streetlights casting fleeting shadows across her face.
I forget how to breathe.
She looks smaller, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her. And it messes with me.
